The sun blazed high over Moonlight Plaza, casting stark shadows across the stone arena. Towering banners fluttered with the crests of Moonlight Town's most powerful clans, while thousands of cultivators, spectators, and sect representatives filled the viewing stands. The roar of the crowd surged like a tide, restless and hungry.
The grand tournament had begun in earnest.
Early matches between rogue cultivators and minor families had stirred some excitement, but the air truly changed when a new announcement echoed across the arena.
> "Next fight! Xu Ming of the Iron Vein Slums versus Zhao Lin of the Black Ridge Clan!"
The crowd fell into a hush. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Xu Ming… he's the one who cleared the Trial of the Abyssal Path, right?"
"From the slums? No way that's true."
"They say he walked through without injury…"
The name carried mystery and awe now. Xu Ming, born in obscurity, had drawn the gaze of sects, clans, and dangerous eyes alike. Facing him was Zhao Lin—Black Ridge Clan's proud young cultivator, known for his brutal speed and mastery of lightning Qi. Nicknamed the "Thunder Fang," Zhao Lin had once maimed a rogue cultivator in a single strike.
He stepped into the arena, his sleek black robes snapping with electric charge. A saber gleamed at his side, arcs of lightning coiling along its edge. His gaze locked onto Xu Ming with cold precision.
From the viewing stands, notable heirs of the elite clans looked on. Liang Fei's arms were folded, a faint arc of thunder dancing on his shoulder. Rong Yixuan leaned forward, lips tight with scrutiny. Qin Mo lazily twirled a folding fan, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.
Backstage, Lin Feng stood beside Xu Ming. The two had met only recently, but a friendship had taken root.
"You sure about this?" Lin Feng asked, trying to sound casual, but the concern was clear. "That Zhao Lin guy looks like he wants to end you."
Xu Ming smiled faintly but said nothing.
Lin Feng exhaled and clapped his shoulder. "Look, I don't know how strong you really are—but if it gets too bad, just admit defeat. There's no shame in staying alive."
Xu Ming nodded, gripped Voidcleaver, and walked out onto the stage.
The sword was worn and scarred, nothing like the polished weapons of the major clans, yet it pulsed faintly in his hand—a dull thrum that matched the beat of his heart.
The referee stepped forward, raised his hand, and shouted:
> "Begin!"
Lightning flashed.
Zhao Lin didn't hesitate. He vanished in a crackle of thunder, reappearing mid-air with his saber raised, arcs of electricity surging toward Xu Ming in a blistering charge. The crowd gasped.
Xu Ming's Heaven-Shattering Sight flickered to life. The world slowed.
He saw the tension in Zhao Lin's left ankle—he was feinting. Saw the arc of the saber before it fully descended. With practiced ease, Xu Ming slid sideways, dodging with barely an inch to spare. The attack carved a long gash in the arena stone behind him.
Gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.
"He dodged that?"
"Did he just predict Zhao Lin's movement?"
Zhao Lin's face tightened. He spun and unleashed a second strike, faster and sharper—lightning poured from his blade like a living serpent. Xu Ming parried, Voidcleaver humming as it clashed with Qi-enhanced steel. Sparks burst like fireworks.
The two exchanged rapid blows—lightning and steel, speed and perception.
Zhao Lin was relentless. He struck from above, below, sideways, even faking stumbles to catch Xu Ming off guard. But nothing landed clean. Xu Ming's expression never changed—focused, silent, patient. Each of his counterattacks was minimal, controlled, perfect.
Even the crowd began to quiet, not out of boredom, but awe.
> Who is this boy?
He's not just dodging—he's reading every move…
Zhao Lin roared, thrusting his palm forward. "Thunder Fang: Descent!"
The skies above the arena shimmered with lightning. A bolt descended like a heavenly spear, aimed squarely at Xu Ming.
But in that instant, Xu Ming's Qi surged. Voidcleaver glowed with a faint azure hue, the ancient runes flaring to life.
He stepped forward—not back—slashing upward with a single, deliberate arc.
"Sky Breaking Sword Style: Split the Horizon."
The bolt split in two.
Zhao Lin's eyes widened too late. The blade cleaved through his saber arm, tearing through his defenses in one clean motion. His body crashed into the stone with a thud, his saber flying from his grasp, electricity sputtering around him.
Silence. Then:
> "Winner—Xu Ming!"
The arena exploded with sound.
Cheers erupted from the crowd, some in excitement, others in disbelief. Among the clans, eyes narrowed, faces darkened. The boy from the slums had not only survived—he had won.
From the sidelines:
Liang Fei scoffed. "So he's not all smoke. Still won't last."
Rong Yixuan's jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
Qin Mo's smirk remained, but his fan stopped moving.
Backstage, Lin Feng stood slack-jawed, blinking.
"…Okay, I take it back," he muttered. "You're a monster."
Xu Ming returned from the arena, breathing slow, calm.
Lin Feng gave a sheepish grin. "Still—if it gets too crazy, remember what I said. You can still surrender."
Xu Ming chuckled quietly. "Thanks for worrying."
> He has no idea what I've seen… what I've faced…
The referee's voice boomed once more.
> "Next match! Lin Tao of the Silver Fang Clan versus Wen Hui of the Scarlet Fang Clan!"
Lin Tao stepped into the arena, his expression cool, saber resting casually at his side. Wen Hui entered opposite him, a vision of fire—scarlet robes, blazing Qi, eyes sharp like daggers.
Their fight was a spectacle.
Wen Hui unleashed scorching waves of flame, her footwork fluid and unpredictable. Lin Tao responded with blinding speed, his saber carving streaks of silver in the air. The arena cracked beneath their feet, wind and fire swirling together.
Back and forth they clashed—neither giving in.
Wen Hui ignited a fiery burst in desperation, hoping to end it. But Lin Tao slipped through the smoke like a ghost, landed a slash across her shoulder, and disarmed her with one final, sweeping strike.
> "Winner—Lin Tao!"
Another roar of approval. Lin Tao offered a polite bow to the crowd before nodding toward Xu Ming.
As the matches continued, more fights unfolded:
A pair of rogue cultivators unleashed a wild, chaotic battle against a Qin Clan duo. Their attacks lacked technique but brimmed with desperation. In the end, precise Qin swordplay triumphed.
A Rong Clan disciple wielding water Qi clashed with a nimble fighter from the Yue Clan. A graceful display of fluid martial arts dazzled the crowd before the Rong Clan disciple won narrowly.
The Liang Clan's thunder brute crushed his opponent with sheer force, each punch causing the ground to quake.
Each battle brought new tension. Banners waved, cheers echoed, and more eyes turned to Xu Ming with a mixture of fear and fascination.
But all was not admiration.
In the shaded corners of the plaza, rival clans whispered, and unseen figures watched. A veiled elder sat high above the viewing stands, hidden among the spectators, robes still as shadow.
His eyes shimmered with ancient power.
> "The Eye watches," he murmured. "The game has begun."