The intermission between rounds was brief. Healers rushed onto the field, dragging away groaning fighters while servants spread fresh sand to cover the blood and sweat.
From the stands, voices buzzed — merchants taking bets, sect elders murmuring about the remaining competitors, and clan representatives silently measuring potential recruits.
Xiao Chen stood apart, leaning against the shadowed edge of the arena. Cloak drawn tight, his breathing slow and even. To anyone watching, he was just another nameless survivor. But his eyes — pale green and sharp as a blade — saw everything.
---
"Next match: Xiao Yan of the Xiao Clan versus Mei Ling of the Green Willow Sect!"
The roar from the stands was deafening.
Xiao Chen's gaze followed Xiao Yan as he stepped onto the platform. There was no arrogance in his walk, no wasted movements — just quiet, steady confidence. Mei Ling's spear lashed out first, fast and fluid like a striking serpent. Xiao Yan didn't even draw his weapon at first; his Dou Qi surged, intercepting her strikes with clean, practiced deflections. When he finally countered, his flame-clad fist sent her flying out of bounds.
So that's the power of the "once-prodigy." Efficient. Minimal waste. Dangerous.
Xiao Chen's fingers twitched under the cloak.
---
"Next match: Nalan Yanran of Misty Cloud Sect versus Zhou Fang!"
The crowd cheered for Yanran, though a low hiss followed Zhou Fang — his poison was feared and despised in equal measure.
The fight began with a blur of movement. Zhou Fang unleashed a poisonous mist, but Yanran's blade danced like wind, sweeping the toxins aside as her Dou Qi condensed into sharp, slicing currents. Within moments, she had him disarmed and on his knees, her sword at his throat.
Graceful. But too straightforward. Her Dou Qi forms patterns — predictable ones if you know what to look for.
Xiao Chen filed it away.
---
One match after another unfolded. Bai Kun crushed his opponent with overwhelming brute force. Liu Fei, the spear-wielding Liu Clan genius, carved his opponent apart with elegant, sweeping thrusts.
Xiao Chen never stopped watching.
Every stance, every breath, every Dou Qi pattern. He memorized it all — strengths, weaknesses, and habits they themselves didn't realize they had.
---
The announcer strode forward, voice echoing through the arena.
"Next match: Liu Fei of the Liu Clan versus…"
He paused, consulting his scroll. His brows rose in surprise.
"…Xiao Chen of the Xiao Clan!"
The crowd erupted.
In the Xiao Clan's reserved seats, elders leaned forward, faces shifting between shock and fury.
"That brat?" one elder spat, knuckles whitening on the armrest. "Didn't we throw him out?!"
"Impossible… he should be crippled," another murmured, his Dou Qi flaring unconsciously.
Xiao Yu, pale and still recovering, stared wide-eyed at the figure in the tattered cloak below. "Chen…?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and dread.
---
With his name called, Xiao Chen cast away the cloak.
He never intended to stay hidden anyway. The victory he would achieve today — he would pry it from everyone's hands.
He stepped onto the stage. Without breaking his gaze, he looked toward the Xiao Clan's seats. His eyes locked on them with nothing but coldness.
No one could stop him.