The air around him dropped twenty degrees, the anticipation of violence practically vibrating off his skin.
He was going to take care of that prickling annoyance, Mo Wuchen. And he was going to do it in front of the entire sect.
The tournant had officially begun, and the Celestial Sword Sect was entirely unprepared for the sheer, unapologetic chaos that was about to unfold in the rings
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The Jade Terrace had been transford into a theater of martial supremacy.
Four colossal arenas, paved with obsidian-black spirit-stone and enclosed by shimring, translucent dos of protective Qi, dominated the plaza.
The thousands of disciples who had been eliminated or were waiting their turn filled the elevated spectator stands, their cheers and murmurs blending into a continuous, deafening roar that vibrated in the chest of everyone present.
Lin Ji’an sat on a stone bench near the periter of Ring 1. She had strategically positioned herself in a spot that offered a good view, but more importantly, provided easy access to a snack pouch hidden in her sleeve.
She cracked a roasted lon seed between her teeth, her dark eyes tracking the glowing holographic bracket floating in the sky.
Her na was still glaringly, offensively bright next to Yan Lie’s—candidate #459 vs. Candidate #88.
’I still have ti,’ Ji’an reassured herself, spitting the lon seed shell into a small, biodegradable paper cone she had folded. ’The preliminary matches for the Inner Sect elites are up first. I can sit here, eat my snacks, and study their techniques. Maybe if Yan Lie watches them fight, he’ll get bored and wander off to conquer a neighboring kingdom before it’s my turn to get flattened.’
A resonant gong echoed across the terrace, silencing the crowd.
"The first block of the Phase Two Sparring Bracket shall comnce!" the Head Elder’s voice bood from his levitating platform. "Ring One: Gu Zhiwei versus Senior Brother Wang! Ring Two: Lu Jianheng versus Senior Brother Chen! Ring Three: Wen Shiru versus Senior Brother Zhao! Participants, enter the rings!"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy. The top geniuses of the Inner Sect were all fighting simultaneously. It was an unprecedented visual feast.
In Ring One, Gu Zhiwei practically skipped up the black stone steps.
He wore his immaculate white Direct Disciple robes, his golden hair catching the sunlight, looking less like a warrior entering a sudden-death tournant and more like a puppy being let out into a vast, grassy park.
His opponent, Senior Brother Wang, was a hulking, scarred veteran from Class 2.
Wang wielded a massive, two-handed battleaxe and sneered at the Holy Son. "You might be the Sect’s golden boy, Junior Brother Gu, but in this ring, only raw power matters. Prepare to be humbled!"
Gu Zhiwei stopped ten paces away. He didn’t draw a weapon. He placed his hands together and bowed perfectly, a full ninety degrees.
"Senior Brother Wang! It is an honor to receive your guidance!" Gu Zhiwei bead, his pure, golden Sun Qi already beginning to radiate from his skin like a halo. "Please, I ask that you be lenient with ! And I apologize in advance if I accidentally singe your robes!"
Wang roared, charging forward like a runaway ox, bringing his heavy axe down in a devastating overhead cleave designed to shatter the arena floor.
"Sun-Severing Stance: First Ray of Dawn!" Gu Zhiwei announced helpfully.
He didn’t dodge. Instead, he raised one hand, his palm open. A blinding, concentrated beam of pure, incandescent golden light erupted from his palm.
It wasn’t an attack of blunt force; it was overwhelming, purifying energy. The light hit the descending battleaxe, instantly superheating the heavy iron.
Senior Brother Wang yelped, dropping the weapon as it glowed cherry-red, blistering his palms.
Before Wang could retreat, Gu Zhiwei closed the distance with a terrifying, joyful speed.
"I’m so sorry!" Gu Zhiwei apologized loudly. He placed a hand on Wang’s chest and released a burst of Sun Qi.
It wasn’t a strike. It was a gentle, forceful push of dense energy. Senior Brother Wang was lifted off his feet and carried through the air on a cushion of golden light, sailing gracefully out of the ring and landing softly on his back outside the boundary line.
"Match concluded! Gu Zhiwei advances!" the referee deacon shouted, completely stunned by the sheer lack of violence.
Gu Zhiwei rushed to the edge of the ring, leaning over the ropes. "Senior Brother Wang! Are your hands okay? I have burn salve!"
The defeated senior just stared up at him, utterly bewildered by the fact that he had just been gently, politely evicted from the tournant by a walking sunbeam.
Gu Zhiwei then turned around, his golden eyes scanning the sidelines until he spotted a familiar, gray-robed figure eating lon seeds.
"Brother Lin! Brother Lin! Did you see?" Gu Zhiwei waved frantically with both arms, jumping up and down. "I didn’t hurt him! I controlled the heat perfectly! Just like you taught with the stir-fry!"
Ji’an facepald, sliding down slightly on her stone bench. ’He’s comparing martial arts to tossing tofu. The entire Inner Sect is going to think I’m his weird, culinary master.’
She offered a weak thumbs-up, which only made Gu Zhiwei beam brighter.
While Ring One was a display of overwhelming politeness, Ring Two was a masterclass in aggressive, sharp-tongued disdain.
Lu Jianheng, the Sword Lord, stood in the center of his arena with his arms crossed over his chest.
He hadn’t even bothered to unsheathe his weapon properly. His left hand rested on the scabbard of his legendary blade, Cloud-Piercer.
His opponent, an agile dual-wielding swordsman from Class 3, was panting heavily, circling Lu Jianheng like a cautious predator. The senior had already launched three distinct, high-speed assaults.
Lu Jianheng hadn’t moved his feet once. He had deflected every strike by tilting his scabbard a few inches.
"Is this the extent of Class 3’s sword intent?" Lu Jianheng scoffed, his voice dripping with aristocratic arrogance. His sharp, handso face was set in a permanent scowl.
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