The weeks rolled by, and the academy's weekly tournament arrived — held every Friday.
The wind was soft and gentle, and the sun displayed its full brilliance, showering the field in a mild and warm temperature. All in all, the day could be said to be perfect for any occasion.
The battle arenas were filled with students from the lower and upper classes. The special ranks — the elite class — were exempted from menial tasks and trained specifically for combat.
In the weekly tournament, any student could challenge another under one condition — the rules must be followed.
No use of cultivation techniques. Only martial arts were allowed.
The purpose was clear: to train the student's combat sense internally.
The strong might not necessarily win. The weak might not always lose. But with experience, the tides could change.
Constantly challenging an opponent of higher rank would ingrain the insignia of battle deep into one's heart.
Battle required more than strength — it demanded experience, quick wit, and awareness. That was the academy's ultimate aim through these weekly tournaments.
The weekly tournament has a specific time,Once the time had fully elapsed, the individual left standing on stage with no one daring to challenge him would be declared the winner. The rewards? Twenty refined soul cores—and a free entry pass to the Academy's Demonic Zone.
These prizes weren't just to motivate; they were crafted to ignite the very fighting spirit of the students.
The winner would be revered for weeks, celebrated until the next tournament when a new contender might emerge. Students, mostly battle-hardened and fueled by ambition, would eagerly await this moment. And the winner? He was required to select nine other student to accompany him into the Demonic Zone. A companion would act as the second-in-command—and receive a share of the spoils.
The benefits were enticing. So much so that even those far weaker would challenge the strong, chasing the smallest hope of glory.
Moreover, these matches were based purely on martial arts. This created a rare balance—one where even a lower-tier cultivator could defeat someone of higher rank with enough speed and precision. It wasn't just possible—it happened often.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
A name roared above the rest: "Jiao San!"
---
A lone figure stood amidst the chaos.
He bathed in the sunlight, his cascading crimson hair shimmering with hints of gold where the rays kissed it. His violet, luxurious robes fluttered slightly in the breeze. One look, and anyone could tell—he wasn't just a warrior.
He was noble-born.
On his chest say two stars—his insignia as a senior.
Jiao San stood before a girl with sharp emerald eyes. This was the fifth challenger of the day. He allowed a faint smile to creep across his lips.
He was the rising star of the weekly tournament. Having won three consecutive matches, his name was now echoing across the academy, praised by both students and teachers alike.
But none of it mattered.
He didn't care about the soul cores or the pass to the Demonic Zone. Back home, rewards like that were nothing. What he wanted… was recognition. The admiration in the eyes of his peers. The validation that he was the strongest—not just in the lower class—but also in the upper echelons of the academy.
This was the concept of "winning" in his world.
Those born into power didn't need wealth—they already had it. What they craved was worship.
And today, he would be worshipped.
"Sociology," he once heard his elder brother say, "is just the study of how the powerful make others cheer for them."
"There's no shame in accepting defeat now," he called out, smirking. "But beating a girl? That might dent my prestige a little."
The girl's eyes narrowed.
"Senior Jiao San," she scoffed, "you're really full of yourself."
Her stance shifted. Her aura flared.
This was far from over.
"Losing doesn't necessarily mean I've lost," she muttered. "The experience I would gain from fighting— could make up for my loss. Plus, the weekly tournament is nearly based on this."
The crowd began to murmur. Some praised her for her bravery and unshakable will, even while others mocked her from the shadows.
"Why does her concept of losing look encouraging?" asked a guy with water-colored hair.
"Who cares about winning or losing? I just want to see those long legs in full display."
"Pervert."
"Don't tell me you weren't waiting for that too."
"If you want her, you just have to get through that guy with no holy force."
"She doesn't look like someone from a noble background…"
The battle began. After fifteen minutes, it was over.
They exchanged moves furiously. One moment, she launched a barrage—including her signature Grasshopper Kick—but only a single move from Jiaosan was enough to send her crashing down.
The winner of the round was decided.
The academy healer rushed onto the field. It was announced she had broken a rib before they carried her away.
Teacher Bai, who coordinated the tournament, reprimanded Jiaosan for being too rough on his opponent. The formation barrier over the arena hadn't detected any use of holy force, so the matter was closed.
The other students knew Jiaosan had been vicious during the fight, but they decided to keep quiet. No one wanted trouble with the Jiao clan—and the injured girl was just a lower-class cultivator with no noble background. They wouldn't risk themselves for someone like that.
Jiaosan stood in the middle of the battlefield with an innocent expression. He bowed slightly to the crowd.
"I promise to compensate Miss Xiao Long after today," he said.
"These pests are just too weak. They got me frustrated to the point I couldn't help but exert my full force," he sneered, inwardly.
The masses were shaken by his bold statement, but another round of praise followed.
"Senior San is really nice! He's even offering to compensate the junior for being injured."
"Seems the winner of today's tournament will be him again."
"I don't care about that. At least I saw her beautiful legs when she was performing the Grasshopper Kick."
"Indecent."
"Let's cheer for Senior San! The person with the loudest voice will accompany him to the academy's demon zone!"
"Senior San is the mightiest!"
"A bunch of bootlickers," someone muttered.
While the students were still busy singing praises for Jiaosan, a loud but calm voice rang out from the back of the crowd. The arena fell silent. Even the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.