Night wrapped itself around the Great Tower like a heavy cloak.
Lin Xue lay on her narrow dormitory bed, eyes closed, breath steady—but sleep refused to claim her. Her heartbeat pulsed like embers of a restless flame, each thump echoing with the name she would face at dawn.
Zhao Yuan.
Prodigy of the Zhao Clan.
Ranked thirteenth.
Cold. Precise. Unbreakably sharp.
She repeated the name in her mind until it no longer sparked fear—only expectation.
By morning, she was already awake before the horns sounded. She stood alone in the dim dormitory, palms pressed together, embers flickering beneath her skin like droplets of molten metal.
Her fire was ready.
It wanted to burn itself into the Tower.
When she entered the arena, the stands were overflowing. The anticipation was palpable—murmurs rising like low thunder, cultivators leaning forward in their seats, guards alert and watchful.
On one of the spectator benches sat a hooded figure—Zhao Ming—still slightly bruised but strangely calm. Beside him, massive arms crossed, posture relaxed, sat Pin Sujin. Despite forfeiting, no one dared bar him from reentering the Tower as a spectator.
"I wouldn't miss this for anything," Pin Sujin muttered, eyes gleaming. "The flame girl against the Zhao peacock."
Zhao Ming allowed himself a faint exhale.
"…It won't be easy for either of them."
Zhao Yuan entered the arena with the composed arrogance of a man who had never needed to doubt himself. His eyes gleamed with anticipation—sharp as knives, cold as winter steel.
Lin Xue stepped onto the opposite side.
Their auras collided instantly.
Zhao Yuan's qi was like frost—clean, cutting, unforgiving.
Lin Xue's qi was alive—embers drifting from her shoulders, heavy heat radiating from every breath.
They stood in perfect contrast:
The knife and the flame.
Precision and power.
Destruction and annihilation.
Two battle fanatics.
And only one arena.
The judge lifted his hand.
"Begin!"
Zhao Yuan moved first.
He struck like lightning—sharp, direct, perfectly calculated. His fist sliced toward her throat at an angle meant to disable without killing. Lin Xue brought her arm up in time, but the collision sent a shock down her spine.
He's strong.
The thirteenth ranked elite did not disappoint.
Zhao Yuan's movements were a dance of blades—even without a weapon. Each step angled to corner her, each strike targeting weakness, each breath perfectly controlled.
Lin Xue countered with brute force.
Her embers flared, wrapping her limbs in burning strength. She met Zhao Yuan's blows head-on, crushing the air around them with each impact.
Stone cracked beneath their feet.
The temperature spiked.
Spectators leaned in.
Pin Sujin grinned widely.
"Good! GOOD! This is a fight!"
But Zhao Ming's hands tightened slightly in his sleeves.
He could feel something under the surface—something neither combatant had unveiled yet.
Zhao Yuan spoke first.
"You burn brightly," he said, his tone oddly respectful. "A pity flames are easy to extinguish."
Lin Xue wiped blood from her lip, embers swelling thicker around her wrists.
"And blades," she replied, "shatter under enough heat."
Their qi collided again.
Zhao Yuan surged forward—faster, sharper. His movements became a blur. Lin Xue met him with overwhelming strikes, each one heavy enough to stagger lesser fighters.
But Zhao Yuan adapted effortlessly.
His precision cut through her rhythm.
His sharpness chipped at her fire.
He was stronger.
That was the strength of the thirteenth.
Lin Xue felt her arms numb.
Her legs tremble.
Her breaths grow heavier.
Yet her eyes only brightened.
Zhao Yuan smiled thinly.
"So you understand."
Lin Xue stepped forward despite the pain.
"Understand what?"
"That neither of us," he replied, lowering his stance, "has started fighting seriously."
She felt it then—
His aura sharpening.
Condensing.
Preparing to pierce.
Just as her embers thickened into a blooming inferno beneath her skin.
They stared at each other—
Not as enemies.
But as two warriors who lived for this exact moment.
Zhao Ming leaned forward.
Pin Sujin held his breath.
The Tower trembled under the pressure of two prodigies beginning to shed their restraints.
The real battle—
was about to begin.