Facing each other on the platform stood Mo Lin and Lin Fan — both radiating that unmistakable protagonist aura.
From the disciples benches, Yu Xuan stared with wide eyes.
He wasn’t sure what was happening... but he felt it deep in his bones.
"These two..." he whispered. "They both feel like main characters."
He paused, deep in thought.
"...Whose plot is this?! It’s not mine, right?!"
He leaned forward nervously.
Down below, on the dueling platform, the two boys prepared for battle.
Mo Lin held what appeared to be a simple sword — though it was anything but ordinary.
’Tch. Another brat with delusions of glory,’ a grumpy voice muttered in his head.
Lin Fan stood calmly, wielding a short blade with practiced ease.
His stance was solid, his grip confident — the kind only gained through years of painful training.
From the side of the platform, Disciple Lu raised his hand.
"Are both participants ready?"
Both nodded silently.
"Then... LET THE FIRST MATCH BEGIN!"
A formation ring flared to life around the platform.
And instantly, Mo Lin charged.
"Please go easy on , senior brother!" he shouted with the classic shalessness of a protagonist.
Lin Fan’s eyebrow twitched.
They were practically the sa age.
Still, deciding to play along, he replied calmly, "Very well, young one. Show your strength."
Their swords t mid-air with a dull tallic clink — no sparks, no shockwaves, just raw effort and sweat.
What did you expect?
Neither had cultivated yet. They were still children.
But children trained in the art of pain and persistence.
Mo Lin spun low, sweeping his blade toward Lin Fan’s knees.
Lin Fan leapt back, adjusting his stance, and countered with a forward thrust.
Mo Lin twisted aside and retaliated with a horizontal slash, using the full montum of his turn.
Clink!
Lin Fan blocked it just in ti.
The two exchanged blows in quick succession — slash, dodge, feint, stab — and though their swings lacked true spiritual force, the ferocity behind them kept the watching disciples at the edge of their seats.
In the inner and outer clan grounds, dozens of floating screens zood in and out to capture their movents from every angle.
The disciples watching cheered loudly.
The group chat in the Universal Talisman, of course, exploded.
[MoonPeach]: From my information both are ten? Is this for real???
[FurnaceBoy444]: I was still rolling in dirt at ten, waiting for my awakening.
[MoKi000]: I, Mo Ki, would beat them both.
[FurnaceBoy444]: Elder, please mute Mo Ki, he’s talking about beating children.
To the final comnt, a ssage arrived from the elder arranging the tournant:
[TournantElder]: Disciple Mo Ki, et after the tournant.
[MoKi000]: Sorry, Elder. I’m going into closed-door cultivation.
Back on the platform, sweat dripped from both boys.
Their breathing grew heavier.
Mo Lin’s hands trembled, and even his sword spirit groaned in his head:
’Swing left! No, LEFT—no, your other left!’
Lin Fan gritted his teeth. Every inch of his body ached, but he kept going.
He rembered every hour spent shadowboxing with tree branches.
Every failed technique he repeated until it worked.
Every drop of blood and every bruised knuckle.
This match couldn’t be lost.
Not now.
With a sudden cry, Lin Fan surged forward.
His short sword angled perfectly.
A clean strike.
Mo Lin raised his blade in a last-ditch defense—
CRACK.
Not the sword — just his stance giving out.
He was knocked backward, sliding across the stage on his butt and landing with a soft thud.
Panting, with great effort, he raised his hand.
"I... admit defeat, senior brother."
The arena hushed.
"Winner Disciple Lin Fan," announced Lu, stepping onto the platform.
Polite applause echoed through the formation as Lin Fan stepped forward and extended a hand.
Mo Lin blinked.
Then, with a sheepish grin, he took it and pulled himself up.
"Next ti," he declared, brushing off his robe, "I’ll beat you."
"You’re strong," Lin Fan said, still breathing hard. "Stronger than most. I’ll train harder too."
The audience murmured with approval.
Two geniuses — still just cubs.
But clearly not ordinary.
Already showing signs of camaraderie, Yu Xuan, seated with a serious face, quietly thought to himself, ’Now what do we call the power of friendship between two protagonists...?’
And just like that, the first battle ca to a close.
One winner stood tall.
The other walked away with pride.
And the rest of the disciples... realized this was going to be a tournant to rember.
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