Through the eyes of Zhuge Su Yeon
The arena still pulsed with the echoes of the dragon Han had sent roaring into the heavens.The audience, drenched in that sudden storm of power, didn't want calm—they wanted more fire, more thunder, more stories to tell once the city returned to normal.
The Tie Xuan youth in the arena carried a war axe that seemed to demand two wills to lift: the arm's strength and the heart's pride.
Ren, on the other hand...He simply stood still, unarmed, unhurried.Hands clasped behind his back. His gaze lingered on the sky Han had just split open.
The signal was given.
The Tie Xuan charged with the fury of one determined to end the fight in a single strike.The axe swung for Ren's shoulder, a heavy arc filled with the intent to smash and sweep him from the arena.
But the sound that cut the air was not flesh giving way or bone breaking.
It was metal striking metal.
The Tie Xuan staggered back two steps, expecting to see a blade gleaming in his opponent's hands.But Ren remained motionless, empty-handed.The only change was his skin—now golden, luminous, as though forged and polished in the furnace of a god.
Tempered Gold Body.
— "Was that all?" Ren asked, unhurried.
The Tie Xuan boy gave no answer, only another roar of effort, this time tinged with anger.The axe came down again—at his torso, his legs, his head.Each blow thundered. Each thunder met the same result: gold against steel, unmoved.
More than twenty strikes before something finally gave way.Not Ren.The axe.
The sound of metal breaking echoed like a verdict, and the truncated blade fell to the granite.
— "Was that all?" Ren repeated, his voice so calm it sounded almost like advice.
The Tie Xuan made one last, desperate attempt at bravery.He dropped the broken weapon and hurled his fist forward, as if flesh could succeed where steel had failed.
Ren sighed.— "A pity."
For the first time, his hands left the comfort of his back. His fist clenched, and sparks of blue danced across the golden surface of his skin.Thunder was born with the strike.
This was the Thunderclap Fist.
Even with the Tie Xuan's initiative, Ren was faster.
The blow struck his stomach with the force of a storm compressed into a single point.The boy's body collapsed onto Ren, already unconscious.
Ren caught him before he fell, lowering him gently to the arena floor—a fraternal gesture that contrasted with the violence before.Then, without sparing a glance for the judge's disbelief, he turned and walked back to the Zhuge pavilion.
Some victories shout to the world.Others remind it that there are walls no siege can break.
Ren had barely sat down before he could feel the weight of dozens of gazes piercing the pavilion.
The elders in the stands no longer hid anything. Their pupils gleamed with the kind of light that belonged not to the martial world, but to merchants who had just seen a gold mine open before them.
I leaned back.
Unconcerned.
They could act against the Zhuge clan, yes.But not yet.They still needed something... anything... to justify the violation. A "plot" convenient enough, an incident manufactured, an accusation so flimsy it would only work because the script of this world loves poorly sewn pretexts.
Until then, I would have time to move my pieces.
After Ren.
No more Zhuge entered the arena for quite some time.Of the eleven who had joined the tournament, only two remained in waiting: Zhuge Lin and Zhuge Tao.
Seven matches followed, passing before me like a scroll of diluted ink—smudges of movement and noise without contour worth noting.
I wasn't the only one ignoring them.Even our rival clans barely pretended interest.
They seemed occupied with their own conversations.The ring, for that stretch, was nothing more than background noise.
Until the urn drew a name that pulled everyone back to the arena:
— "Zhuge Lin!"
The reaction was immediate.The crowd stirred not just at the return of another Zhuge, but because this time, it wasn't just any warrior stepping into the arena—it was a Zhuge beauty.
And for many eyes, that was a different kind of spectacle.
Zhuge Lin walked forward with the serenity of one who needed to prove nothing to anyone.Her white robe, cinched with a pale-blue sash, flowed like mist on an autumn morning. Her face, with its gentle lines, lacked Yui Lan's warm sweetness—whose kindness was inseparable from her beauty—but carried a different presence: ethereal, distant. The kind of beauty one does not imagine touching, only admiring from afar.
The judge called the start.
Her opponent—a Han girl—stepped sideways, spear whistling through an opening arc, threatening both shoulder and leg. The attack was quick, clean, worthy of years of training.
But against the Celestial Blade Dance, it was like wind across the still surface of a lake.
Lin's first touch with her sword was almost a greeting: the blade slid along the spear shaft, nudging its path aside without breaking rhythm. The second was an invitation: a short diagonal slash that forced her foe half a step back. The third... the third sealed the cadence.
The Dance was not mere attack or defense—it was occupation of space.Each step of Lin's closed an angle, each wrist turn raised an invisible wall. Her sword tip was never where the opponent expected, transitions flowing so smoothly there was no beginning or end, only continuity.
The spear pressed on. Rapid thrusts, sudden switches, sharp retreats. All met with the same lightness: a blade brushing the shaft aside, a step stealing the line of attack, a subtle twist letting the strike land on emptiness.
Bit by bit, pressure shifted.With every failed assault, the Han girl adjusted her guard, reset her stance, until her arm no longer obeyed with the same sharpness. Lin, by contrast, looked as though she had only just begun.
The finishing strike was as simple as it was inevitable.A sidestep, her blade sliding up the spear's shaft like water up a leaf, then a sharp twist of the wrist tore the weapon from her opponent's grasp. Before the girl could react, the cold edge rested against her throat.
Silence.The fight was over.
Lin withdrew her sword with a slight step back, without triumphalism, and bowed formally.Her opponent returned the gesture, resigned.
And so, without drama or spectacle, the match ended.
After Zhuge Lin's performance—more a sword recital than a battle—the arena sank back into a lukewarm rhythm.A few fights followed, but no Zhuge were called.
It was during that lull that fatigue finally reached me.It didn't matter that most matches ended quickly or that the draw moved at a steady pace: counting all candidates from the four clans, there had already been more than seventy-two bouts.Hours upon hours of youths testing, striking, and falling.
If not for Zhuge Tao still waiting, I would have ended the day.After all, the first phase ended here; the qualifiers, the second round, and the finals would only happen tomorrow.
For a moment, I considered persuading Tao to forfeit. We had already left enough of a mark on the crowd's imagination. But then I looked at him... and that relaxed, almost lazy demeanor irritated me more than protocol.
I waited.And, predictably in a world guided by lazy authors, his name was only called for the very last match of the day.
A plot increasingly designed to annoy me.
Tao descended the steps unhurriedly, twirling his iron staff like someone heading to play in the yard, not fight.Yet his aura changed the moment he set foot on the granite.He drew a deep breath, and blue Qi wrapped around him—steady, constant. The indolent look gave way to something centered: the presence of a warrior.
Balanced Fury Body.
His opponent was already waiting. Ninth level, two above Tao—and unlike at the tournament's start, there was no underestimation. After all the Zhuge clan had shown, no one dared relax.
The judge gave the signal.Both surged forward, the air slicing in opposite directions before clashing at center.
The opponent thrust his sword straight, intent lethal and clear—and for an instant, all believed the blade had pierced Tao.But the figure struck dissolved into smoke.
Steps of the Wandering Shade.
From the void at his opponent's back, Tao reappeared.The iron staff fell true against the back of the neck, a sharp, clean sound.The foe collapsed unconscious, while the blue Qi receded like a retreating tide.
The lazy smile returned to Tao's face, his staff twirling again as if nothing had happened. He left the arena with the same ease with which he entered.
Definitely the most ridiculous fight of the day.
I only shook my head, refusing to waste commentary on the scene.Without delay, I rose and led the clan away.There were no exchanges with the other pavilions.Everything that needed settling... would be settled tomorrow.Today, it was enough to admit I was too tired for another act of this play.