After arriving at Ghost Shade Peak and getting his bearings in the mountain's central district, Lordi's first stop was the local Hall of General Affairs where he could obtain specific information about logistics and locations. He approached the administrative disciples working there and inquired about where exactly the preliminary competition rounds would be held, what the schedule looked like, and any other relevant details he should know. Armed with this information and clear directions to the designated competition venue, he hurried toward the dueling platforms that had been set up specifically for the tournament.
By the time Lordi arrived at the competition grounds, the area was already packed with people—disciples crowded around the dueling platforms in dense clusters that formed multiple rings of spectators, with those closest to the stages having arrived earliest to claim the best viewing positions.
However, when he looked more carefully at the assembled crowd and assessed their cultivation levels through casual spiritual sense scanning, a surprising pattern became apparent. The overwhelming majority of people gathered here were mid-phase Qi Refinement Stage. disciples, cultivators at the Fourth, Fifth, or Sixth layers who weren't personally participating but had come to watch the matches. Among the smaller portion of late-phase disciples present in the crowd, most appeared to be at the Seventh Layer—theoretically eligible to compete but apparently not planning to do so. Disciples who had reached the Eighth Layer Qi Refinement Stage or higher were remarkably rare in this gathering, appearing only sporadically throughout the crowd.
The ambient conversations and whispered discussions Lordi could overhear as he moved through the crowd made the situation's nature even clearer. Based on what people were saying to each other, the vast majority of those present had come purely as spectators with absolutely no intention of actually stepping onto the dueling platforms themselves. They were here to watch the fights, enjoy the spectacle, perhaps place some bets for entertainment, but certainly not to risk their own health and dignity in actual combat. This observation left Lordi somewhat puzzled about why so few people were willing to compete when participation was technically open to anyone at late phase Qi Refinement, but he didn't have time to investigate the reasons thoroughly. Instead, he simply located a line of sect comrades waiting to register for participation and positioned himself behind a Seventh-Layer Qi Refinement cultivator who stood at the queue's current end.
Because genuinely interested competitors were apparently quite rare, the registration line moved with surprising speed. Very few people ahead of Lordi actually wanted to sign up for the tournament, so within just a few minutes of joining the queue he found himself at the front, facing the registration official who would handle his enrollment. The person managing participant registration was a gaunt, skeletal-looking middle-aged cultivator whose face appeared almost mummified, his skin stretched tight over prominent bones. His entire strength aura was suppressed and concealed so thoroughly that Lordi couldn't gauge his actual cultivation level through normal observation. The man didn't bother looking up from his paperwork as Lordi approached, his brush already poised over the registration scroll as he asked in a bored, mechanical tone that suggested he'd repeated these exact words hundreds of times already: "Full name, cultivation layer."
"Lordi Payne. Ninth Layer."
"L for Lucas, O for Oscar…."
The registration official had just begun writing the first alphabet of Lordi's name with his bird feather brush, when he suddenly stopped mid-stroke. The brush froze in place as though the man's hand had turned to stone, the partially completed character hanging incomplete on the paper. After a moment of startled immobility, the official slowly raised his head to look directly at Lordi for the first time, his expression shifting from bored disinterest to sharp, focused attention. "Lordi Payne... from the Payne clan of Deerspring? That Lordi Payne?"
Seeing Lordi nod confirmation that yes, the registration official formed a friendly smile.
"A formidable foundation for one so young. Please, continue your diligent cultivation with unwavering heart. Apply yourself, and may your strength one day become a pillar of we holy sect." He dipped the quill once more. "Win glory for us, for Ghost Shade Peak."
"Aye, Senior!"
The registration official returned his attention to the scroll and continued completing Lordi's registration entry, finishing the paperwork with professional efficiency. When all the relevant information had been properly recorded in the official documentation, he pushed a bamboo tube forward across the table toward Lordi. "Draw your lot from this container. Your assigned number will determine your match placement."
Lordi reached into the bamboo tube without particular thought, fishing around briefly before his fingers closed on one of the wooden lot markers stored inside. He withdrew it and examined the markings carved into its surface: the characters read "Category A, Number Twelve."
According to what Deacon Enforcer Lion had explained during Lordi's earlier administrative inquiries, the rules governing all preliminary rounds were essentially identical and straightforward.
Participants would draw lots to receive random match assignments, ensuring fairness through chance rather than any kind of seeded bracketing based on reputation or observed skill. Then competitors would step onto their assigned platforms for one-on-one duels against whoever had drawn the corresponding opposing number. Winners advanced to the next round while losers were immediately eliminated from the tournament with no second chances or consolation brackets. The system prioritized efficiency over complexity—raw strength determined outcomes, though luck in drawing favorable or unfavorable opponents also played a significant role in any individual's tournament progression.
The registration official glanced at Lordi's drawn lot, noted the number, and provided the standard instructions: "Outer Sect disciple Lordi Payne, Category A Arena Platform, position number twelve. Your opponent will be whoever drew Category A, number eleven. After everyone finishes drawing their lots and match assignments are finalized, the competition will begin immediately with no delay—you should proceed to the vicinity of Category A Arena now and wait there for your match to be called. Important reminder: when your name is announced, you must ascend to the platform within the time it takes to call your name three times. If you fail to appear after the third calling, you'll be considered to have forfeited and will be disqualified from further participation."
"Aye sir! Understood!" Lordi acknowledged the instructions clearly, then turned and departed from the registration area to make his way toward Category A Arena.
The official senior watched Lordi's departing figure with smile. After Lordi had moved out of easy sight, the middle age man returned to processing additional registrations, methodically recording information for several more Outer Sect disciples who approached to sign up for participation.
Eventually, after several unremarkable entries had been completed, a new figure stepped up to the registration position: a cultivator whose face appeared unnaturally pale, almost bloodless, while his expression radiated barely concealed malice and aggressive intent. The man's entire demeanor suggested someone who existed in a state of perpetual barely-suppressed violence, constantly on the edge of explosive action.
"Deane Doome," this pale looking cultivator announced in a voice that matched his appearance—cold, sharp, carrying undertones of sadistic anticipation. "Ninth Layer."
As the man watched the registration official finish recording his name in the scroll, he reached toward the bamboo tube to draw his own lot assignment. However, before Deane's hand could actually enter the container and select a random marker, the middle-aged official moved with surprising speed, his own hand darting forward to intercept.
Rather than allowing Deane Doome to draw naturally, the official deliberately extracted one specific lot from the tube himself, selecting it with obvious intent rather than chance. He tossed this pre-selected marker toward Deane with casual efficiency, the wooden piece flying through the air to land in the surprised cultivator's palm.
"Category A, Number Eleven," the official announced, his tone completely matter-of-fact as though nothing unusual had occurred. Then, seemingly as an afterthought but clearly intending for Deane to hear and understand the implications, he added in a voice pitched just loud enough to carry: "In previous Grand Outer Sect Tournament throughout the holy sect's history, all vicious methods and violent techniques have been permitted in matches. No restrictions are placed on what competitors may do to each other during duels. Even if you kill your opponent during the match, you will face absolutely no punishment or sanction from the sect. Deaths during competition are considered acceptable casualties of martial cultivation." The words were delivered with deliberate emphasis, making certain Deane understood he was being given explicit permission—perhaps even encouragement—to be as ruthless as he desired.
"Your Doome clan's heir, Aluto Doome of the Inner Sect's Sableflame Bloodline, and I are close like brothers. Once you advance to the next round of preliminary matches with a brutal kill, you'll be compensated appropriately."
Deane regarded the registration official with obvious surprise, clearly not having expected this kind of intervention or explicit green light for violence. However, after a brief moment of confusion, his expression shifted into a bloodthirsty, anticipatory grin that revealed exactly what kind of person he was and what he intended to do with this permission. Without saying anything further, he simply turned on his heel and began striding toward Category A Arena with purposeful, predatory steps—a hunter who had just been told exactly where to find his designated prey.
The middle-aged registration official watched Deane's departure with a faint, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Once the violent cultivator had moved sufficiently far away that he couldn't overhear, the official tilted his head slightly toward a servant who stood positioned nearby awaiting instructions. "Go immediately to Concubine Shew's residence and deliver this message," he commanded in a low voice that carried only to his subordinate's ears. "Tell her that I've taken action to avenge Nephew Sagwoon on her behalf—the boy's killer will be dealt with brutal execution during today's matches. As appropriate compensation for this service, I expect to receive the entire sum of Spirit $tones that she's been accumulating and saving for Sagwoon's future use. All of it. Make certain she understands this isn't a request."
The official's identity explained much about his motivations and willingness to manipulate match assignments. Lee Hatre was his name. Foundation Stage strength, one of the sons of Outer Sect Elder, Lee Bane. And he was exactly the paternal uncle of Lee Sagwoon. His nephew was dead during that earlier lethal conflicts caused by Lordi.
While this uncle genuinely didn't care much about one of his nephew's death from an emotional standpoint—the boy had been relatively distant family, not someone he'd invested affection in—discovering that the killer was right here, conveniently vulnerable and about to step into an arena where violence was not only permitted but encouraged, represented too good an opportunity to pass up.
The chance to simultaneously extract revenge that would satisfy his stepmother and collect a substantial payment of Spirit $tones for his "service" was simply too profitable to ignore.
——
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the conspiracy being arranged around his match assignment, Lordi proceeded to the designated waiting area adjacent to Category A Arena Platform and settled in to observe while the remaining participants completed their registrations. The Grand Competition was genuinely a lively, energetic event that had clearly captured the Outer Sect's collective attention. Although the actual matches hadn't yet begun, the area surrounding the various arena platforms was already absolutely packed with spectators jostling for good viewing positions. The crowd was so dense that simply moving through it required effort, bodies pressed close together in their eagerness to secure sight lines to the action. The atmosphere buzzed with excited conversation and speculation about which competitors would perform well.
Adding to the festival-like atmosphere, enterprising disciples had set up impromptu gambling operations right there at the competition grounds. These bookmakers were actively taking bets on who would emerge victorious from the preliminaries at Ghost Shade Peak, offering odds on various competitors and managing pools of wagered Spirit $tones.
Lordi had initially considered the idea of placing a bet on himself to win his matches, thinking he could earn some modest additional profit from what seemed like a relatively sure thing—after all, he was quite confident in his own capabilities and preparation.
However, when he actually approached one of these gambling operations to inquire about placing such a wager, he discovered something simultaneously amusing and slightly insulting: the bookmakers hadn't even included his name on their betting sheets!
As far as the gambling operation was concerned, Lordi Payne simply didn't exist as a relevant competitor worth listing among the possible winners. He was such a non-entity in the Outer Sect's collective awareness that the bookies hadn't bothered creating a betting line for him.
That said, the bookmaker he'd approached proved to be a shrewd observer despite his ignorance about Lordi's identity.
Even though he'd never heard the name "Lordi Payne" before and had no idea who this person was, he could clearly sense through spiritual observation that Lordi's cultivation level was higher than his own—a sign that this unknown sect comrade might actually be worth taking seriously.
Therefore, rather than dismissing Lordi outright, the bookmaker adopted a reasonably friendly and accommodating attitude as he tried to gather information that would let him assess whether to add Lordi to his betting options.
"Senior Brother, I apologize for not having this Lordi Payne person you're interested in betting on already listed in my operation. If you could provide me with some additional details, I'd be happy to create a betting line for him. Which specific arena platform has this Lordi Payne been assigned to? What's his cultivation level—seventh layer, eighth, ninth? What's his primary combat specialization—sword techniques, fist methods, movement arts? What grade of weapon does he typically wield—mundane, spirit tool, perhaps even an artifact. weapon? What's his proficiency level with movement techniques and various spell methods? Also, does he have any notable—"
Before the bookmaker could finish his lengthy interrogation and complete his list of questions seeking comprehensive information about this mysterious competitor, a voice suddenly cut through the conversation from somewhere not far away.
The interjection came laden with obvious mockery and contempt, dripping with disdain so thick it was almost physical. "Lordi Payne? That is a complete waste of cultivation resources, an absolute good-for-nothing who has no business even being at this place! What does the Grand Outer Sect Tournament have to do with a worthless failure like him? And you actually want to bet on him winning?" The sneering voice grew even more scornful as it continued. "Bookmaker, are you so desperately wealthy that you're looking for creative ways to give Spirit $tones away? Is handling all that money becoming such a burden that you need to invent charitable donations?"
Lordi's head turned sharply toward the source of this unprovoked verbal attack, his expression shifting from neutral observation to cool assessment. His gaze located the speaker quickly enough: a male disciple whose entire bearing and facial expression communicated utter contempt as he stared at Lordi with undisguised disdain.
Slightly ahead of this hostile sect comrade, positioned in what was clearly a place of social prominence within a small cluster of hangers-on and admirers, stood a young pretty lady, Sun Elaine. The pretty young female cultivator was dressed opulence—her gauze dress were made from expensive fabrics in brilliant colors, she wore multiple pieces of elaborate jewelry that featured prominent pearls and jade ornaments, and her entire presentation screamed of wealth and status.
She'd clearly earn good money and put tremendous effort into making herself as visually striking and impressive as possible, her appearance practically demanding attention and admiration. Surrounding her like courtiers attending nobility were numerous male disciples who functioned as obvious social climbers, each one competing to laugh at her jokes, agree with her opinions, and generally worship at her feet in hopes of gaining her favor.
Among this collection of sycophantic suitors, Lordi spotted a familiar face: Honine Payne was also present in Elaine's orbit, playing the role of devoted admirer along with all the others.
The moment Honine's eyes registered that Lordi had appeared in the competition grounds, his expression immediately shifted to one of annoyance and displeasure.
His brow furrowed deeply as he addressed his clan relative with obvious irritation. "Lordi! Where have you been hiding yourself all this time? I've been searching everywhere for you! Why is it impossible to locate you whenever I actually need to speak with you?" His tone suggested he considered Lordi's absence an inconvenience and possibly even an intentional slight, as though Lordi had some obligation to remain constantly available for Honine's convenience.
Before Lordi could formulate any kind of response to Honine's accusatory question, the man who had initially mocked him—apparently named Zhao Yen based on social context (First show in Chapter 0025)—eagerly jumped into the conversation with malicious glee.
This person clearly saw an opportunity to score social points with Elaine by attacking someone she apparently disdained, and he seized that opportunity with both hands.
"Ha! How very interesting, Honine Payne!"
Zhao's voice dripped with false shock and manufactured outrage, his tone suggesting he'd uncovered some scandalous betrayal.
"You explicitly promised Senior Sister Sun that you would devote yourself completely and put forth maximum effort in creating Fulus for her benefit, dedicating all your time and energy to her needs. Yet apparently you've still been finding spare time to track down and socialize with your pathetically useless clan man? You've been wasting hours that should belong to Senior Sister Sun on someone as worthless as Lordi Payne?"
His expression shifted to one of exaggerated disappointment and accusation. "Honine Payne, based on this evidence it's abundantly clear that you don't actually have Senior Sister Sun's best interests at heart! Your commitment to serving her was obviously insincere from the very beginning! How shameful!"
PPPSSSS:
Hi!
I'm back with a fresh chapter for you — just in time for the weekend! 🥳
By the way, I was my best friend's bridesmaid yesterday — so much joy, and oh, what a delicious feast!
Hope you have a cozy, happy weekend!