Chapter 26: Speed And Strength
The morning sun cast a soft golden light across Mologan City as cultivators and spectators flooded into the towering arena. The scent of incense mingled with the sharp aroma of spirit herbs sold just outside the gates. Inside, the energy was electric—cheers echoed, banners flew, and the rumble of battle could be heard even in the distant waiting halls.
"Looks like it's your turn today," Ryo said, nudging Flux's arm with a lopsided grin.
Flux gave a faint nod, his expression calm as ever. "Try not to get bored without me."
Ryo laughed. "Please, I'll be yelling loud enough for you to hear me down in the arena."
The two parted ways—Flux heading through the stone corridor leading to the waiting room, and Ryo making his way to the spectator stands, already packed with chattering cultivators and curious nobles.
Inside the waiting chamber, Flux sat cross-legged on a bench, watching the match before his . The clash was fierce—blades gleamed, talismans burned midair, and waves of spiritual energy exploded with each exchange. It was exactly what he expected from the Arena Elimination Rounds.
After the eighth match concluded, a soft chime rang out.
A tournament official called into the room, "Flux. Prepare to enter."
Flux stood and rolled his shoulders. The mist-colored cloak over his shoulders shifted slightly, and the sword at his back gave off a faint hum. He took a breath, then stepped toward the tunnel's glowing arch.
As he entered the arena floor, the crowd's volume surged.
"There he is! That's the rogue that always look shady!"
"I heard he beat a twin-saber cultivator with just a few moves last round."
Opposite him stood his opponent—a broad-shouldered man wielding a massive greatsword, easily as tall as he was. His skin was tanned from years of wilderness exposure, and faint scars lined his forearms. He wore simple dark armor with gray wrappings around his hands.
"So," the man said, planting the sword in the ground beside him with a thud, "you're a rogue cultivator too?"
Flux didn't answer, his gaze locked onto his opponent's stance.
The man chuckled. "Name's Garran Voss. Been surviving off demon beast meat and bounties for the last decade."
He raised the sword, resting it on one shoulder. "I watched your last match. You move like an assassin, but you've got the instincts of a hunter."
Still, Flux said nothing.
"Not much of a talker, huh?" Garran grinned. "Good. Then let's stop wasting words."
He pointed the massive blade at him. "Let's give it our all."
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Garran surged forward first, a wave of force crashing with each step. His greatsword came down in a vertical arc, whistling through the air. Flux blurred to the side, Miststep leaving a pale afterimage as the blade struck the ground and shattered stone.
Flux countered instantly—his sword flashing in a crescent slash toward Garran's side—but the man twisted and raised the flat of his greatsword, absorbing the blow.
The crowd leaned forward.
"Ooh! Speed versus power!"
"Did you see that footwork? That rogue cultivator is like smoke on the wind."
"Garran's been in over a hundred beast hunts—he won't fall that easy."
Garran swung horizontally with terrifying momentum, forcing Flux to duck and weave. Dust and shattered stone flew into the air. Flux leapt backward, narrowly avoiding a series of crushing blows, then vanished mid-motion.
Flux reappeared behind Garran and struck—his blade humming with focused Qi.
Garran grunted, twisting just in time to block, but the force knocked him backward a few steps. "Damn, that footwork's slick. How long you been using it?"
Flux's voice was calm, almost detached. "Not that long."
Garran blinked. "Huh—?"
He didn't get to finish. Flux darted in and struck with Whirling Crescent—a spinning, arcing technique that struck from multiple angles in rapid succession. Garran raised his blade, barely catching the first strike—but the second knocked him off balance, and the third sent him skidding across the arena floor.
The crowd roared.
"Did you see that technique?! It's like a windmill made of blades!"
"Garran's defense cracked—just barely, but it cracked!"
Flux pressed the advantage, dashing forward for a finishing strike. But Garran roared, releasing a burst of aura that cracked the arena tiles beneath him. Spiritual energy flared around him like wildfire.
"Hahahah!" Garran laughed, raising his sword again. "That's the spirit of a rogue cultivator—no hesitation, no mercy!"
He launched a powerful overhead slash, shaking the air. Flux dodged by a hair's breadth, his body blurring and fading mid-motion. He retaliated with a flurry of strikes aimed at pressure points.
Garran blocked two, parried the third, but took a shallow cut across his ribs.
The battle raged on, their movements growing faster, sharper—sparks flew, Qi collided, the arena was filled with howling wind and clashing steel.
But Garran was slowing.
His breaths grew heavy, his movements a fraction slower each exchange. Flux remained precise—every attack calculated, controlled, relentless.
Finally, Garran stumbled after a parried strike, lowering his sword slightly.
"Hah… hahah… that was a damn good fight," he said, dropping to one knee. "You don't hesitate. Your attacks are clean. Precise."
He looked up, sweat dripping from his brow. "I've seen too many strong ones fall because they doubted themselves in the middle of a strike. Don't become one of them."
Flux nodded. "Thanks for the advice."
Garran laughed again. "Hahaha! I surrender."
The referee raised a hand, and the battle was officially called.
Medical staff rushed to assist Garran, who waved them off with a grin. "I'm good. Just need a nap and something cold to drink."
Flux turned and exited the arena without fanfare, returning to the waiting room as the crowd continued buzzing.
"That rogue's dangerous…"
"He didn't even use any talismans or artifacts—just technique and timing."
He watched the rest of the matches calmly, seated in the same quiet corner, sword across his lap.
Eventually, as the final match ended and the sun dipped below the horizon, a new board was brought out and displayed on the wall.
Tomorrow's matches.
Flux stood and scanned the listings.
His name was listed next to a cultivator from a mid-tier sect—a name he didn't recognize.
"Another day," he murmured.
Outside the arena, he found Ryo waiting near a food stall, holding two skewers of grilled beast meat.
"There you are!" Ryo said, handing him one. "Your fight was wild, man. Like seriously—are you sure you're not part ghost or something?"
Flux took the skewer and bit into it. "Well, I didn't get smoked after all."
"Oh, come on," Ryo groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're gonna keep that going forever, huh?"
"I swear, the moment you lose, I'm roasting you so hard the heavens will feel it."
Flux smirked faintly. "We'll see."
They walked off together, fading into the city's glowing lights as the crowd dispersed behind them.