The Core Arena wasn't just a stage.
It was a statement.
Twelve meters in the air, suspended by levitating stone rings and reinforced spiritual plates, it hovered like a floating coliseum in the heart of Blackthorn Academy. Students and instructors gathered in open platforms surrounding it—eager spectators, all hungry for spectacle.
Drones zipped overhead, capturing every angle for the academy's broadcast channels. Dozens of names flashed across the screens, but one match outshone the rest.
Shen Yi vs. Xue Jian.
Ranked vs. unranked.
Known vs. unknown.
One was a refined prodigy of the Iceflow Pavilion. The other was a fluke. A glitch in the system. A ghost who shouldn't have returned.
But Lin Xuan stood there anyway—calm, unbothered, hands folded behind his back as he ascended the arena steps.
He didn't wear a flashy battle suit or a clan-marked uniform. Just his standard black student robe, repaired but plain, pressed neatly as if he'd walked out of meditation.
From the other side, Xue Jian stepped forward.
Tall. Pale. Regal.
His cultivation robes shimmered with the signature white-blue luster of ice qi. Snowflake emblems glowed softly across his shoulderplate. His hair was tied in a precise topknot, and a translucent spirit blade floated behind him, humming like a frozen whisper.
He didn't bow.
Didn't speak.
Just looked at Lin Xuan like one might study a stain on a perfect glass floor.
Across the crowd, some students murmured.
"That's Xue Jian's Spirit Whisper Blade..."
"He's using it in the first round? Why waste the energy?"
"He's making a point. That guy doesn't belong here."
The referee—a senior disciple in silver robes—raised a hand.
"Begin on my signal."
Lin Xuan flexed his fingers.
Xue Jian closed his eyes.
The blade behind him vanished—then reappeared in front of his chest, ready to strike.
A moment passed.
Then another.
The referee's hand dropped.
"Begin!"
The instant the word echoed, the arena exploded with motion.
Xue Jian stepped forward. Not fast—but smooth. His movements were like running water down polished stone. The air around him dropped in temperature as cold qi surged outward in waves.
And the blade—
—vanished.
Only to reappear inches from Lin Xuan's throat.
Instant step. Spirit displacement.
It should've ended there.
The crowd gasped.
But Lin Xuan's body tilted—just enough to let the blade pass by, grazing only his sleeve.
He didn't dodge with speed.
He didn't block with power.
He moved before it happened.
His right hand lifted, and—
CLANG!
With a sound like thunder cracking against frozen steel, his palm caught the spirit blade mid-strike.
Held it.
Without any weapon of his own.
Gasps turned to silence.
Even Xue Jian's expression faltered.
"You—"
But he didn't finish.
Because Lin Xuan's foot slid forward.
His stance sank. Shoulders square. Elbow locked.
It was a position older than the academy itself.
And his palm shifted.
Once.
Heaven-Splitting Form: Third Palm – Falling Moon.
Xue Jian's barrier flared to life, a shimmering dome of crystalline defense.
It didn't matter.
The strike wasn't brute force. It wasn't laced with wild energy. It was clean. Surgical.
The moment Lin Xuan's palm struck the barrier, a perfect fracture formed through it, like a crack across thin ice.
And the next second—
BOOM!
Xue Jian was sent flying, skidding across the arena, landing hard on one knee.
He coughed. Stared at his own shattered blade, now flickering like a dying flame.
Lin Xuan stood as if nothing had happened.
The crowd was silent.
Then—
"...Was that a hidden technique?"
"No. That was… that was foundational. But enhanced. Controlled."
"How did he counter Xue Jian's displacement strike? That's at the Spirit Refinement level…"
"He read it."
In the viewing tower, Instructor Ren watched with her arms folded.
Her assistant turned, whispering. "Should we disqualify him for unregistered technique usage?"
She shook her head. "No. Nothing he's done violates any rule."
"But he's clearly manipulating a level of body control and qi refinement outside of Core Tier…"
Ren narrowed her eyes.
"That's what makes it interesting."
Back in the arena, Xue Jian rose slowly.
His left shoulder was bruised. His pride even more so.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Then his hand shifted into a seal.
"You may be fast. You may be old-school. But let's see if you can handle this—"
He slammed his palm into the ground.
Ice burst from beneath his feet.
It surged outward like a wave—frozen spikes erupting in a 10-meter radius, trapping the air with bone-chilling frost. His Spirit Blade reformed—thicker now, fueled by anger, not control.
The crowd roared.
But Lin Xuan?
He didn't move.
He closed his eyes.
And exhaled.
Silent Meridian Flow – Level Two Activation.
The world around him slowed.
Not literally. But to him, it may as well have.
He stepped forward into the wave of ice.
Let it surround him.
And then—
He flicked two fingers toward the core of the attack.
A pinpoint strike.
One spot.
Just one.
It collapsed.
The ice fell apart. Not shattered—but unraveled. As if his energy had found the weakest thread in the spell and tugged it.
Xue Jian's mouth fell open.
And before he could react—
Lin Xuan was in front of him.
Palm open.
Fist clenched.
Fourth Palm – Spirit Root Disruption.
THUD.
The blow didn't send him flying.
Didn't break bones.
But it shut off his qi.
Just like that.
Xue Jian collapsed.
Not injured.
But drained.
The referee stepped forward, stunned but professional.
"Victor: Shen Yi!"
The arena trembled with delayed applause.
Not wild cheering.
But stunned clapping.
Slow realization.
They weren't watching a lucky underdog.
They were watching a monster.
A beast from another lifetime.
Far above the arena, in an observation deck hidden by spell-tech glass, an old man sipped tea.
He watched the screen.
He smiled.
"Interesting…"
Another figure stood beside him, cloaked and silent.
"Your thoughts?" the old man asked.
The cloaked figure spoke for the first time.
"That technique… I've seen it before."
"Oh?"
The figure nodded. "In the old records. Before the Great Reset. It was the style of one man."
"Who?"
The figure turned away, cloak trailing behind them.
"Lin Xuan."
The tea stopped mid-sip.
And the room grew quiet.
Back in his dorm room, Lin Xuan sat calmly, legs crossed.
The first layer of his meridian cycle was fully open now.
His qi pool was stabilizing.
His core strength returning.
But even as he closed his eyes to meditate, a strange feeling lingered in his chest.
Like he'd taken one step onto a path that others had been watching for a long time.
He didn't fear that.
He welcomed it.
Let them watch.
Let them wonder.
Because this time—
He wasn't climbing back to the top for revenge.
He was climbing because he wanted to see what was above it.