The air inside the Grand Competition Grounds felt heavier than it had all day. Four intense matches had been stripped on this day. One shocking upset after another had shaken the crowd's confidence in every prediction they thought they understood.
Now, only two competitors remain. Two numbers and two nas. The elder floated above the arena, sleeves drifting like dark smoke in the fading light. When his voice fell, it dropped straight into the heart of every watcher.
"Number One… and Number Five." For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the elder spoke again, his tone cutting the silence cleanly in two.
Aaden Walker and Robert Osborn. The arena erupted instantly.
"Robert? Against Aaden Walker?"
"He is going to die!"
"No way a Level 3 Peak Stage beats a Walker!"
"Aaden is Elder Rain Walker's son—second strongest after Harvey!"
The Walker Clan pavilion rose to their feet, grinning with anticipation.
Aaden Walker stepped forward with the confidence of a man who had never once doubted his place in the world. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. Golden qi swirling subtly across his skin like living threads. Spirit Root Realm — Level 4, Mid-Stage.
A natural prodigy.
His steps echoed with the assurance of a man raised on victory. From the far side, Robert Osborn walked out. Quiet. Straight-backed. No arrogance.
No fear.
He stepped into the arena with the sa calm he carried in every match. His robe fluttered in the wind, and the sunset painted a faint gold line across his cheek. He looked almost serene.
And that irritated Aaden.
"Robert Osborn!" Aaden called out loudly, raising his voice so the entire arena could hear. "Do you know how lucky you are?"
Robert did not answer. Aaden smirked. "You get to lose to soone worth losing to."
The crowd laughed with him. So even clapped.
Robert simply looked at him, eyes steady, expression unreadable.
That only made Aaden louder. "You beat a few Level Four weaklings, and suddenly people think the Osborn Clan is rising?" Aaden spread his arms mockingly. "Let fix that misunderstanding."
The crowd roared with laughter. Robert did nothing. Not a twitch. Not a frown. Just silence. Even those who hated the Osborn Clan felt sothing tighten at the absolute calm in his gaze.
The elder lifted his hand.
"Prepare."
The arena stilled. Aaden rolled his shoulders, golden qi spilling from him in a confident flare. "Show whatever little strength you have."
Robert finally exhaled—slow and light. His qi rose. A pulse of pressure spread outward. Not enormous. But undeniable.
Then BOOM, A wave of energy swept across the arena as Robert let his aura rise freely for the first ti today—Spirit Root Realm—Level 4, Low-Stage.
Gasps shot across the stands. "He was hiding his cultivation?"
"Robert Osborn is Level 4?"
"No wonder he beat the Level 4 fighters earlier!"
The noise swelled like a crashing tide.
"He concealed his aura… How?"
Aaden's smirk twitched—then returned, bigger than before.
"Hah! So this is your true level? Level 4 Low-Stage?" He laughed freely. "I thought you would at least show Level 5 to entertain ."
Robert remained still. Silent. Aaden pointed his sword at him. "Fine. Show if you can survive even three moves."
Robert lowered his stance.
The elder's arm fell.
"Begin."
Aaden launched first—exploding forward with a golden streak, the stone beneath him cracking from the force. His footwork was sharp and aggressive, almost punching through the ground with each step. "Sword Art—Golden Fang Thrust!"
A beam of golden sword qi scread through the air straight toward Robert's chest. Robert did not dodge backward. He stepped forward with his sword.
A small exhale synchronized with his heartbeat. Shadow Step — Breath Sync.
His body shifted—a smooth, natural glide, barely a blur. The golden thrust sliced the air beside him, missing by a narrow breath. "Shadow Step? That is a high-grade movent art!"
"He slipped through the attack like silk!"
Aaden snarled. "Lucky."
He swung again—wide, explosive, a golden arc aiming to break Robert's defense entirely. Robert raised his sword. His wrist rotated. His sword traced a coiling pattern—tight, efficient, like a dragon twisting around a pillar.
Twin Dragon Fang — Coiling Scales Technique. The two attacks collided.
CRACK—Sparks exploded outward in a ring. Aaden's eyes widened—not in fear, not yet, but recognition. That technique was not sothing a weak clan should possess.
"You actually blocked that?"
Robert did not answer.
He stepped in again, his breath aligning with each movent.
Shadow Step for positioning. Coiling Scales for offense. The rhythm of combat wrapped around him like a second skin.
Aaden grinned savagely.
"Fine. Let us see you block this!"
Golden qi erupted from him as he slashed diagonally in a brutal, sweeping arc. "Sword Art—Sun-Splitting Tide!"
The wave of sword qi roared outward, thick and heavy—a technique ant not just to cut but to overwhelm completely. Robert raised his sword, eyes sharpening.
His breath synced with the incoming force—heart steady, lungs filling to the right beat. Step. Shift. Coil. His body flowed like water eting a falling stone. Twin Dragon Fang spiraled up his arm and into the blade.
BOOM-Energy exploded outward. Robert slid back three steps. Aaden slid back one. Gasps rippled through the arena. "Aaden pushed him back!"
"But he blocked it! A Level 4 Low-Stage blocked a Mid-Stage attack!"
Aaden's grin faded slightly.
"You are more annoying than I expected." Robert lowered his stance again. "Co." That single word made the crowd fall silent. Aaden roared and lunged forward, sword blurring into multiple golden trails.
Robert answered every strike with precise angles and tight defensive arcs, using Shadow Step to slip between heavy blows. But Aaden was stronger. Faster. At least at the level Robert showed.
Aaden's sword finally grazed Robert's shoulder, slicing fabric and drawing a streak of blood. The crowd erupted. "He hit him!" "Aaden is too strong!"
"He cannot keep blocking forever!" Aaden's confidence soared.
"Your strength ends here, Osborn!" Robert exhaled softly. A single breath. A single shift. Sothing changed. He stepped forward—not defensive, not evasive.
Direct. His sword rose in a coiling twist—the Twin Dragon Fang, unleashed with real force. Aaden brought his sword up to block-Too slow. Too direct. Too predictable.
CRACK— Aaden's sword arm shook violently, numbness shooting to his elbow. Robert pivoted. Shadow Step carried him behind Aaden. Aaden spun around just in ti to see the next strike coming. A tight, controlled arc—nothing flashy. Just impossibly precise.
The blade tapped Aaden's ribs. Golden qi shattered like glass. Aaden stumbled. "What—?" Robert t his eyes calmly. "You talk too much." The crowd froze.
Aaden roared and swung with everything he had left. Robert's sword moved once. Clean. Sharp. Uncompromising.
BOO OOM— Aaden flew backward, skidding across the arena floor, coughing blood as his sword slipped from his hand. Silence.
Absolute silence.
The entire arena seed to forget how to breathe. Robert Osborn – the boy mocked, doubted, and looked down upon – stood alone at the center of the cracked stage. The elder's voice fell like a hamr.
"Winner—Robert Osborn."
The stands exploded. Not with cheers. With disbelief. "No way—"
"He beat Aaden? A Walker?" "Who is this boy?"
The Walker Clan's pavilion stood in stunned stillness, their smiles gone, their confidence shaken.
Aaden stared up from the ground, eyes wide, pride shattered.
"How… did I lose… to you?"
Robert did not answer.
He simply looked toward the sky, exhaled once, and lowered his sword.
A new path had opened. A new threat had risen. And Celestial Brook City felt the shift.
The elder raised his hand again as the arena trembled from the noise.
The Top Five Battles begins next. The crowd erupted in anticipation.
Only two words echoed through the minds of thousands:
Robert Osborn.
The na changed everything.
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