The referee stared at the unconscious bulk of the Iron Hoof, then at the slender figure in black robes standing over him. It took a full five seconds for his brain to catch up with reality.
"W-Winner... SAGE!"
The announcement was met with a stunned hush, followed immediately by a wave of confused murmuring. There was no cheer.
The fight had been too fast, too confusing. A Plant Spirit master who didn't summon a single leaf? A Soul Elder who defeated a Level 38 Power Attack System expert with a… chop?
Arthev ignored the crowd. He turned his wrist, ensuring the impact hadn't bruised his hand. It hadn't. The soul power of the Tailed Beasts, even when dormant, reinforced his skin to be harder than iron.
Shukaku laughed. 'Hah. Look at him twitch. Weak. That was not even a warm-up. You should have crushed his skull, brat.'
Isobu's voice followed, lower and cautious. 'Please. Let us not draw too much attention. That was efficient, Arthev. But efficiency draws eyes.'
Arthev walked toward the registration desk near the tunnel entrance, his expression hidden behind the ripple-patterned porcelain mask. He approached the stunned receptionist.
"My winnings," he said, his voice distorted slightly by the mask.
She blinked, snapping out of her daze. "Oh. R-Right. The odds were 1 to 5 against you. You… you made quite a profit for the house, actually. Most people bet on the Iron Hoof."
She handed over a heavy pouch of gold soul coins. Arthev weighed it in his hand. It was enough for a week at an inn, but nowhere near enough to bribe his way into the Restricted Section of the Imperial Archives.
"Put it all on the next match," Arthev said, tossing the pouch back onto the counter. "Bet on Sage."
The receptionist stared at him. "You're fighting again? Immediately?"
"I'm not tired," Arthev said coldly. "And tell the matchmaker to hurry up. I have places to be."
One Hour Later. Sub-Arena 4.
The crowd had grown. Word was spreading about the weird kid in the Iron Bracket.
"Match Number 2 for the newcomer!" the announcer boomed, trying to inject excitement into the confused audience.
"He claims to be a Plant Spirit, but he hits like a Warhammer! Can he survive the speed of... THE WIND WALKER!"
Arthev stood in the ring again. His opponent was a wiry man holding two daggers, three rings ,Yellow, Yellow, Purple oscillating around him. Agility System. Level 36.
Matatabi spoke with calm precision. 'Analysis indicates he will rely on speed to flank you. His muscle tension suggests a feint to the left before striking your right kidney. Do be careful, Arthev.'
"Begin!"
The Wind Walker vanished, or rather, moved fast enough to leave afterimages. He circled Arthev, creating a vortex of wind blades.
"Too slow!" the opponent shouted, slashing at Arthev's exposed back.
Arthev didn't activate his Shinragan. He didn't need to. The sensory perception granted by the Beasts was a 360-degree radar. To him, the fast opponent was moving through molasses.
Arthev didn't turn around. He simply shifted his weight, taking a half-step to the left.
Whoosh.
The dagger sliced empty air, missing Arthev's ribs by a millimeter.
"Lucky dodge!" the Wind Walker hissed, pivoting for a follow-up strike.
Arthev swayed again. A duck. A pivot. A tilt of the head. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, dodging a flurry of twelve strikes without moving his feet from the center circle.
The crowd began to roar, not with bloodlust, but with frustration. They wanted to see the "Tree Spirit," but they were watching a ghost.
"Stop mocking me!" The Wind Walker screamed, activating his third ring. "Wind Kill Formation!"
He lunged, his daggers glowing with lethal green light.
Arthev sighed. Boring.
He unclasped his hands. As the dagger approached his throat, Arthev raised two fingers.
CLANG.
The arena went silent again.
Arthev had caught the Spirit-infused blade between his index and middle finger. The kinetic energy dispersed harmlessly.
"Impossible..." the Wind Walker gasped, trying to pull the weapon free. It was stuck fast, as if clamped in a vice.
"Your footing is terrible," Arthev stated flatly.
He swept the man's legs with a low kick and released the dagger. The Agility Master tumbled through the air, crashing into the arena wall with a sickening thud.
"Winner... SAGE!"
Arthev looked up at the VIP box again. The dark glass revealed nothing, but he could feel the gaze intensifying.
Two down. Three to go.
-----
Two Hours Later. Match 5.
Arthev had cleared the third and fourth matches with the same monotonous efficiency. A defensive turtle spirit user was flipped onto his back and kicked out of the ring. A spear user had his weapon caught and snapped in half.
Arthev hadn't used a single Soul Skill. The crowd was starting to call him a fraud, not because he was weak, but because his registration as an Elemental Tree seemed like a lie.
"This is the final match of the block!" the announcer shouted, sweating profusely. "The house is tired of losing money! We've brought in a Gatekeeper!"
The gate opened, and a wave of heat rolled into the arena.
"Level 39 Control System! The Burning Bind! LIE HUO!"
A man with red hair walked out, vines made of smoldering magma coiling around his arms. The heat distorted the air around him.
Isobu's voice tightened. 'Fire… I do not like fire. But it is weak against my water.'
Shukaku snapped back immediately. 'No water. Use the sand. Bury him.'
Arthev narrowed his eyes behind the mask. Fire was the natural counter to Plant spirits. If he won this with just punches, it would be suspicious.
"Begin!"
Lie Huo didn't hesitate. "Third Soul Skill: Magma Bramble Cage!"
He slammed his hands onto the ground. The floor cracked, and flaming vines erupted from beneath Arthev's feet, rushing upward to incinerate him. The area of effect was massive, there was nowhere to dodge.
For the first time, Arthev didn't move to strike. He stood still as the fire enclosed him.
"Burn," Lie Huo sneered.
The flames swallowed Arthev. The crowd cheered, finally, the arrogance of the Sage would be punished.
But then, the fire stopped moving.
A low, grinding sound echoed through the arena.
"First Soul Skill," Arthev's voice cut through the roaring flames, calm and detached.
A purple light shone through the fire. In reality, it was the Red Ring of Shukaku, disguised by the Divine Tree's aura.
"Elemental Root: Desert Funeral."
BOOM.
The stone floor of the arena didn't just crack, it disintegrated. The very matter of the stage was ground down instantly into fine, ultra-dense sand.
The flaming vines lunged at Arthev, but before they could touch his robes, a wall of sand rose up. It swirled around him, suffocating the flames instantly. The sand wasn't just dirt, it was heavy, magnetic, and alive.
"What?" Lie Huo's eyes widened. "Sand?You said you were a Tree Spirit!"
"Trees grow in the earth," Arthev said, stepping through the dying flames. The sand floated around him like a protective nebula. "My roots grind the stone to dust."
He extended a hand. The sand exploded outward, rushing toward Lie Huo like a tsunami. The fire user tried to erect a shield of magma vines, but the sand bypassed them, swarming around his body like living insects.
It wrapped around his legs, his waist, his chest. It lifted him into the air, completely immobilized.
Arthev clenched his fist.
The sand tightened.
"I yield! I YIELD!" Lie Huo screamed as he felt his ribs creaking under the pressure of several tons.
Arthev relaxed his hand. The sand lost its cohesion and fell like rain, leaving the terrified Level 39 Soul Master gasping for air on the ruined stage.
"Winner... SAGE!"
Arthev dismissed the sand, allowing it to settle into a pile. He looked up at Suite 1. This time, he didn't just look, he gave a slight, mocking nod.
Five matches. Done.
------
The Contestant Tunnel.
Arthev walked through the dimly light corridor, counting his winnings. The odds had dropped significantly, but he had still made enough to buy a small house in the outer district.
He sensed the presence before he saw it.
He stopped.
Blocking his path was a man, massive, silent, with the pressure of a mountain. A Soul Douluo. It was the guard from the VIP box.
"You have made quite a mess of the arena floor," the guard said, his voice deep and gravelly.
"I wasn't aware cleaning was part of the winner's duties," Arthev replied, his tone even. He didn't back down, though his muscles tensed.
"It isn't," the guard said. He stepped aside, gesturing to a side door that led to the VIP elevators. "My master wishes to speak with you."
"I'm a busy man," Arthev said. "Does your master pay for time?"
"He pays for talent. And he pays very well."
Arthev paused for a moment, as if considering whether it was worth his time. Internally, he let out a breath. Phase one complete.
"Lead the way."
-------
VIP Suite 1.
The room smelled of expensive incense and tea. It was a stark contrast to the sweat and blood of the arena below.
Crown Prince Xue Qinghe stood by the window, his back to the door. As Arthev entered, the Prince turned slowly. His golden eyes were warm, welcoming, yet they possessed a weight that made normal men kneel.
Arthev didn't kneel. He stood straight, his masked face unreadable.
"Sage," Xue Qinghe said, testing the name on his tongue. "A bold name for one so young."
"Wisdom isn't tied to age, Your Highness," Arthev replied.
Xue Qinghe smiled, walking over to a seating area. He gestured for Arthev to sit, but Arthev remained standing.
"Direct. I like that," Xue Qinghe said, unbothered.
"I watched your matches. Physical strength that rivals a Dragon Spirit. Sand manipulation that suffocates Fire. And you claim this comes from an Elemental Tree?"
"The world is vast," Arthev said vaguely. "Spirits mutate."
"They do," Xue Qinghe agreed, his eyes narrowing slightly, analyzing.
"You are an anomaly, Sage. You fight with the efficiency of a killer, yet you are here, brawling for coins in a pit."
The Prince took a step closer. The air in the room grew heavier, not with soul pressure, but with political weight.
"The Heaven Dou Imperial Academy is looking for students for the upcoming Continental Tournament. I can offer you a place. Resources. Status. Gold."
"I have gold," Arthev said, tapping the pouch at his waist. "And I don't care for academies."
"Everyone wants something," Xue Qinghe said softy.
"You didn't look up at my booth five times because you enjoy the architecture. You wanted my attention. You have it."
Arthev fell silent for a moment. He had to play this carefully. If he asked for too much, he was suspicious. If he asked for too little, he was useless.
"I need access," Arthev said.
"To?"
"The Imperial Library. The Restricted Section. Historical Archives."
Xue Qinghe raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Scholarly pursuits? For a mercenary?"
"I am looking for... information," Arthev said, his voice dropping an octave, letting a sliver of his real grief bleed into the persona. "Information that cannot be found on the streets."
Xue Qinghe studied him. For a brief second, the mask of the benevolent Prince slipped, revealing the calculating tactician underneath.
"The Archives are reserved for high-ranking nobles and Royal Family members," Xue Qinghe said. "However... exceptions can be made. For those who prove their loyalty."
"I am not a dog to be leashed, Your Highness," Arthev warned.
"No," Xue Qinghe smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "A dog would be useless to me. I need a wolf."
Xue Qinghe walked to the table and picked up a golden token. He held it up, the light glinting off the royal crest.
"Join the Academy's second team. Prove that you are the best among them. If you can dominate the Royal Team... I will give you the key to the Library myself."
Arthev looked at the token. It was the bait. But it was also the key.
He reached out and took the token.
"Done," Arthev said.
"Good," Xue Qinghe said, his smile widening.
"Welcome to Heaven Dou, Sage. Try not to break any of the other students. They are... fragile."
To be continued.....