The referee raised his hand.
"Begin!"
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Nalan Yanran's sword slid from its sheath with a clean, practiced motion, the polished blade glinting under the sun. Her stance was firm, flawless — the posture of a true sect heir.
Across from her, Xiao Chen… wavered.
He hunched slightly, stepping back as though unsure of his footing. His grip on his saber was loose, almost sloppy.
The crowd murmured. Was this the same fighter who had dismantled Liu Fei?
Pathetic, Nalan thought.
With one fluid motion, she dashed forward, her sword flashing like silver lightning. Dou Qi surged through her blade, forming a sweeping arc of brilliant energy that hissed through the air, aimed to cut him down.
The strike connected — or should have.
But Xiao Chen was gone.
The coy, weak posture melted away in an instant as his voice echoed across the stage, low and sharp, chanting words that dripped with malice:
"Heavenly Mantra of Worldly Transformation… Four Heavens Yaksaha."
The air rippled.
A monstrous phantom erupted from his back — eight feet tall, its upper body materializing from roiling red-and-green Dou Qi. Its form was twisted yet terrifyingly human, adorned in jagged spiritual armor. In each massive hand, it gripped a long, curved blade, both glowing a sickly green as if forged from Xiao Chen's very malice.
Gasps rose from the stands.
Nalan Yanran's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her instincts took over. She raised her sword, Dou Qi exploding outward in a protective layer just as the phantom's twin blades came crashing down.
BOOM!
The impact was cataclysmic. The arena floor cracked and splintered beneath her feet, a cloud of dust and shattered stone erupting as the strike sent shockwaves through the stage.
Nalan's defensive treasure flared, barely holding under the phantom's force.
She coughed, the metallic taste of blood hitting her tongue as she leapt back, boots skidding across the ground. Her arms trembled from the impact.
If not for the treasure… I'd already be dead.
Her jaw tightened. She had no choice but to retaliate.
Planting her feet, she thrust her sword forward, Dou Qi flaring into a concentrated torrent of destructive energy. A powerful Yunlan Sect technique — Azure Sky Falling Lotus.
The blade released a condensed sphere of energy, which exploded midair into hundreds of blazing lotus petals that rained down in a storm of sharp, spinning death.
The crowd roared at the display.
But Xiao Chen didn't flinch.
The phantom's arms crossed, forming a dome around him as he invoked another mantra.
"Raksha Shield."
The petals crashed into the barrier, sparking and detonating violently — but when the smoke cleared, Xiao Chen stood unharmed, the eerie glow of the shield fading away.
Then he moved.
Heavenly Steps.
In a blur of red and green, he dashed forward, closing the distance before she could recover.
Her eyes widened as the phantom's twin blades swung downward in a merciless cross-slash.
CRACK!
Her defensive treasure shattered under the impact, fragments of its glow scattering like dying fireflies.
The force of the blow sent her flying off the platform.
She hit the ground hard, coughing blood, her limbs limp as consciousness slipped away.
Gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.
Her injuries were severe — deep lacerations across her arms and torso, her Dou Qi reserves shattered. If not for the treasure softening the blow, she would have been little more than a corpse.
On the platform, Xiao Chen stood motionless, his saber lowered.
That same cold, unsettling smile never left his face.