Morning light crept faintly through the cracks of the wooden shutters, spilling across the quiet hut.
Lao Xie sat cross-legged on the narrow cot, his breathing steady, qi circulating smoothly through his meridians. The silence was sharp, almost weightless—until the familiar chime stirred in his mind.
[Cling~]
"Host, the semi-final match will begin shortly. Please proceed to the arena."
Lao Xie's eyelids lifted slowly, dark eyes gleaming faintly in the lamplight. His lips curved in the barest trace of a smile as he muttered, voice low and indifferent, "Already?" A soft hum followed, as though he were recalling some trivial matter. "Shen Yun, wasn't it?"
At that thought, a shimmer stirred beside him. A pale-blue panel rippled into existence, letters forming one by one across its surface.
[Observe Activated]
Name: Shen Yun
Race: Human
Cultivation Stage: Body Tempering, Ninth Stage
Age: 17
Affiliation: Silver Crescent Sect, Azure Edge Peak
Spiritual Root: Verdant Soul Root
Lao Xie's gaze lingered on the panel for only a heartbeat before he let out a faint chuckle. "Another Azure Edge Peak?" His tone turned flat, mocking. "Tch. This is fucking boring."
The panel glowed softly, waiting for his attention, but he had already shut his eyes again, as though neither Shen Yun nor the world outside were worth more than a passing glance.
His gaze lingered on the panel, eyes narrowing slightly. A faint hum slipped past his lips. "Verdant Soul Root?"
For a moment, his expression carried a trace of interest. "So he has the potential to reach Qi Foundation then?"
The system's voice answered, calm and without pause.
"Based on this world's standard, yes. With his root, he's almost guaranteed to reach Qi Foundation. If fortunate, he could even step into Foundation Establishment. But… the qi of this world is weak, so his growth will always remain limited."
Lao Xie's smile faded, leaving only silence. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, thoughts turning.
"…This world." His tone was quiet, almost musing, though it carried a sharp edge beneath. "The last time, you said the same thing. I let it go then, but now you've mentioned it again…" His eyes half-lidded, voice dropping lower. "Tell me—are there more worlds beyond this one?"
The question hung heavy in the stillness of the hut. Even the morning breeze beyond the shutters seemed to hesitate.
Silence stretched.
Then, the system's voice resounded again, faint yet steady.
"You will naturally know in time. Since you are not limited to only this world."
The weight of those words pressed against the silence, as though something vast and unseen had just brushed close.
Lao Xie's eyes sharpened, his voice slow and deliberate.
"Not limited to this world… What do you mean by that?"
The system did not answer at once. Only the faint hum of silence filled his mind, stretched thin until it almost felt mocking. Then, the familiar tone returned, carrying that same unreadable calm.
"Host will understand in due time. There is no need to rush. For now… your priority lies in the arena. The Martial Hall awaits."
Lao Xie's lips curved faintly, though the smile held no warmth. "Tch. Teasing me again, aren't you?"
The system said nothing further. Its silence was final, like a door closed in his face.
For a long moment, he sat unmoving, the stillness of the hut pressing in around him. The words replayed in his mind, unshaken— you are not limited to this world. A faint crease touched his brow before he dismissed it with a slow breath.
His hand stretched to the side, fingers brushing the familiar hilt of his sword. He lifted it, the polished steel glinting faintly in the dim morning light, before sliding it into his storage ring.
Rising from the cot, he straightened his robes with an easy motion, his expression once again composed, unreadable. Without another word, he stepped out of the hut, the door shutting softly behind him.
The morning sun was already climbing, its light spilling over the tiled roofs of the sect. By the time Lao Xie stepped onto the main path, disciples were already streaming toward the Martial Hall. The air buzzed faintly with chatter, whispers rising and falling like waves.
Heads turned as he passed. Some lowered their voices, others stared too long before hastily averting their eyes. Rumors of the night before had spread faster than wildfire—three corpses found in the outer huts district, each cut down with clean, merciless strokes. No one had said his name aloud, but every glance toward him carried a silent weight.
Lao Xie's hands were clasped behind his back as he walked, expression calm, as though none of it concerned him.
By the time the Martial Hall came into view, the crowd had already swelled. Towering stone pillars framed the wide arena grounds, banners of the sect fluttering in the breeze. Rows of outer disciples packed the stands, the anticipation thick enough to choke.
Today was the semi-final. Four names remained.
The elders were already gathered on the high platform, their gazes sweeping over the crowd below. From the far side of the arena, Shen Yun's figure stood out among the disciples waiting to be called. Dressed in crisp Azure Edge Peak robes, his posture was firm, his hand resting lightly on the hilt at his side. His aura radiated the raw, oppressive strength of a body honed to its peak.
"Look—that's Shen Yun."
"He's already at the ninth stage of Body Tempering. He's one of the favorite to win this whole tournament."
"Hah, unless he runs into that devil from the huts district…"
The arena floor gleamed beneath the rising sun, disciples filling the stands shoulder to shoulder. A restless energy rippled through the crowd, eyes darting between Shen Yun's steady figure and the still-empty entrance across the arena.
"Where is he?" someone muttered. "No way he's late. This is the semi-final."
Another scoffed, shaking his head. "Late? Hah, he's always late. Didn't you see the early rounds? The bastard walked in like he owned the place every time."
"But the match is about to start," a third voice whispered nervously. "If he doesn't show, it'll be counted as a forfeit…"
The murmurs grew louder, each word feeding the storm of speculation. Some disciples craned their necks toward the entrance, others shifted uneasily, as though the thought of Lao Xie simply not appearing unsettled them more than the idea of him fighting.
On the raised platform above the crowd, the elders sat in their high seats, robes lined in silver and jade. Their presence alone commanded silence, though even they couldn't entirely ignore the growing stir among the disciples.
"Hah. He's late again." Elder Mu leaned back against his chair, his arms folded across his chest, expression carrying both irritation and a hint of reluctant amusement. For once, he wasn't the referee—his duty today was to observe.