. Chapter Fourteen: The Clash of Lightning and Stone
The air grew electric as the arena lit up with anticipation.
From one side, Ling Han stepped forward. His figure was tall and straight, his robes clean and sharp against the sunlight. Handsome and refined, his expression was carved from ice, utterly indifferent to the roaring crowd. Every step was measured, cold, as though the world itself held no weight upon him.
From the other side came Shi Guang of the Southern Abyss Hall. His frame was thick with muscle, his fists like stone mallets, his face plain but stern. He walked with the heavy steadiness of a mountain. Though far less striking in presence, his aura carried the solidity of earth—unyielding, resolute.
The two men faced one another in the center of the stage.
Shi Guang clasped his fists and bowed deeply.
"Ling Han, I have long admired your name. It is my honor to fight you here today."
Ling Han's eyes barely moved. His lips did not part. He offered no reply, no courtesy—only silence as he stood like a statue of frost.
The referee's hand rose.
"Begin!"
Lightning tore across the stage, vicious and sharp, as Ling Han attacked first. His palm thrust forward, a spear of lightning exploding from his hand and roaring toward Shi Guang like a heavenly punishment.
Shi Guang's expression didn't waver. His fists slammed into the ground.
"Earth Bastion!"
A fortress of stone surged upward, wall after wall layering one atop another. The lightning spear smashed into it with a deafening crack. Stone exploded, dust billowed into the air, but when the haze cleared, Shi Guang stood unbroken behind his crumbling wall.
The crowd gasped. Shi Guang had endured the first strike.
Ling Han's face remained cold. He pressed forward. Lightning erupted in his fists, his movements fast and merciless, each strike hammering into Shi Guang's defense at the same point again and again. His dual cultivation of lightning and earth showed its balance—savage destruction reinforced by immovable stability.
Shi Guang grunted, qi flaring wildly. "Stone Mountain Guard!"
His skin hardened, his muscles bulged, and a layer of shimmering earth essence coated his body. He became a living bulwark, fists meeting Ling Han's strikes with booming echoes.
For a time, the arena trembled with their clash. Lightning roared, stone shattered, and neither side gave way. The spectators leaned forward in their seats, breath held. Could Shi Guang truly hold against Ling Han?
But cracks soon spread across Shi Guang's defense. Blood trickled from his lips as the relentless lightning chipped away at his walls, one after another. His body shuddered under the pressure.
Ling Han's eyes narrowed. Enough.
His foot slammed into the ground, earth qi anchoring his stance, while his palms surged with blinding thunder. The two elements fused, and he unleashed a devastating strike—
"Lightning Collapse!"
The attack crashed into Shi Guang's chest. The ground split apart, sparks raining down as the force sent him flying across the arena. He skidded, coughing blood, his defenses shattered at last.
Silence filled the arena.
Shi Guang struggled but managed to rise to one knee. He was battered, beaten, but alive.
And Ling Han—cold, indifferent—simply gave him a glance, then turned and walked off the stage.
The crowd roared, but confusion rippled through the noise. Why had Ling Han not finished him? Everyone knew the Bàtiān Sect's prodigy for his mercilessness—foes either left broken or dead.
It wasn't until the whispers spread that the truth became clear:
"Shi Guang lasted too long. Ling Han had to exert himself against him."
"And Shi Guang is from the Southern Abyss Hall—one of the continent's super forces. Killing him would forge a grudge not even the Bàtiān Sect would want lightly."
"So… this is Ling Han's respect. Respect shown only to a worthy foe."
The realization stirred the crowd into even greater awe.
Up in the private hall, where the great powers sat, reactions were immediate.
"Hahaha! The Bàtiān Sect truly breeds monsters. To dominate even a core disciple of the Southern Abyss Hall!" one sect master laughed.
Another nodded in admiration. "Young, yet already so ruthless and decisive. Truly worthy of the Bàtiān name."
The Bàtiān Sect leader said nothing, only offering a cold, indifferent smile as praise washed over him. His eyes, however, met the gaze of the Southern Abyss Hall leader. The latter's face was dark, but his eyes carried reluctant gratitude—Ling Han had shown restraint, sparing his disciple's life.
And then, when the ancient Old Man Yōuxuán chuckled and said,
"The Bàtiān Sect never fails to live up to its fierce reputation. Truly, quality over quantity,"
—only then did the Bàtiān leader incline his head in reply. Out of respect.
It was true. The Bàtiān Sect had the fewest members of all the central continent's top forces, its gates nearly impossible to enter. But every disciple who passed through those gates was a true weapon. Even the weakest among them could outshine the elites of countless other sects.
And Ling Han… was the sharpest blade they had ever tempered.
Shi Guang knelt on one knee, chest heaving, blood dripping down his chin. His vision blurred, but he refused to collapse.
So this… is the strength of Ling Han… the strength of the Bàtiān Sect's hidden blade.
He clenched his trembling fists. His arms screamed in pain, his bones cracked from the force of that last blow, yet a fire lit within his chest.
Even as I stood behind the walls of my earth, he tore them apart… as if they were nothing more than paper.
Slowly, he lowered his head, not in shame, but in acknowledgment.
"I lost…" he muttered hoarsely, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. "But this wall of mine… it will not stay broken forever."
The arena, still echoing with cheers for Ling Han, quieted for a moment at his words. And then the applause doubled—this time not only for the victor, but for the warrior who had endured.
From the stands, disciples of the Southern Abyss Hall shouted his name, their faces filled with pride. Even in defeat, Shi Guang's defense had forced Ling Han to fight seriously. That was no small feat.
Shi Guang staggered to his feet, swaying but unbowed. His eyes burned with determination as he looked at Ling Han's retreating back.
Next time… I will not just defend. Next time, I will strike back.
And with that vow etched into his heart, he walked off the stage, every step heavy yet unyielding.
As Shi Guang stepped down from the stage, bloodied yet unbroken, the atmosphere within the private chamber of superpowers shifted.
For the first time Ling Han stopped and looked at Shi Guang with detail and seriousness.
The Southern Abyss Hall leader's dark expression finally softened. His eyes lingered on Shi Guang's back, and for the first time since the match began, a trace of pride flickered across his face. Good… you didn't let this loss shatter you. You will grow from this.
Across the room, a calm laugh echoed. It was the leader of the Hundred Refinement Sect, his voice carrying faint admiration.
"Not many youths can be beaten so thoroughly by Ling Han and still walk away with their will intact. That boy will go far if he's nurtured properly."
The Ouyang clan matriarch inclined her head slightly in agreement, her tone sharp yet approving.
"Defense alone cannot win against the sharpest blades… but his heart—his refusal to crumble—that is rarer than talent. Southern Abyss Hall has raised a fine seedling."
Even the sect leader of the Tàixuán Sect, usually dismissive of rival geniuses, gave a short nod.
"Few among the young generation can take such a blow and still speak of the future. This one's foundation may have been shaken today, but his resolve has only grown stronger. Mark my words—his next showing will be far more dangerous."
A ripple of acknowledgment spread through the chamber. Murmurs of praise, restrained yet genuine, followed Shi Guang's name.
Old Man Yōuxuán stroked his beard, eyes shining with appreciation.
"Losing without breaking… that is the mark of someone who may climb higher than expected. The boy has spirit. For that alone, he deserves respect."
The Southern Abyss Hall leader, hearing these words from the most esteemed figure of the five continents, felt the corner of his lips tug upwards ever so slightly. Though no one else may have noticed, it was the rarest show of satisfaction.
Meanwhile, on the arena floor, ordinary spectators could not hear the lofty praises of the powerhouses, but they saw the way Shi Guang carried himself off the stage. And so, whispers spread like wildfire:
"He lost… but look at him. Not broken at all."
"That kind of will… sometimes, it's more frightening than talent."
"Shi Guang… remember the name. He'll rise again."
In this way, though defeated, Shi Guang walked off the stage not as a loser, but as a warrior whose spirit had impressed both the common crowd and the mightiest of leaders.
The roars of the crowd shook the arena, chanting Ling Han's name as though he were already the undisputed champion. His fellow disciples of the Bàtiān Sect stood, voices thundering in reverence, their eyes burning with pride.
But Ling Han neither smiled nor acknowledged them. He walked with his usual unhurried steps, his handsome, refined features as cold and unyielding as stone. Not once did he bask in the storm of adoration.
His gaze, sharp and unwavering, cut past the sea of spectators. Though the chamber of superpowers was veiled and distant, Ling Han's eyes locked on its direction. His stare carried a silent challenge, as if daring those hidden giants to take note of him.
Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he lifted his gaze skyward—silent, solitary, and untouchable.
Up above, in the grand private chamber, Emperor Shen Hóngtú's gaze never wavered. From the moment Ling Han stepped onto the stage until now, his eyes had been fixed on the boy. And in the depths of those imperial eyes, for the briefest of moments, a cold yet dazzling light flickered.
The crowd fell into a tense hush as the officiator returned to the stage, holding a new set of lots.
"The next match participants—step forward!"
And with that, the curtain fell on the first battle of the second round.