Nuna and Kyle proceeded with the rest of the particulars. The pair checked in at the registration desk, confirming their presence for the next round before deciding to leave the waiting area.
Just as Kyle led Nuna out of the waiting hall to pass the time elsewhere, something caught his eye. He stopped mid-step, his expression subtly shifting.
There, not far from the crowd, stood three figures.
He recognized them instantly.
Their features were far too vivid, too distinct for him to mistake. And what confirmed his suspicion even further—the robes they wore bore the unmistakable crest of the Twilight Sect.
The Storm Twins, daughters of the Storm Family.
Both girls shared identical faces and figures, so much so that they seemed like mirrored reflections of one another. The only visible difference was their hair— the younger twin wore hers short, a dark blue exterior, while the inner strands held a lighter shade of blue; the elder's long locks of the same colour flowed down her back, catching the faint glow of the hall's mana lights.
They were both beautiful. Ethereal, even.So much so that people around them lingered with their eyes a little too long, visibly enchanted by their presence.
But the third figure—the guy beside them—commanded attention for an entirely different reason.
His aura was palpable. Heavy, sharp, and alive.
Kyle felt it the moment he looked his way.
The Sword Saint of Dusk.The protagonist.
Even without the novel's knowledge, anyone could sense his strength. But Kyle knew better—he knew exactly how overpowered this man was supposed to be, how fate itself bent around him in the story.
And he also knew that in a fight, he didn't stand a chance. Not as he was right now.
'Early core formation realm huh. The only department I beat him in, ' Kyle thought dryly, 'is looks. And by a landslide at that.'
The guy was tall and handsome, certainly, but Kyle was on another level entirely.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. 'This is starting to get interesting.'
He didn't approach. His gaze lingered for only a heartbeat longer before he turned away.
"What's wrong, Kyle?" Nuna asked softly. She'd noticed his sudden stillness, his eyes caught on something. Following his gaze, her own fell on the trio.
Her brow creased. 'Wait… is he, perhaps, interested in those two twins?'
She frowned slightly.
"It's nothing," Kyle said, snapping out of his thoughts. He took her hand and started walking again. "Let's go."
Nuna followed, though her thoughts didn't settle so easily. 'It can't be that he was… captivated by them, right?'
Sure, the twins were beautiful, easily on par with her. Sure, Kyle was a perverted bastard when it was just the two of them around, but Kyle wasn't the kind of man to be swayed by appearance alone. No, it had to be something else. Something he wasn't saying. Or so she thought.
She stayed quiet, still pondering, as they made their way back up the spiraling stairs toward their private viewing room.
Sebastian was already waiting when they arrived, ever proper, hands clasped behind his back.
"Young Master. My Lady," he greeted with a polite bow. "I trust that everything went well?"
"Yes," Kyle replied with an easy smile. "Thank you for your hard work, Sebastian. I know it must've been a hassle getting everything sorted with the administrators while we were away. I just… really wanted to see all the matches."
"Nonsense, Young Master," Sebastian said, shaking his head. "I was only doing my duty. If I can't manage even that much, how could I possibly call myself your butler?"
He bowed deeply.
Kyle smiled again, taking his seat beside Nuna. The tension in his shoulders eased as he leaned back, eyes briefly flicking toward the distant arena beyond the glass.
...
The sun had begun its slow descent when the arena erupted with sound. The air thrummed with excitement, banners fluttering as qi lights shimmered above the colossal structure.
At the center of it all stood Annalise, her countenance radiant and commanding, her voice carrying effortlessly across the vast coliseum.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" she called, her tone rising like a crescendo. "Are you ready for the second round?"
The crowd answered with a roar that shook the very air.
She grinned, golden hair catching the dying sunlight. "I can't hear you! Are you ready!?"
A second, even louder wave of cheers rolled through the stands. The ground itself seemed to vibrate with anticipation.
As her voice continued to echo, the arena floor began to tremble. Massive circular platforms—dozens of them—rose slowly from the ground, spreading out across the expanse of the coliseum. Each was wide enough for a duel, encircled by shimmering barriers of protective qi.
"Please welcome," Annalise declared, her voice amplified by qi projection, "the first fighters of Round One!"
Almost a hundred young cultivators appeared, stepping onto fifty or so platforms. Men and women of varying age, temperament, and strength—most bearing the crests and colors of their respective sects—stood poised and ready.
The noise intensified, a thunderous chorus of excitement and speculation.
Then, with a gesture from the overseeing proctors, the fights began.
Blades clashed. Qi flared. Everywhere.
"Azure Flame Strike!" one disciple shouted, hurling a wave of blue fire across his platform.
"Mountain-Crushing Palm!" another roared, the ground beneath him cracking as he lunged forward.
Bursts of light, arcs of energy, and flashes of steel filled the air in a breathtaking dance of motion and color. The crowd screamed and cheered, calling out names and techniques, their voices mingling into chaos.
"Put your money on the Crescent Sect kid—he's using a top-grade technique!"
"You're crazy! Look at that girl's sword aura—she's clearly got him cornered!"
Annalise's lively commentary followed every major clash, her energy infectious."Spectacular use of pressure there! Oh—what a counter! Did you see that, folks?!"
Round after round passed. The battles grew heated, but none yet reached the level of shock or awe the audience secretly craved. The matches ended quickly, efficiently—each winner stepping off the platform with quiet pride.
By the fourth group, a pattern had already begun to form.
"The sect disciples are dominating tonight," Annalise noted aloud, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and approval. "Not that anyone's surprised—training and resources do make a difference."
The audience murmured in agreement, some cheering, others grumbling as their bets were lost.
One group would leave, another would take their place. The rhythm of battle continued into the night, platforms rising and sinking in a seamless flow of combat and spectacle.
Then came the fifth group.
A hush of curiosity passed through the crowd as a petite figure stepped onto one of the platforms—Nuna. Her short blue hair caught the arena lights like strands of sapphire. A long spear rested easily in her grip, the weapon gleaming faintly under the mana glow.
Across from her stood a heavily built swordsman clad in sect robes. The crowd cheered as they took their places, the noise leaning heavily toward Nuna—though for reasons other than skill.
"Lucky me," the swordsman said with a grin, whistling low. "You're quite the beauty, aren't ya. How about we forget the tournament and go have a little fun instead?"
He tilted his head, giving what he must've thought was a charming smile.
Nuna didn't respond. She simply shifted her stance, her gaze sharpening like drawn steel.
"Tch," the man scoffed. "The cold type, huh? Don't worry—I'm not one for hitting women. I'll make this quick."
The proctor hesitated, then raised his hand. "Begin!"
The swordsman moved—
—or tried to.
A wet thud hit the platform.
Gasps erupted. His right arm—severed clean from the shoulder—fell to the ground, still gripping his sword.
For an instant, silence reigned. Then came the scream.
"Ahhhhhhh!" The man's cry tore through the air, echoing as crimson blood sprayed from the wound.
The proctor stumbled back, eyes wide. "M-Match over! Winner—!"
Nuna said nothing. She lowered her spear, turning away. The weapon's blade gleamed clean—untouched by even a drop of blood. Her strike had been so precise that the cut itself seemed unreal, surgical in its perfection.
The crowd exploded into noise—some in awe, others in disbelief.
In the viewing room, Kyle leaned back in his seat, a slow smile forming as he watched the screen. "Well done," he murmured, pride evident in his tone.
Up above, in the private boxes of the major sects, the elders and masters were already murmuring amongst themselves.
"Did you see that? She didn't even channel qi."
"That precision… that control… extraordinary."
"Foundation Establishment realm, and so young," one elder said, eyes gleaming. "This one's a must-have."
Within moments, messages of intent began to ripple through the arena as sects sent their disciples instructions through qi transmission.
Find that girl.Learn her name.Bring her to us.
One strike—one clean, impossible strike—and the entire arena had turned its attention toward her.
Nuna had done little, but it was enough.More than enough.