I awoke from my bed and began to circulate my qi, attempting to gather as many qi wisps as possible before the tournament. The faint glow of spiritual energy shimmered across my skin, rising and falling like mist as it entered my meridians.
A lot was riding on this tournament. While yes, the benefits given by the sect were very eye-catching, my clan had also promised me rewards.
If I won, I no longer needed to reside in this backwater sect. I could finally return to my family, stand amongst the powerhouses, and join the Warriors.
I had been very upset being sent here, but the materials I'd gained were generous, and I am not one to bite the hand that feeds me. I would give them their benefits… when I win.
I smirked unconsciously as the door to my room creaked open.
I opened my eyes instinctively, qi halting in its flow. The faint lantern light spilled into the room, and a shadow stretched across the wooden floor.
It was my instructor.
"Yes?" I asked without turning to face him, though irritation crept into my voice. Every minute before the tournament mattered, and yet here he was.
"Kekeke… I have a plan and need your help…" he hissed, his snake-like tongue practically lacing each word with venom.
I never did like the awful personality this man had, but I tolerated him.
"Let's hear it," I muttered, finally opening my eyes.
He leaned forward and explained that I should arrive with one of my teammates to preemptively take out a rival from another team.
I shrugged, my disinterest clear. Shady tactics such as these only stained one's name, but then he revealed something that made my eyes linger.
"If you do this for me, you can have this…" he said, pulling a manual from within his robes.
The firelight flickered across its cover. The words "Consecutive Wave Palm" glimmered faintly in gold ink.
A palm technique.
I hesitated. Should I truly lower my standards for a simple technique? Surely, once I returned to my clan, I would be granted dozens more powerful than this.
But then he leaned closer, eyes narrowing like a viper about to strike.
"Ah… I've heard a piece of interesting news. One of their disciples has become the fastest to reach the Qi Refining stage." His smirk twisted.
My eyes widened at the statement. I wasn't far from the breakthrough myself, but to be beaten in this backwater sect?
"Is this the target?" I asked, my tone calm but the weight in my voice betraying me.
"No. She is too close to their instructor, you'd be beaten senseless. But the disciple we've chosen? We have the elder's approval!" He chuckled darkly.
The word elder froze me for a moment. To have approval from above meant this wasn't just petty scheming, there were layers to this.
I sighed, disappointed at the target, yet I agreed.
If I was to climb higher, I needed to take every opportunity. Furthermore, this would weaken the field early.
"Fine. I'll do it."
That night, I donned the garb of a second-rate assassin. The fabric was scratchy, reeking faintly of old leather and sweat. My partner's expression showed he shared my distaste. These clothes looked more like rags than disguise.
If we were truly to be sneaky cowards, why not acquire a proper spirit treasure of stealth?
I thought bitterly of my instructor. Peak of Qi Refining at twenty-five… his poor background explained much.
The deed was swift. A shadowed corridor, the muffled grunt of impact, the dull crack of flesh meeting wood. Zhao Xuan collapsed beneath our blows, his body folding like paper. The sound of his ragged breathing followed me long after we left him there.
I smiled later as I heard the crowd cheer, mocking him as a coward for failing to appear. Their roars washed over the arena like a tide.
But then, impossibly, he appeared. Limping. Bandaged. His body trembling as though it might collapse at any moment.
Yet the light in his eyes… sharp, unyielding, like the edge of a blade at one's throat.
My smile faltered.
Not only did he face two disciples stronger than him, but he even forced them back? His strikes rang out like thunder, each swing carrying impossible weight.
Could I have endured those simultaneous attacks as he did?
The thought clawed at my chest before I shook it away. Dangerous thinking. Heart demons lay down that path.
Still, I could only watch as he clawed victory from the jaws of defeat. He was broken, yes, but he had won.
I sighed with relief, only to feel shame burn through me.
I had stooped to cowardice, failed my task, and even felt grateful not to face him?
What had become of me?
The crowd roared again, and this time my name rose above the noise.
I straightened, a sense of duty hardening my resolve. This backwater sect would not shame me.
One by one, my opponents stepped forward. The announcer's voice boomed across the arena:
"It appears Dang Wong has taken his stance as well!"
The arena floor rumbled with excitement as we locked eyes.
Now that all three disciples took their positions, it was on.
Chen Long eyed the two of them cautiously. He had seen the last match, had seen alliances form in an instant. But to his surprise, the two immediately clashed with one another, fists and palms colliding without even sparing him a glance.
His frown deepened. So they think I'm not even worth taking out first?
He roared and charged forward, sword flashing. His blade carved arcs through the air as he barreled toward the brawling pair.
Dang Wong spotted him and stepped back, creating distance, while Wang Lee smirked, eager to accept the challenge.
That smirk shattered almost instantly.
Chen Long's strike came down like an avalanche! Each swing was heavy, like cement blocks chained to his sword. The sheer weight behind it rattled Wang Lee's bones.
"Gah!" Wang Lee let out as he struggled.
Sweat erupted across Wang Lee's brow as he raised his arms to defend.
His metal bracers rang out as steel met steel, sparks crackling from the impact. But instead of bruises, sharp pain bloomed across his palms, the force biting through the bracers as if they weren't even there. His skin split under the pressure.
Chen Long pressed harder, blade grinding against Wang Lee's guard, the strain bending his knees toward the arena floor.
But before he could overwhelm him, a sudden palm strike slammed into Chen Long's ribs. The impact reverberated like thunder, forcing him to stumble back a few steps, his grip tightening on his sword.
Dang Wong lowered his hand, eyes glinting.
Wang Lee exhaled, relief flashing across his face as he looked at Dang Wong, only for gratitude to curdle into anger.
Dang Wong's lips curled into a faint chuckle as he stepped in with another palm strike, this one aimed directly at Wang Lee.
We aren't on the same team, brother.
Wang Lee quickly attempted to change the position in which he defended, but Dang Wong was too fast!
Dang Wong managed to land a decisive blow which caused the novice Wang Lee to hunch forward in an attempt to hold his stomach, a fatal mistake.
Dang Wong's expression turned to one of excitement and utilized this opportunity to the fullest.
Dang Wong landed a combo of strikes onto Wang Lee, slapping his palm in to his now exposed chin, throwing Wang Lee into the air.
Wang Lee coughed up blood as he couldn't do anything at all!
Dang Wong then spun his body and landed a devastating kick to the falling Wang Lee's head, crushing him into the concrete arena floor!
A sickening crunch was heard and the spectators looked on with fervent expressions.
"YEAH!! DANG WONG!" They cheered.
Wujin Ji looked on as he shook his head. Only now did it cement to him he was in a different world. When a man's head was destroyed, the onlookers only cheered.
"We have a death!" An announcer said and an inner sect disciple carried the corpse off the arena.
Elder Hang looked on without a hint of remorse. "It seems my team had such an untrained useless disciple."
Elder Fu smirked. "It seems so." He agreed, nodding.
"This is why I told them not to pick up people from the local villages, they have been disappointments in the recent years." Elder Dong said as he shrugged his shoulders at the sight.
"This is interesting though, that fellow seems to have strong sword attacks, and the other a swift palm. Who will be the victor?" Elder Hang speculated.
"Well, I don't believe the technique that the disciple from my team is using will be able to last for very long.." Elder Fu said as he looked at Chen Long's grip on his sword.
"That leaves us two.." Dang Wong" said as he began to approach Chen Long, flicking the blood off of his hand.
Chen Long was still attempting to recuperate from the palm strike from before.
"His hands have surprisingly terrifying power behind them, but I'm no push over either." Chen Long thought, breathing heavily.
"Soon, it will be one!" Chen Long said, pointing his sword at Dang Wong and charged at him!
Chen Long roared as he closed the gap, his sword flashing in an arc of silver light. The air itself seemed to crack beneath the force of his swing, and the crowd gasped as the ground split in its wake.
Dang Wong's eyes sharpened. His body twisted, palm lashing out like a serpent striking from the shadows. Bang! The clash of palm against steel sent a ripple through the arena, the shockwave stirring the robes of the elders above.
Chen Long gritted his teeth, both arms straining against the resistance. His veins bulged, his grip white-knuckled, as if the sword itself were an extension of his bones.
"You won't stop me with a trick like that!" he barked, pushing forward with all his weight.
Dang Wong laughed coldly, pivoting on his heel. His other palm slammed forward, this time into Chen Long's exposed wrist. The sword trembled, the edge wavering for a fraction of a second.
That was all he needed.
Crack! Chen Long's sword was deflected aside, and Dang Wong's palm surged toward his chest like a hammer.
But Chen Long's instincts saved him. He leaned back, letting the strike graze his ribs, though the impact still sent him stumbling, blood spurting from his mouth. His eyes blazed with fury as he steadied himself.
"I underestimated you…" Chen Long spat, wiping his chin. "But your stamina won't last."
He slammed the tip of his sword into the stone floor. Spiritual energy burst from the blade, cracks spreading like a spider's web.
Then, with a sharp pull, he wrenched it free, a gust of qi erupting outward like a storm.
Dang Wong's smirk faltered for the first time.
The sword howled through the air, no longer sluggish and heavy but swift—each strike fueled by raw qi, the weight of mountains compressed into flashes of steel. Chen Long's attacks came faster, faster still, forcing Dang Wong to retreat step by step.
The crowd erupted in cheers, some shouting Dang Wong's name, others roaring for Chen Long, the arena alive with bloodlust.
Dang Wong narrowed his eyes, his palms striking in blurs. Each slap of flesh against steel echoed like thunder, sparks bursting as qi clashed against qi.
But Chen Long pressed forward. One strike nearly cleaved through Dang Wong's shoulder; another tore a gash across his thigh, crimson spraying onto the arena floor.
"Argh!" Dang Wong staggered, fury twisting his face. He raised both palms, channeling his qi until they glowed faintly gold.
"Consecutive Wave Palm!" he roared, slamming forward in a flurry of strikes.
The crowd gasped as his hands blurred, dozens of palm shadows overlapping into a tidal wave of force.
Chen Long met it head-on, sword raised high, qi roaring like a storm within him.
Steel and flesh collided in a cataclysmic explosion, a shockwave blasting dust and stone into the air.
For a moment, the fighters were silhouettes in the haze, locked in a deadly struggle—one with unyielding strength, the other with relentless speed.
The haze from the clash hung heavy in the arena, dust and broken stone swirling through the air. For a heartbeat, the crowd held its breath.
Then, crack!
Chen Long was sent flying, his body smashing into the stone wall at the arena's edge.
The impact shook the stands, spiderweb fractures crawling across the barrier. Blood sprayed from his lips as he crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering out of reach.
Gasps erupted. Some disciples leapt to their feet, others shouted in disbelief.
"Impossible! Chen Long was overwhelming him!"
"What kind of palm strike was that?!"
"That wasn't just brute force, there was a technique behind it!"
The dust cleared, and Dang Wong stood tall in the center of the arena. His chest heaved, blood staining his robes, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. He slowly lowered his hand, flicking Chen Long's blood from his palm.
"Consecutive Wave Palm…" Elder Hang's voice was low, but it carried across to the other elders. His expression was unreadable.
Elder Dong's brows furrowed. "That's our sect's technique, where would this disciple get the technique?"
Elder Fu leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Dang Wong's posture, the aftershocks of qi still rippling faintly through the air.
"Not just the technique. He has control. That kind of refinement doesn't come from just having some parts of it."
The murmurs of politics stirred like wind through leaves. Elder Hang's lip curled, but he said nothing, though his knuckles whitened against the armrest of his seat. Elder Fu's smirk deepened.
Down in the arena, Chen Long coughed violently, trying to rise. His arm trembled as he pressed against the ground, blood dripping steadily from his mouth. His eyes, though dimmed with exhaustion, still burned with unwillingness.
"Enough," Elder Fu finally said, standing with a wave of his sleeve.
His qi swept down like a breeze, gently lifting Chen Long's battered body from the ground. The crowd erupted again at the show of power, some cheering, others whispering in awe.
"This one still has life." Elder Fu said calmly. "Send him to the Healing Pavilion."
Two inner sect disciples rushed forward, catching Chen Long as he was carried past the barrier. His body was limp, but his chest still rose and fell.
"Dang Wong wins!" The announcer's voice boomed, and the crowd's cheers shook the arena to its foundations.
Dang Wong raised his chin slightly, his expression cold as he turned to leave the battlefield. His palms still tingled from the strike, his body bruised and bleeding, but he had won.
Above, the elders whispered among themselves, questions swirling:
How did Dang Wong acquire that technique?
Who gave him permission to use it?
Dang Wong however didn't know that his instructor hadn't gotten permission for him to use such a technique and trusted in him.
Wujin Ji looked at Dang Wong and shook his head.
"I hadn't expected them to be using actual techniques in the tournament, isn't this a blatant misuse of power? Nonetheless, the technique would just be a distraction from foundations anyway. We aren't ready for such teachings."