The arena became a storm.
The moment restraints fell away, Lin Xue and Zhao Yuan collided like two natural disasters forced into the same narrow space. Stone cracked beneath their feet. Wind spiraled upward in violent bursts. Every strike sent ripples of force through the stands, making spectators shield their faces.
Now, neither of them held back.
Zhao Yuan's style grew sharper, his precision almost supernatural. His fingers were daggers, his palms blades, his footing flawless. Every attack struck exactly where it needed to—no wasted motion, no hesitation, no doubt.
Against anyone else, this would have ended the fight instantly.
But Lin Xue wasn't anyone else.
Her embers burned brighter with every exchange, each blow from Zhao Yuan feeding her flame instead of extinguishing it. Her power didn't flicker—it grew, consuming pain, swallowing pressure, turning adversity into fuel.
Still—
she found no breach.
Zhao Yuan's defenses were layered, adaptive, seamless. His counters were immediate, his reactions perfect. A gap in his stance closed before she could exploit it. A mistake in his form corrected itself mid-movement. His cultivation was a wall of polished steel.
The thirteenth-ranked cultivator of their generation.
Lin Xue hadn't even reached the top thirty.
The crowd murmured anxiously, already sensing the outcome.
"Zhao Yuan's too strong…"
"She's barely keeping up…"
"She's good—but not that good."
"There's no way she breaks him."
Pin Sujin frowned, arms crossed.
"…No," he muttered under his breath. "She's not finished."
Beside him, Zhao Ming watched with silent tension—eyes fixed, breath tight.
In the arena, Lin Xue stumbled slightly, Zhao Yuan's strike grazing her ribs. He flowed with the motion, following with a palm meant to knock her breath away—perfect timing, perfect aim.
Lin Xue exhaled.
And her embers erupted.
A violent pulse of heat blasted outward, staggering Zhao Yuan for the first time.
He narrowed his eyes.
"What is that?" he hissed, stepping back.
Lin Xue's breathing deepened—slower, heavier, controlled. The temperature spiked. The air shimmered. Embers turned into threads of flame that wrapped around her arms, starved for release.
She whispered the name of the technique, not for Zhao Yuan—
But for herself.
Heavenly Phoenix: Ascension.
Her family's secret.
A technique meant only for those who could withstand burning from the inside out.
Her aura surged upward, spiraling toward the ceiling like a pillar of fire.
Her strength doubled.
Tripled.
Quadrupled.
Flames draped her figure like a living cloak, each step leaving molten cracks in the stone. Heat washed over the stands, forcing even seasoned cultivators to lean back.
Gasps erupted around the arena.
"She—she's ascending!"
"The Phoenix technique!"
"Her flames… are everywhere!"
"What kind of power is that?!"
Zhao Yuan's composure finally faltered.
He tightened his stance, qi sharpening like a dozen knives. But even his cold precision could not fully mask the tension in his shoulders.
Lin Xue vanished.
Her movement blurred—faster than lightning, heavier than a falling mountain. She struck Zhao Yuan from the side, sending him sliding across the stone in a shower of sparks.
He recovered instantly—
But she was already there.
A downward strike crashed into his guard, forcing him to block with both arms. Cracks formed along his sleeves, his boots scraping violently.
Lin Xue didn't slow.
Flame followed fist.
Ember followed elbow.
Heat followed every breath.
Zhao Yuan was driven back again—
and again—
and again.
His precision, once perfect, fractured under the sheer force she now wielded. Every attempt to redirect her movement failed—her flames melted through angles, through openings, through technique itself.
Her power wasn't refined.
It didn't need to be.
It was overwhelming.
Her embers intensified even further, swirling upward like wings preparing to unfurl.
Pin Sujin stood from his seat.
"This…" he muttered, awe creeping into his voice. "This is the true Lin bloodline."
Zhao Ming clenched his fists.
He could feel it too.
The victor was obvious.
Zhao Yuan staggered back, chest heaving, eyes wide—not with fury, but disbelief.
Lin Xue's flames surged high above the arena, wrapping her in a radiant storm.
She stepped forward—
Every inch a Phoenix rising.
And for the first time—
Zhao Yuan looked afraid.