As the river of chi surged forward, the heirs scattered in different directions. Each of them had the same plan in mind. They would first clear out the weaker competitors before turning their blades against one another. While ordinary participants panicked and stared at the rushing current as if it were death itself, the heirs remained calm. Their faces carried no fear, only the quiet confidence of those who had been prepared for this kind of test all their lives.
The problem was never the river. The real obstacle lay in removing the opponents around them. The rules had been stated clearly at the beginning of the trial. One only needed to reach the finish line to pass. That single requirement left room for every kind of strategy. Some would focus on survival, others on combat, and a few would use the chaos as cover to strike at their rivals.
When the river of chi burst from the artifact, weaker contestants faltered, distracted by the overwhelming wave of energy. The heirs, however, immediately seized the opportunity. Their blades, fists, and techniques turned not toward the river but toward their opponents.
Among them, a warrior with a massive longsword fixed his gaze on a masked figure clad in black. He believed the figure would be easy prey. Perhaps a showoff, perhaps a coward hiding behind a disguise, but in his eyes certainly not a true threat. His plan was to strike from behind and catch the figure unprepared. What he failed to realize was that his chosen target was the most capable fighter in the entire tournament.
With a roar, he swung his blade. Chi surged along the edge of the weapon, bright and lethal. He aimed to decapitate his opponent in a single, decisive strike. A sound like tearing flesh echoed across the battlefield. A head fell to the ground and rolled to the swordsman's feet. But when he looked down, his triumph turned to confusion. It was not the head of the masked figure.
His expression darkened with fury as he turned to locate his true target. What he saw instead made his anger falter. The masked man had avoided his strike so perfectly that the swordsman had not even realized it until the aftermath. Now the black-clad figure was weaving through the storm of stray attacks launched by other combatants. He moved as though the battlefield itself was his personal training ground, each chaotic strike nothing more than a child's game to be dodged at leisure.
This figure was Kyle. From the very first mission, he had placed every attribute point into speed. The result was absolute. No one present could rival his movement. Even now he held back, choosing not to reveal the full extent of his swiftness, remaining cautious of hidden dangers.
The swordsman's thoughts reeled in shock. Who is this man? I thought he was a pretender, someone showing off with tricks. But if he can move like that, I would already be dead if he truly targeted me.
As relief began to steady his nerves, a sharp whistling sound passed by his ear. He barely had time to flinch. An arrow wrapped in chi struck him directly in the head. It pierced through one ear and out the other, leaving a clean hole. His body collapsed, lifeless, as the fight raged on.
Attacking so recklessly at this stage of the tournament was foolish. Everyone on the field was both enemy and obstacle, and chaos reigned. Only the heirs could afford to act with such arrogance, for they were the chosen prodigies. Their status and strength allowed them to fight openly without fear. Others avoided them, expecting their victory as a matter of inevitability. They were ruthless and unrestrained, confident that their power granted them the right to act however they wished.
Kyle, however, had no powerful clan behind him. The only thing that drew attention to him was the mask he wore, a mask that made others curious and suspicious. His best option was not to fight but to evade.
The timing soon favored him. The river of chi crashed into the ground with a roar, sweeping away the weaker warriors as though they were twigs caught in a flood. Screams rang out as bodies were dragged downstream.
The crowd watching from the stands erupted, their voices rising even louder than the waves themselves. Those who had been frozen by fear of death, those who had been distracted by their hunger for blood, and those who had simply lost focus were all swept away together. Only the sharpest survived, leaping onto the floating logs that tumbled along with the river. They balanced themselves with quick bursts of chi, treating the deadly current as if it were a test of balance and control.
The sudden appearance of the river interrupted the battle but did not end it. Chi techniques lit up the air once more. Arrows and spears soared overhead, each one shimmering with energy. The battlefield became a twisted mix of flowing water and desperate combat. Survivors balanced atop their logs like reckless riders, manipulating chi to keep themselves steady against the crashing waves.
Kyle observed the scene with a calm shake of his head. To him, they were fools wasting strength on meaningless clashes. His thoughts were simple. Avoid unnecessary battles, conserve energy, and head directly to the finish line. With precise steps and fluid chi control, he slipped past the fighting and advanced.
From the stands, the clan leaders scoffed. Their opinions of the masked figure sank even lower. To them, his decision to run instead of fight proved he was a coward without spine or honor. Yet not everyone shared that judgment.
Vera, one of the spectators, narrowed her eyes as she studied him. Beside her sat Felix of the Kanglan Sect, the only peer she considered her equal. She turned her head toward him and asked, "Felix, do you see what I see?"
Felix gave a low laugh. "Do you think you have more insight than me when it comes to talent? I see what you see, Vera."
Vera smiled, her tone playful. "Are you certain? Not everything that glitters is gold. That masked boy may have decent chi control and a little strategy, but that alone does not make him extraordinary."
Felix responded in the same light tone, though his voice carried a sharp edge. "My instincts have never been wrong. That masked one is as talented as the heirs themselves. Perhaps even more talented."
Vera chuckled softly. Her own instincts were tingling, though she would not admit it aloud. Since Felix was so confident, she decided to use his conviction to her advantage. "Why do we not make a wager, then, if you are so sure?"
Felix remained silent at first, his eyes fixed on the figure in black.
"One thousand essence flowers," Vera pressed, "against your level one magic dagger."
She expected hesitation. Perhaps she would coax him, push him, and lure him into agreeing. Instead, Felix answered with a calm and decisive voice. "Done."
For a moment shock flickered across her face, but she quickly concealed it. Her gaze returned to the masked figure, this time filled with uncertainty. Why was Felix so convinced? She had intended to make him doubt, but instead she began to question her own judgment. Losing a thousand essence flowers would be a devastating blow to her sect. But if she managed to claim the dagger, the gain would be enormous.
Vera clenched her fists. She could only hope that Felix had not tricked her into a wager she would regret. What she did not realize was that the masked figure below was someone she once knew. A student she had discarded when she believed he could no longer serve her purposes. She had not even bothered to defend him when others cast him aside. Without realizing it, she had played her role in the birth of his villainous path.
On the battlefield, the chaos grew worse. Kane unleashed devastation wherever he moved. Unlike others, he had released his magic heart early, a rare and reckless choice. But Kane was no ordinary competitor. He was the only one with two magic hearts.
His first manifested as a green serpent, a fitting reflection of his cunning and ruthless nature. The serpent infused him with strength, raising his already formidable power to even greater heights. With sword in hand, he cut through his opponents as though they were nothing more than stalks of grass before a farmer's blade.
One warrior fell. Then another. Blood soaked the ground in his wake. Kane's expression was cold, his eyes lit with a dangerous glint.
It was then that he noticed a figure slipping quietly through the chaos, heading toward the finish line. The masked man again. Kyle had avoided conflict, moving silently while others exhausted themselves.
A smirk spread across Kane's lips, sharp and cold. To him, Kyle was nothing more than another vegetable waiting to be cut down on his chopping board.