The Grey Shadow Hall elder lifted his hand.
The jade slips in his other palm glowed faintly as he spoke the fated words:
"Number Six… and Number Eight."
A ripple spread across the arena.
Then the nas echoed like thunder through the stands:
"Drake Walker!"
"Essie Osborn!"
The crowd erupted instantly—cheers and gasps blending into a single roaring wave.
"Walker Clan in the first match in the top 10!"
"Finally!"
"But wait—Essie Osborn… She is the one who defeated a Brown and a Clark earlier, right?"
"She is Spirit Root Level four—Peak Stage!"
"Drake is only level three Peak-stage!"
"But he is Walker Clan… They always have hidden trump cards!"
A storm of excitent filled every corner of the Grand Competition Grounds.
On the Walker side, Harvey and Aaden grinned confidently.
"Drake will finish this quickly," Harvey said, arms crossed.
But the Osborn Pavilion remained calm. John Osborn only whispered:
"…Essie, do not hesitate."
Essie stepped forward, her steps light but her presence sharp.
Drake rolled his shoulders back, qi flaring around him like faint gold smoke.
The two opponents reached the center stage.
The platform humd under the elder's reinforcing qi.
Drake smirked first.
"Well, Osborn girl… You are unlucky. I did not plan to lose today."
Essie's expression didn't flicker.
"You can try."
The elder flicked his sleeves.
"Begin."
Drake shot forward first—like a released arrow.
His Golden Step Art cracked the air as he moved, each footfall leaving a shimring after-image.
Essie did not move.
For a heartbeat, she simply watched.
Drake's fist glowed with compressed qi, swirling like heated tal.
He slamd it downward with a shout:
"Crushing Sun Fist!"
The stage buckled beneath the blow.
But Essie was not there.
Her body glided backward with unnatural grace, her movent silent like drifting petals.
The crowd gasped.
"That movent—!"
"It is too smooth!"
"Is that… a high-grade movent skill?"
Drake's eyes narrowed.
"Tch… not bad."
Essie's voice was calm.
"You will need more than that."
Her sword slid free—its edge reflecting the dying evening light, its qi humming like a quiet storm.
The shift in atmosphere was instant.
The spectators leaned forward.
Even the Walker Clan elders stiffened slightly.
Drake clicked his tongue.
"So you are serious from the start?"
Essie did not answer. She stepped once, the stage cracking under her foot.
Movent Skill: Drifting Leaf Shift. Her figure blurred.
Not disappearing, no.
Shifting, like a leaf caught in the wind, unpredictable yet natural.
Drake swung again, a broad arc of golden qi slicing across the field.
Essie was not there.
She was beside him.
Then behind him.
Then—right in front of him.
Her blade flashed.
Drake barely raised his arms, qi flooding into them.
CLANG!
The impact rang like a struck bell.
Drake staggered two steps back, eyes widening.
"She is strong—stronger than she looks!"
Essie did not stop.
A flurry of blows burst across the platform.
Essie's sword created thin arcs of silver qi that rippled like water, each one precise, controlled, and terrifyingly fast.
Drake countered with raw strength.
Every punch shakes the stage.
Every step cracked stone.
Golden qi erupted from his body—blazing like a miniature sun.
"Don't get proud!" He roared.
He swept his leg sideways, golden energy forming a crescent slash.
Essie drifted upward, body spiraling like a leaf riding a whirlwind.
Spectators shouted:
"That movent is unreal!"
"She is dancing around him!"
"Essie is reading his steps!"
Even John Osborn stared intently.
Robert, watching quietly, felt his heartbeat steady.
She has grown stronger than I realized…
Drake roared, veins flooding with qi.
Golden pillars erupted beneath him.
"Walker Art—Radiant Fortress Break!"
A do of golden light expanded outward—like a sun exploding.
The crowd cheered.
"That is Drake's strongest early-stage technique!"
"He used it to crush three opponents in the preliminaries!"
The golden do surged toward Essie, swallowing space.
But her eyes did not waver.
She lifted her sword with both hands.
Her qi condensed along the blade—no extra flare, no wasted energy.
A pure, razor-sharp presence ford at its edge.
The wind stilled.
Air tightened.
Even the elder raised a brow.
Essie whispered:
"Sword Skill—Four-Direction Cleave."
She slashed.
Four lines of sword light burst outward—north, south, east, and west.
Not massive.
Not overwhelming.
But impossibly sharp.
They tore the golden do apart like fragile silk.
A thunderous crack followed as Drake's technique collapsed.
Gasps erupted from every corner of the arena.
"She cut through it—!?"
"That was Drake's strongest defensive attack!"
"Essie Osborn… is a monster!"
Drake staggered, stunned.
"She… Broke it…?"
He looked up—
And Essie was already in front of him.
Drake summoned everything he had, golden qi bursting from his body in a violent wave.
He roared and threw a full-strength punch directly at her heart.
Essie stepped sideways—Drifting Leaf Shift.
Her blade moved in a clean, unbroken arc.
No hesitation.
No rcy.
A single slash.
CLANG-SHIRRING—!
Drake's gauntlet split open.
A thin red line appeared across his chest.
His golden qi shattered like broken glass.
His knees buckled.
He fell.
Silence.
Then—
BOOOOOOM!
The crowd exploded.
"OSBORN CLAN WINS THE FIRST MATCH!"
"She defeated a Walker!"
"Spirit Root level 4 Peak Stage vs level 3 Peak Stage—she proved the difference!"
"Unbelievable!"
"Amazing!"
The Osborn section was stunned and silent for several seconds.
Then John Osborn exhaled shakily.
Robert's eyes softened—just slightly.
Good. Sister… you fought perfectly.
The elder raised his voice over the cheering:
"Winner of the first Top Ten match—Essie Osborn!"
Essie breathed out and sheathed her sword calmly.
Her steps were steady.
Her composure unbroken.
If soone had not witnessed the battle with their own eyes, they would never believe she had just cut down a Walker genius.
Drake lay on the stage, defeated but conscious, staring at the sky with disbelief.
"…How… did I lose… to an Osborn…?"
The crowd continued cheering Essie's na—sothing no one in Celestial Brook City had expected to hear.
The Osborn Clan had won the first battle.
And the competition had been thrown into chaos.
"For the second match…"
He paused, letting tension coil through the air.
"Number Four… and Number Nine."
A ripple of shock moved through the stands.
Max Brooks slowly stepped forward—face tight, shoulders stiff.
Across the arena, Essie had barely finished leaving the stage when Conner Brown rose, gripping his spirit staff with trembling fingers.
The crowd leaned in, breaths held.
A skilled Brook versus a desperate Brown.
One would rise.
One would fall.
The elder lifted his arm.
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