The sun dipped lower, casting a molten-orange glow across the cracked platforms. Dust drifted in the air where earlier clashes had shattered stone, the battlefield still scarred from the chaos of the second round. The crowd shifted restlessly, voices rising and falling like the tide as they waited for the next announcement.
Elder Lǐ stepped onto the main platform, his robe catching the evening light. Raising one hand, he called for silence. Slowly, the hum of chatter dwindled, leaving only the sharp cries of distant cranes circling above.
"We are down to our final six contestants," Elder Lǐ declared, his voice deep and steady. "These six descendants will now face off, and only three shall remain, worthy of referral to the esteemed White Crane Sect."
A shimmer passed across the translucent screen hovering above the arena, names burning into place for all to see:
Platform One: Duō Wěi vs. Duō Chóng
Platform Two: Duō Zen vs. Duō Shēn
Platform Three: Duō Yī vs. Duō Xuān
The crowd erupted instantly, voices clashing as predictions flew.
"I'll bet on Zen again? That boy is on fire today!" one man shouted, gripping his neighbor's sleeve."Hah, on fire maybe, but unstable. He just broke-through so his channels are strained from earlier" another retorted.
In the gathering area, Duō Yī let out a sigh, relief plain on his face as he saw his matchup. "Thank the heavens it's Xuān and not Wěi. My chances just jumped from zero to… well, maybe fifty percent!" he said with a crooked grin.
A few onlookers chuckled, but Duō Chóng was pale, his lips trembling as he read his own opponent's name. "Why… why do I have to face Duō Wěi?" His voice cracked with despair. "This isn't fair. I was so close…" His words trailed off into silence, the fight already lost in his heart.
From the stands, some of the eliminated participants shouted their opinions, their voices raw with envy.
"Xuān will sweep through Yī without breaking a sweat!" called Duō Hào, clutching the bandaged arm he'd injured earlier.
"You're blind if you think that," snapped another, still shocked from Duō Yī's wins. "Yī is slippery as a snake. Didn't you see how he embarrassed Zhì? Xuān will underestimate him and that's how he'll strike."
Duō Zhì hearing that comment from the crowd had a grim look on his face.
A few others jeered loudly, "The final three are obvious: Zen, Wěi, and Xuān!"
Coins clinked as wagers exchanged hands in the crowd. Some of the younger disciples shouted over one another, daring bets on impossible outcomes.
"I'll put two silver on Yī making it through!""Two silver? ill bet my soul Xuān will win! Xuān is too precise. Yī doesn't stand a chance!"
"I'll bet on Zen collapsing mid-fight from unstable Qi!"
" he just broke through after all, so his realm is still unstable."
Gasps followed, though laughter quickly spread at the boldness of the claim.
Up in the shaded seats of the elders, the debate ran quieter but no less intense. Elder Duō Jì leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the names projected in the air. "The outcome is clear — Zen, Wěi, and Xuān. It would be foolish to expect otherwise."
Elder Duō Lán's gaze lingered on Zen's name.
"Perhaps. But Zen's channels are strained. Shēn could exploit that if he's clever enough."
Elder Duō Qīng's voice carried a calm weight.
"Strength alone isn't everything. Yī has proven resourceful where others faltered. It may be wise not to dismiss him so quickly."
Duō Chén Yǒng, the Clan Head, spoke at last, his voice a quiet thunder that silenced the murmurs.
"Open your eyes. Strength, cunning, skill or luck any of these may decide the outcome today. Do not underestimate the unexpected."
A hush swept over the elders, their words hanging heavy in the air as the crowd's chatter picked back up.
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The drums boomed thrice, their deep echoes rolling across the valley. A hush swept through the audience as all eyes shifted to Platform One.
Duō Wěi stepped forward, Moonwhisper gleaming faintly in the fading sunlight. The sword's edge shimmered with a quiet menace, as though the blade itself yearned for combat. He stood tall, posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. Even his breathing seemed calm, measured, completely at odds with the storm of anticipation swirling in the crowd.
Opposite him, Duō Chóng took his place with visible unease. His grip on the saber was tight, knuckles pale. Though he forced his face into a mask of determination, his eyes betrayed him — they flickered with hesitation, darting between Wěi's blade and the edges of the platform as though already planning an escape.
"Begin!" Elder Lǐ's voice rang like a sword unsheathing.
Wěi moved instantly.
His steps were soundless, yet the speed was blinding. One heartbeat Chóng was standing steady, the next Moonwhisper was descending in a lethal arc. The clash rang out like thunder—
CLANG!
Chóng staggered under the blow, his arm shuddering violently as sparks flew. Gasps rippled through the stands.
"Already?! He can't even block properly!" someone shouted.
"Of course not, it's Wěi. Look at him — calm as water, sharp as steel," another replied, awe in their tone.
Chóng gritted his teeth, stumbling back, desperate to regain ground. He kicked at the tiles, sending up a cloud of dust in a frantic bid to obscure Wěi's sight. For a moment, the dust curled around him like a protective shroud.
But Wěi's gaze cut through the haze. His next strike came unerring, Moonwhisper slicing through the curtain of dust as though guided by fate itself.
SLASH!
The crowd erupted.
"He sees everything! Even in that smoke!""Chóng's tricks won't save him. He's fighting a wall of steel."
On the platform, Chóng's heart hammered against his ribs. He's too precise… too calm. Every feint, every move—he reads them all before I even commit.
Desperation fueled him. He spun low, sweeping his saber at Wěi's legs in a sudden, vicious strike. For a breath, it seemed clever—until Wěi glided a half-step aside and countered in the same motion.
SHING!
Chóng's arms shook violently as his saber barely caught the counter. His weapon thrummed under the impact, the vibration biting into his bones. His grip faltered.
From the audience, some of the younger disciples jeered:
"Fight him, Chóng! You look like you're dancing to Wěi's tune!""Hah, more like a rabbit against a hawk. He's just running circles.""At least break his flow once! Or do you plan to lose looking pitiful?"
Others laughed, though a few voices muttered with pity. Chóng flushed red, shame stinging sharper than Wěi's blade.
He tried again — darting sideways, scattering grit, feinting exhaustion as he edged closer to the rim of the platform. His mind screamed a single thought: If I can trick him… just once…
But Wěi's presence loomed like a shadow, steady, inevitable. He followed calmly, never rushing, each strike a hammer blow forged with purpose.
CRACK!
Chóng's saber wailed under the pressure, fissures spiderwebbing along its length.
"No… not yet…" Chóng whispered, horror in his eyes.
He made one last, desperate gamble — lunging forward, all his weight behind a thrust at Wěi's chest. The audience collectively held its breath.
But Wěi flowed aside, his body a blur, and Moonwhisper descended.
SHATTER!
The saber broke apart, shards spinning across the platform like falling stars. The tip of Moonwhisper halted at Chóng's throat, gleaming cold and merciless.
Chóng froze. Sweat dripped down his brow, his chest heaving. His hand clutched at the empty hilt, trembling. The shattered remains of his saber clattered to the ground, a bitter requiem for his struggle.
Silence fell. Then—
"Victory to Duō Wěi!" Elder Lǐ's declaration thundered across the arena.
The silence shattered with cheers. The crowd roared Wěi's name, voices carrying waves of admiration. The girls in the stands leaned forward eagerly, some clasping their hands in giddy excitement, calling his name like a song.
Wěi lowered Moonwhisper, his expression unchanged, unreadable. He gave no smile, no boast — only a calm nod toward the elders before turning away. The cheers followed him like a tide, adoration swelling with every step he took off the platform.
Chóng remained behind, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the fragments of his weapon. The jeers he'd heard earlier echoed faintly in his ears. Yet beneath the humiliation, something heavier lingered — the crushing weight of knowing he had been measured and found utterly lacking.
As the crowd's cheers shifted fully toward Wěi, Duō Chóng stood alone in the center, his broken saber a silent monument to defeat.