The morning sun cast long shadows over the massive competition arena, its vast stone surface illuminated by the golden glow of dawn. Thousands of spectators filled the towering stands, their excitement evident in the murmurs and whispers that spread like wildfire. Today marked the beginning of the free-for-all battle—a chaotic, merciless fight where only the strongest would remain standing.
Makoto stood near the edge of the arena, his arms crossed as he observed the participants gathering. Dozens of cultivators from various sects filled the stage, each eyeing one another with a mixture of caution and aggression. These were the ones who had passed the preliminary rounds—now, they would fight to earn the right to challenge the ten prodigies of the Han Dynasty.
Beside him, Yuna, Kazu, and Hiro stole occasional glances at him. Something about him felt... different. It wasn't just his cultivation; his presence had shifted—like a storm lurking beneath calm waters. They couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it left a strange unease in their chests.
Yuna finally broke the silence. "Where were you last night, Makoto?"
Makoto's gaze remained on the battlefield, his expression unreadable. "I spent the night consolidating my cultivation."
Kazu narrowed his eyes. "That's all?"
"Yes."
There was no deception in his tone, but also no elaboration. The answer was final. Kazu exhaled sharply but didn't press further. Whatever Makoto had gone through, it had clearly pushed him forward. That was all that mattered for now.
Makoto, however, wasn't entirely focused on them. His gaze scanned the crowd, locking onto a specific figure in the distance—Feng Liang.
The second son of the City Lord. The very person responsible for targeting the former owner of this body.
He would pay.
Makoto's lips curled slightly as he stored the thought away. This wasn't the time—but soon.
Before any more words could be exchanged, the sound of a deep, commanding voice echoed across the arena.
"Silence!"
All eyes turned toward the raised platform where Feng Lian, the City Lord of Blue Wave City, stood in regal attire. His presence alone demanded attention, and as he gazed down at the participants, his aura spread over the crowd like a suffocating wave.
"The Grand Competition will now commence," Feng Lian announced, his voice clear and powerful. "As dictated by tradition, the ten prodigies will not participate in this initial battle. Those who wish to challenge them must first prove themselves worthy."
A murmur spread through the arena.
Everyone already knew this, but hearing it from the City Lord himself made it all the more real.
"This will be a free-for-all battle!" Feng Lian continued. "All participants will fight simultaneously. There are no alliances, no rest. The last ten standing will earn the right to challenge the prodigies. There are no restrictions—you may use whatever means necessary."
The moment the words left his lips, a low wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. This was going to be a battlefield of pure survival. Strength, strategy, and ruthlessness would decide the victors.
A referee stepped forward, raising his arm.
"Prepare yourselves!"
Makoto exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing.
He could already sense the bloodlust in the air. Many of these cultivators were eyeing each other like wolves circling their prey. Some would immediately form temporary alliances to eliminate the strongest threats first—others would strike the moment the battle began.
Hiro cracked his knuckles, a smirk forming on his lips. "Looks like things are about to get messy."
Yuna's expression hardened as she adjusted her stance. "Stay sharp."
Kazu gave a low chuckle. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Makoto simply stepped forward, his movements relaxed, but his eyes cold and calculating.
Then—
"Begin!"
The referee's arm dropped, and chaos erupted.
The arena instantly transformed into a warzone.
Dozens of cultivators lunged at one another, weapons flashing, techniques igniting. The ground shook under the sheer force of their attacks as explosions of qi and sword energy tore through the battlefield.
A group of five immediately rushed toward one of the stronger participants, a burly man from the Crimson Lotus Sect. Their combined strikes forced him back, but he retaliated with a devastating palm technique, sending two of them flying.
Elsewhere, an archer from the Emerald Blossom Sect leaped onto a raised platform, firing qi-infused arrows into the fray below. One arrow pierced through the shoulder of a careless combatant, sending him crashing to the ground.
Hiro was already in the thick of it, his fists coated with blazing qi as he engaged three opponents at once. With a single well-timed strike, he shattered a sword aimed at his head and knocked its wielder unconscious with a brutal kick.
Yuna moved like a shadow, her dagger gliding through the air as she weaved between opponents. One man lunged at her with a spear, but she twisted mid-air, her blade flashing—blood sprayed as the man collapsed, clutching his chest.
Kazu, meanwhile, was laughing as he toyed with his enemies, his swordplay fluid and unpredictable. Each strike seemed effortless, yet every attack he delivered sent opponents staggering backward.
And then—
Makoto moved.
Unlike the others, he didn't rush into battle immediately. He simply walked.
A burly man from the Ironclad Sect noticed him, sneering. "Too afraid to fight?"
He swung his massive axe, sending a blade of qi toward Makoto.
Makoto tilted his head slightly.
The attack missed.
The next moment, he vanished—only to reappear directly in front of the man.
Before the Ironclad disciple could react, Makoto's hand shot forward, pressing against his chest.
Then—a pulse of qi.
CRACK.
The man's ribs shattered instantly. He flew backward, blood spraying from his mouth before slamming into the ground, unmoving.
Silence followed.
The cultivators near Makoto hesitated.
They had seen fast attacks. They had seen powerful techniques.
But this was different.
Makoto had moved with such precise brutality that it left no room for counterattack. No wasted movements. No unnecessary effort.
Cold, efficient destruction.
His eyes lifted, scanning the battlefield.
More challengers would come. That much was certain.
But it didn't matter.
Because as of now—he was the one hunting them.
Meanwhile, in the stands, a different discussion was taking place.
The VIP section was abuzz with speculation as nobles and sect leaders whispered among themselves. The topic?
The ten prodigies of the Han Dynasty.
"I heard that the strongest among them is already at the peak of the Core Formation Realm," one elder murmured.
"Not just that," another interjected. "Two of them have already begun comprehending the Nascent Soul stage. If they succeed, they will be unstoppable."
The first prince of the Han Dynasty listened in silence, his gaze flickering toward the cloaked prodigy standing among the other top disciples.
One noble leaned forward. "With monsters like them leading the younger generation, who among the challengers today could possibly stand a chance?"
The answer was unspoken but clear.
No one.
And yet, as they watched the battle below, some couldn't shake the feeling that this year's competition would be different.