"Apprentice," the master began, his voice low and filled with a resigned sorrow, "You've brought this upon us. And now, you must face the consequences."
Alan stared at his master as if seeing a stranger. The man he had always admired, the one who could look a True Immortal in the eye and tell them to go to hell, was now bowing to the will of a mere boy. Alan couldn't believe it. His master, a figure of power and influence, was submitting to someone so much younger, doing what he was told like a common servant.
The realization cut deeper than Alan cared to admit. His master, who once stood unyielding even in the face of mighty foes, was now trembling before Adams. The pain of this betrayal festered in Alan's heart, fueling his anger. If his master had lost his resolve, then Alan would have to restore it—even if that meant fighting him.
Determination surged through Alan as he took a defiant stance. His eyes hardened with resolve, and his body tensed, ready for battle. If it came to it, he would force his master to snap out of this humiliating submission, even if it meant fighting him right here and now.
The crowd reacted with surprise, eyebrows raised as they watched Alan's audacious display. Adams, however, found the scene amusing, throwing his head back in a hearty laugh that echoed through the air. He glanced at the master, who was staring at his apprentice in shock, wide-eyed and mouthing words that looked like, *'What are you thinking? Do you have a death wish?'*
The master couldn't fathom what had gotten into Alan. His apprentice was always headstrong, but this was madness. Yet, Alan stood firm, his gaze unyielding, ready to challenge even his own master to restore the honor he believed was being lost.
"This is getting interesting," Adams said, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Since we're about to witness a showdown, why don't we take it up a notch?"
In an instant, everyone found themselves in the Sect Arena. The transition was so sudden that even the most seasoned disciples blinked in surprise, disoriented by the shift. The previous onlookers and disciples were now seated in the arena's grandstands, glancing around in awe at how they had been transported without warning.
The master looked at Alan with a heavy heart, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and resignation. He sighed deeply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Brat," he began, his voice laced with a sorrowful intensity, "just know you brought this upon yourself."
His fists began to glow with an orange light, the aura of his cultivation flaring as he shifted into a fighting stance. "I need you to understand something," he continued, his tone growing more somber. "Make sure to give it your all—don't hold back. I've seen your potential, Alan.
You're a genius born in a thousand years, and in just ten years by my side, you've come so close to matching my cultivation. That's something I've always been proud of."
He paused, the emotion in his voice deepening. "Today... today might be the last time we stand as master and apprentice. So don't think of me as your master—think of me as your enemy. Fight me with everything you have, Alan. Show me the strength I've always known was in you."
The words hung in the air, charged with the raw emotion of a master forced into an impossible position, urging his once-beloved student to become his adversary in a fight that neither of them wanted but knew they couldn't avoid.
"Don't give up yet, Master. We can still salvage the situa—"
"Just shut up, brat." The master cut off his student, his voice laced with frustration and resignation. "You have no idea what we're up against, do you?"
Adams, observing the exchange, sighed softly. "Enough talking," he said, his tone firm and final. "More fighting."