The training ground stretched wide beneath the pale morning sun, its air thick with the hum of spiritual energy and expectation. Eight children stood in orderly lines, each behind their own guardian duke — the proud pillars of four great houses.
The banners of Montclair, Ashford, Ravenclaw, and Walker fluttered in the breeze, their colors gleaming like jewels against the stone arena. The children, all no older than eight, wore the expressions of those too young to understand the full weight of the names they bore, yet old enough to feel the pride that came with them.
They measured one another with guarded glances, a quiet spark of competition glinting in their eyes. These were not ordinary children — each was at least a cultivator of the 2nd or 3rd Qi stage. All except one.
Ray Walker, son of Duke Robert Walker, was the only newly awakened cultivator among them. He stood a little apart, his gaze sweeping over the others with a hint of amusement. So these are my opponents? They don't seem that strong.
Robert noticed that look and sighed, raising a hand. With a light chop to Ray's head, he said evenly, "Don't get overconfident, boy. They might look weak to you, but never underestimate the quiet ones. A true warrior hides his fangs."
Ray rubbed the back of his head with a pout, but Robert's tone grew serious as he continued.
"The Montclair family are alchemists," he said, his eyes flicking toward Duke Leonardo's grandchildren—Atlas, Benjamin, and Katherine—who stood tall and proud. "They can use pill bombs or poison pills. Watch out for them."
Then he pointed subtly toward the Ashford brothers, Cole and Carter. "The Ashford's rely on talismans—paper charms that can explode or bind, sometimes both. They can be unpredictable, so never take your eyes off them."
Finally, his gaze shifted toward the pair from the Ravenclaw family—Cedric and Rowena. "And those two... Ravenclaws are mages, Ray. Their family's library is filled with generations of ancient spell craft. Range fighters, clever and dangerous."
Robert's expression softened, but his voice carried a warning weight. "So watch and learn. Even if they look weak in your eyes, each of them is a genius who can fight above their level. Be cautious. Fight smart."
Ray's earlier confidence cooled into sharp attentiveness. His shoulders straightened, and his eyes hardened with resolve. Around him, the other dukes were whispering similar words of guidance to their own bloodlines, each preparing their children for the battles ahead.
The first match was called: Ray Walker versus Carter Ashford.
The referee strode forward, his robes fluttering slightly as he raised his hand. "Begin!"
Ray took his stance immediately, ready to engage head-on—but Carter had already pulled out a thin slip of talisman paper, his hand trembling slightly as he began to draw glowing symbols upon it. The strokes of spiritual ink shimmered faintly in the air.
Ray watched, bemused, as the younger Ashford worked feverishly. "A second Qi stage talisman bomb," he murmured under his breath, a chuckle escaping him. "That's going to take a while…"
As Carter focused intently, the audience began to murmur. Ray's gaze wandered toward his father, who was watching calmly, and then toward Duke Edward Ashford—whose face was gradually turning from pride to disbelief. When Edward saw Ray quietly observing instead of attacking, he groaned and smacked his own forehead.
Then, to everyone's astonishment, Ray stepped forward—calmly—stood beside Carter, and said, "You're making the wrong curve there. If you twist the rune like this, it'll stabilize faster."
Carter blinked in confusion, then followed the correction. Within moments, the talisman glowed brilliantly, complete. His eyes lit up. "It worked! Thank you—!"
He froze mid-sentence, realizing belatedly where he was: in a battle.
Before Carter could even activate his talisman, Ray simply lifted a finger, tapping it gently against Carter's forehead. A small arc of lightning danced from his fingertip, humming softly with restrained energy.
"I surrender!" Carter blurted, hands shooting up.
The referee nodded. "Winner—Ray Walker!"
From the Ashford side of the stands came Duke Edward's exasperated voice: "Why didn't you just punch him, you fool?!"
The crowd chuckled, and a few of the dukes exchanged knowing smiles. Duke Leonardo Montclair, however, frowned thoughtfully. He turned to his grandchildren and said in a low voice, "Creating pills mid-battle is no longer practical. If they can't use premade pills, they'll be crippled. We'll need to change that rule."
He looked toward the other dukes and called out, "I propose allowing the use of premade pills and talismans. Otherwise, you're cutting off our family's strength."
Duke Edward Ashford nodded in agreement. "I second that."
Duke Robert Walker, arms folded, considered briefly before shrugging. "Fine. But we'll limit their power—nothing more than two levels above the lowest cultivator in a match."
The dukes murmured their assent, the new rule quickly settled.
Ray stood off to the side, cleaning the dust off his sleeve, his father's caution echoing in his mind. He was skilled in sword, formation, and talisman techniques—but even he knew that one moment of recklessness could cost him dearly.
Robert's gaze lingered on him with quiet concern. "Stay sharp, Ray. Be prepared for anything."
The tournament advanced swiftly. Four families, four semifinalists.
From the Ashford's—Cole.
From the Ravenclaws—Rowena.
From the Montclair's—Atlas, the eldest of the eight, nearly eight and a half years old and already a half-step ahead in cultivation.
And from the Walkers—Ray.
The next match drew an excited murmur from the crowd: Ray Walker versus Rowena Ravenclaw.
Rowena stepped forward with poise, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. The faint aura of fire Qi shimmered around her like a flickering veil. Despite her youth, her eyes burned with determination.
"I heard you can use lightning runes," she said, voice calm but edged with excitement. "I wield fire. Let's have a range-fight showdown—see if I can defeat you."
Ray smiled faintly, unsheathing a small talisman brush and rune paper. "It would be my pleasure. Please, protect yourself."
The referee raised his arm. "Ready!"
Both nodded.
"Fight!"
In an instant, the air trembled. Sparks of lightning began to coil around Ray's hand as he drew glowing runes with astonishing speed, while Rowena's palms ignited with swirling fire, the scent of scorched air filling the arena. Neither spoke—they simply moved, focused, and intent.
The crowd fell silent as two elements—fire and lightning—clashed in the charged air, promising a storm of brilliance and destruction to come.