The sun had dipped lower, casting warm, amber light over Platform Two as Duō Líng strode to his place. The crowd, already buzzing with excitement, grew even louder at the sight of the towering young warrior. At seventeen, Líng's immense build, honed through years of brutal training, made him appear as if he were a seasoned man in his early thirties. His chiseled physique and towering 6'3" frame gave him a daunting presence, every muscle like tempered steel, strengthened through painstaking body refinement and bolstered with rare pills.
Duō Xuān, his opponent, stepped forward, drawing gasps and delighted murmurs from the audience. Dressed in flowing black robes that accentuated his lean, athletic form, Xuān possessed a look that captivated all. His skin was fair, and his angular face was graced with striking, sapphire-blue eyes that caught the light with a piercing glint. Raven-black hair fell just above his shoulders, soft yet untamed. While he stood several inches shorter than Líng, his balanced build and unshaken poise suggested refinement that few among the Duō Clan descendants could match.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as girls clutched at each other, giggling with unabashed admiration for Xuān.
"Duō Xuān! He's so… graceful!" one whispered, cheeks flushed.
"He'll win for sure! Did you see the way he handled his last match? Like poetry in motion!" swooned another.
"Duō Líng may be strong," one called out, "but Xuān's elegance can cut right through that brute force!"
"Xuān!" a voice rang out from the back. "I'll marry you if you win!"
Xuān allowed himself the faintest smirk at their devotion, but his eyes never left Líng. Across from him, Líng stood like an immovable boulder, his stoic expression betraying nothing.
Elder Lǐ raised his hand. Silence fell over the grounds, anticipation coiling tight.
"The next match on Platform Two—Duō Líng versus Duō Xuān. Begin!"
CLANG!
Líng exploded forward, a juggernaut in motion. His right fist swung like a boulder hurtling down a mountainside, aimed straight for Xuān's chest.
But Xuān moved like a wisp of smoke—slipping aside, sword flashing as he pivoted to counter.
SWISH!
His blade arced toward Líng's ribs. The strike landed, but the effect was jarring—not for Líng, but for Xuān. His sword barely scraped through the robe, leaving only the faintest red line on Líng's skin.
The giant's lips curved into a faint, almost amused grin.
"My training wasn't for show."
Xuān's brow furrowed. "Then let's see how deep it runs."
He leapt back, blade spinning into a guarded stance, faint blue qi rippling along its edge. The aura shimmered like water under moonlight, but against Líng's hardened flesh, its bite was blunted.
The ground trembled as Líng charged again, fists hammering like falling mountains. Xuān's sword blurred, carving arcs of steel light into the air, yet each clash rang hollow. Strike after strike, his precision met iron skin. Every attack chipped at his stamina but not at Líng's defenses.
THUD! SMASH! SWISH!
The crowd gasped at the storm of motion. Xuān danced and struck, elegant and desperate, while Líng absorbed punishment with a grunt, retaliating with crushing fists and bone-shaking kicks that split the air.
Still, Xuān's grace had limits. His breathing grew heavy, sweat dampening his brow. His admirers screamed his name, their voices lifting him. He steadied himself.
His eyes darted to Líng's legs. A plan formed.
Xuān lunged—faking high, then dropping low, blade cutting for the back of Líng's knee.
SLASH!
A roar tore from Líng's throat as his leg buckled. Xuān followed up instantly, thrusting toward the chest.
WHOOSH!
The strike missed by a hair as Líng twisted away, fury igniting his features.
"Enough dancing around, Xuān!" his voice boomed.
Now Líng pressed forward with a relentless barrage, fists battering like a storm. Xuān staggered back, barely deflecting, his feet nearing the platform's edge. The crowd roared with every thunderous impact.
At the brink, Xuān suddenly leapt—springing high, twisting midair, blade flashing downward in a desperate counter.
SLASH!
Blood streaked across Líng's arm. The crowd erupted.
Xuān landed lightly, chest heaving, eyes locked on his massive foe. Líng glared back, respect mingling with rage.
"You think that changes anything?"
Xuān's calm never wavered, though fatigue weighed on him. "Perhaps not. But every cut widens the gap."
With a sharp breath, Xuān pressed on, steps light, movements flowing with renewed grace. He chipped at Líng in glancing blows, each one shallow yet cumulative, dragging the fight longer than brute force favored.
Finally, a gap opened. Xuān lunged with everything left in him. His blade struck true—this time sinking deep into Líng's chest.
CLANG!
The great body refiner dropped to one knee, the wound not being a fatal blow. rather Líng had run out of qi and strength to even resist.
The arena erupted in chaos. Half the crowd screamed Xuān's name, waving handkerchiefs and confessing love. Others shouted in disbelief, rallying for Líng, furious that their iron wall had fallen.
Líng's breath came ragged, but his glare softened into reluctant acknowledgement. "You got lucky."
Xuān lowered his sword. "Luck… and a little skill."
They locked eyes in silence, tension lingering. Then, slowly, Líng exhaled, nodding once.
"You fought well. You won this one."
Xuān extended his hand. After a pause, Líng gripped it firmly. Respect flickered between them, even amidst the rivalry.
The crowd watched as the two warriors stood side by side, embodying the strength and elegance of the Duō Clan—one through raw power, the other through skillful cunning.