Morning light spread across Longwei City like a river of gold.
The entire city buzzed with excitement; banners fluttered over rooftops, and the clang of drums echoed through the streets. Once every three years, the City Lord's Manor hosted the Youth Martial Tournament, a grand event where every major clan's young elites would clash for glory, rank, and the chance to enter the Azure Dragon Martial Academy.
Within the Longwei Clan estate, servants hurried about preparing armor and banners. Disciples gathered in formation, their faces tense but eager.
Dua Lin stood quietly at the edge of the courtyard, adjusting the wrist wraps on his hands. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp as cold steel.
Behind him, Lan'er held a small wooden box. "Young Master Lin, your qi condensation liquid," she said softly. "You refined it last night."
"Mm." Dua Lin nodded, taking the vial and drinking it in one gulp. The faint golden liquid slid down his throat, spreading warmth through his limbs.
Within his dantian, two dragon veins coiled lazily—majestic, ancient, alive. Between them, a faint spark pulsed like a heartbeat.
"The third vein…" Dua Lin murmured. "Still incomplete. Perhaps today will be the time."
Lan'er tilted her head. "You plan to use the tournament to test your limits?"
He smiled faintly. "If the world doesn't challenge you, you make the world your challenge."
The Longwei clan arrived at the City Lord's arena before noon. Thousands filled the stands, merchants shouted, and banners of the four great families fluttered in the wind: Longwei, Han, Zhao, and Yun.
At the center, a vast stone platform glittered faintly with runic inscriptions. The City Lord's officials had carved formation lines into it — a safety array to prevent deaths during the duels. Though, in truth, many still "accidentally" died every year.
"Welcome, young heroes of Longwei City!"
The City Lord himself — Lord Fei Rong — stood atop the dais, his long robe embroidered with golden dragons. "Today's tournament shall determine the fates of our generation's prodigies. Strength decides honor. Begin!"
The crowd roared as the first names were called.
The early rounds passed quickly.
Disciples from smaller families fell one after another before the overwhelming might of the four great clans. The Han clan's favored son, Han Ji, wielded a long spear that flickered with wind qi, cutting through opponents like grass.
The Zhao clan's genius, Zhao Yue, moved with the swiftness of lightning, every strike precise and deadly.
The Yun clan's beauty, Yun Lian, fought gracefully, using frost qi to freeze her opponents' movements.
When Dua Lin finally stepped onto the stage, the crowd buzzed in confusion.
"That's the disgraced Longwei youth, isn't he?"
"I heard he couldn't even break through Body Tempering last year!"
"Why is he here?"
"Maybe they're just filling numbers."
Only the Longwei patriarch, Longwei Zhen, sat silently at the high seat, his gaze locked on Dua Lin. He said nothing, but his clenched fists betrayed his tension.
Round One
Dua Lin's first opponent was a tall youth from the Zhao clan.
"Zhao Liang, third stage of Body Tempering," he said proudly, spinning his iron staff. "I'll end this in three moves."
Dua Lin simply nodded. "Then you'd better make them count."
The referee's hand fell. "Begin!"
Zhao Liang leapt forward, his staff crashing down with a sonic boom. The stage cracked under the impact—but Dua Lin had already moved.
A light step, a shift of weight, and he vanished from the attack's path. His counterpunch landed squarely on Zhao Liang's chest.
Boom!
Zhao Liang flew off the stage like a cannonball, crashing into the safety barrier. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
The crowd fell silent.
"What… what just happened?" "I didn't even see the strike!" "Wasn't he supposed to be weak?"
Dua Lin exhaled softly and clasped his hands. "You've lost."
The referee hesitated, then raised his flag. "Winner—Dua Lin of the Longwei Clan!"
Cheers erupted from the Longwei stands. Elders who had doubted him exchanged shocked glances.
Lan'er, standing behind the crowd, smiled faintly. "Young Master Lin… you really are terrifying."
Round Two
This time, his opponent was Han Ji, the Han clan's spear prodigy.
As soon as they faced each other, the air between them grew heavy. Han Ji's eyes glimmered with killing intent. "Dua Lin, the rumors about you are quite… entertaining. But this is as far as you go."
He spun his spear, qi flaring around him like a hurricane. "I'll give you the honor of losing to me in three moves."
Dua Lin smirked faintly. "Everyone says that."
When the match began, Han Ji attacked first, thrusting his spear in rapid succession—each strike faster than the last, forming a cage of light. The crowd gasped at his technique.
But Dua Lin's feet barely moved. His body weaved through the spear shadows with fluid precision, every step perfectly measured.
Then, at the exact instant Han Ji overextended, Dua Lin's palm struck forward.
Dragon's Breath Palm.
A faint golden ripple burst from his hand, slamming into Han Ji's chest.
Han Ji staggered back, his spear arm trembling. Blood dripped from his lips.
"What—what technique is that?!"
Han Ji grit his teeth and tried to counter, but Dua Lin's second strike came like thunder.
Boom!
The spear shattered. Han Ji was thrown from the platform.
The arena went dead silent again. Only the sound of wind echoed through the stone pillars.
From the City Lord's platform, several elders exchanged glances.
"This boy…" one murmured. "His control of qi is unnatural. How can a second-stage Body Tempering cultivator release that much force?"
Lord Fei Rong smiled faintly. "Interesting, isn't it? Longwei Clan might finally rise again."
Longwei Zhen didn't reply. His eyes burned with pride and disbelief. "Lin… what have you become?"
Final Round
By afternoon, only two contestants remained — Dua Lin of the Longwei clan, and Zhao Yue of the Zhao clan.
Zhao Yue was already a fourth-stage Body Tempering cultivator. His aura was fierce, sharp like a drawn blade. "You've surprised me, Lin," he said coldly. "But you'll regret stealing my spotlight."
"Try," Dua Lin replied calmly.
As they took their positions, the formation circle beneath them shimmered to life. The referee raised his arm.
"Final round — begin!"
Zhao Yue struck first, releasing a torrent of lightning qi that split the air. "Thunder Fist—Raging Sky!"
The entire arena shook.
But Dua Lin stepped into the storm, his eyes glowing faintly gold. The lightning that touched him dissipated instantly, like water sinking into sand.
"What?!" Zhao Yue's pupils shrank. "You—"
Dua Lin's voice was calm. "You rely too much on borrowed qi."
Then he moved.
His palm struck once, twice, thrice—each blow carrying the echo of a dragon's roar. The air cracked, the ground splintered, and Zhao Yue was forced back with every hit.
Deep within Dua Lin's dantian, two dragon veins trembled violently. Then, between them, a faint third vein flickered to life — incomplete, yet powerful enough to shake heaven and earth.
The sound of a dragon's roar echoed across the arena, faint but unmistakable.
Spectators gasped, some falling to their knees instinctively.
"What is that sound?!"
"It feels like… a dragon!"
"Impossible—no one in this generation can awaken such bloodline resonance!"
But Dua Lin ignored the chaos.
His fists moved like flowing water, his qi pulsing in perfect rhythm with the half-awakened third vein.
"Dragon Ascends the Sky!"
A golden aura burst forth. The image of a colossal dragon coiled above him, surging upward with unstoppable momentum. The impact struck Zhao Yue squarely in the chest, sending him flying out of the arena. His armor shattered like glass.
Boom!
Silence.
Then — thunderous applause.
The referee raised his trembling voice. "Winner — Dua Lin of the Longwei Clan!"
The crowd erupted.
Elders of rival clans sat frozen, their pride shattered.
Lord Fei Rong himself rose to his feet, eyes gleaming with interest. "A genius born of two souls… intriguing."
Lan'er's eyes filled with tears as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Young Master Lin… you did it."
After the ceremony, Dua Lin stood alone behind the arena, gazing up at the setting sun. His clothes were torn, but his aura burned brighter than ever.
Inside him, the third dragon vein pulsed faintly — incomplete, but alive.
He whispered softly:
"Three veins… nine await. This world is vast, yet it shall know the name Dua Lin."
Behind him, Lan'er approached, holding the prize — a Grade Eight Essence Pill sealed in a jade bottle.
"Young Master… you've brought glory to the clan."
Dua Lin turned, his gaze deep as the stars. "Glory?"
He smiled faintly. "This is only the beginning."
As the wind carried the sound of distant bells, the dragon shadow within his dantian coiled tighter, awaiting the next awakening.