From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
The arena, clean and rearranged, seemed like an untouched stage awaiting its actors.
But everyone knew it wouldn't take long before the newly repaired stone would once again be marked — not by chance, but by the inevitable weight of fate.
Han Qian was the first to move.
His eyes, still carrying the coldness inherited from generations of pride, lifted and rested on my brother. The crimson sword planted at his side chimed softly when he retrieved it, as if it had been waiting for that gesture.
His voice echoed clear, dripping with polite disdain:
— When I heard it was you who dragged your clan into this tournament, I didn't think you'd make it this far.
The stands stirred, murmurs rippling across the stone columns like wind in a canyon. Yu Jin, however, did not move immediately. He simply closed his eyes slightly, breathed, and then opened them again — the flame burning within was not made of words, but of certainty.
— Since I started this problem — he replied, voice firm, leaving no room for hesitation — I must finish it.
A deep laugh rumbled from Han Qian's chest. It was not the laughter of amusement, but of someone who considers insolence and chooses to savor it as an insult that only feeds his own pride.
— Do you really think you can? — the golden glow of his aura flickered along with the laughter. — Don't expect to leave here as whole as the last one.
Yu Jin raised his saber in silence. The gesture held no hurry, no theatrics — only the inevitability of someone who refuses to look away from the sun.
— We shall see.
And with that, the duel began.
The first clash was not of bodies, but of wills.
The two presences burst forth, filling the space as if the air itself had turned into invisible blades. The runes carved into the arena flared instantly, as though fearing the stone blocks would shatter before the first exchange even landed.
Han Qian struck first. His blade traced a lateral arc that looked simple — but only looked.
The space around the sword rippled like fabric being torn. An unknown technique, a sword dance that sought not only to cut flesh but to dislodge the enemy's very Qi. Each stroke left behind golden scars of energy in the air, flaming fissures that lingered before closing.
I recognized the pattern, but not the name. It was not something common. Likely an exclusive inheritance of the Han, passed only to those burdened with the title of heir.
Yu Jin did not retreat.
With a single movement, the saber came alive in his hands — heavy, firm, devoid of flourish.
And when the steel shone beneath the arena's light, his technique revealed itself: the Steel Dragon Saber.
It was an art that did not seek beauty. There was no elegance in its cuts. Only disciplined brutality.
Each swing seemed to carry the weight of a mountain, a blunt strike that resounded like thunder trapped in iron.
The two forces collided.
Flaming sword against steel saber.
Golden light against metallic sparks.
The impact rang out like bells shattering the air in dissonant notes.
Golden flames spread in arcs, while sparks flew from Yu Jin's saber, scattering across the ground like falling stars.
Han Qian moved with the precision of someone who had drilled the same sequence thousands of times, his sword tracing flawless lines, each cut imbued with refined spiritual energy.
Yu Jin, in contrast, fought like a beast that had learned to wield the weapons of men. His cuts were crude, but every single one found the exact path to intercept his opponent's blade.
The audience held its breath.
With each exchange, fragments of stone shattered under invisible pressure.
Yu Jin's saber roared like muffled thunder, while Han Qian's blade spat solar sparks.
And yet, neither yielded.
The rhythm escalated — first strikes, then entire sequences — until their weapons could no longer be seen as solid objects, but as rivers of light intertwining, clashing and separating in chaotic patterns.
My eyes followed every detail.
There it was, the irony: a youth forged in the struggle against wild beasts… now crossing blades with an heir raised under libraries and training halls.
And, for some unfathomable reason, they matched each other.
A nearly imperceptible smile tried to surface on my lips.
Almost.
"So the fire has really learned to fight…"
The blades kept dancing.
Cut after cut, strike after strike, until the edges of the stage were no longer smooth: the stone fractured into fissures and fragments, as if it were fragile clay before the pressure the two unleashed.
Then came the inevitable.
The scene I had witnessed earlier, between Han Qian and Ren, resurfaced with force.
Behind the Han heir, the Martial Soul of the Desolate Sword emerged once more.
Translucent, shadowy, forged of jade so clear it seemed to cleave the very void, it loomed upright like a living shadow.
With each silent vibration of the spiritual sword, Han Qian's blows grew heavier, more inescapable.
His real blade gleamed, flooded with spiritual power, until the air around him shimmered as if golden flames burned in silence.
The next clash was decisive.
When Yu Jin's saber intercepted the solar arc, an explosion of sparks flared like constellations at war.
But this time, his body did not escape unscathed.
His feet dragged across the arena floor, carving deep grooves until at last he was forced to retreat several meters.
The audience gasped.
It was clear.
My brother was at a disadvantage.
Han Qian lifted his sword in an almost solemn gesture, his voice ringing like a sentence:
— See? This is the Spirit Refinement Realm. You never stood a chance.
Silence.
Not even the Zhuge elders dared to speak.
Yu Jin, however, merely lifted his gaze.
Sweat dripped, his breathing was heavy, but a strange calm lingered on his face.
— It's not just the Spirit Refinement Realm… — he said, tone low, steady, carrying something beyond mere boldness. — Then it's no problem.
And the impossible began.
His skin flushed crimson, as if blood burned beneath the flesh.
The air trembled.
The arena floor vibrated, runes etched decades ago pulsing in answer.
The flame he had carried since birth now spread through his entire body — not as a technique, but as a rebirth.
I recognized that moment from afar.
It wasn't a technique.
It wasn't a plan.
It was the most unbearably typical act of a protagonist: breaking through in battle.
Han Qian saw it too.
Unlike me, he had no patience for irony.
His eyes narrowed in fury, and his sword lunged in a lethal arc, seeking that precise instant of vulnerability.
Breaking through was dangerous — the body unstable, Qi in convulsions, the mind ajar to Heaven.
One strike, and Yu Jin would be torn apart before ever reaching the next realm.
But I did not worry.
Why?
Because there was no need.
If he had chosen this path, then the narrative itself would protect him.
A silent law, more reliable than any defensive formation.
And, as if Heaven had heard my thought, it happened.
At the very instant the solar blade descended toward Yu Jin's exposed flesh, his eyes opened.
Red.
A bright, feverish red that seemed to ignite the air.
A wave of Qi burst from his body.
The impact was so abrupt that Han Qian was thrown back, his feet scraping along the arena floor as though he had struck an invisible wall.
The Desolate Sword wavered at his back, faltering for a breath under the sudden pressure.
And then the world knew.
The boundary had been shattered.
Body Refinement lay behind him.
Before the eyes of all, Zhuge Yu Jin ascended into the Spirit Refinement Realm.
The audience erupted in screams, but for me, seated in my place, only one phrase echoed with silent irony:
"There. Now the fight will indeed gain new colors."
The thunder of ascension still echoed when the battle resumed.
Han Qian, forced back several steps, gripped his crimson sword tighter, while his Spiritual Soul behind him pulsed with renewed vigor. Yu Jin, on the other hand, merely breathed deeply, the red in his eyes still blazing like freshly lit embers.
And then, they clashed again.
The metallic sound reverberated through the arena, so loud that some spectators raised their hands to their ears. Han Qian's golden blade descended in an arc, accompanied by a spiritual pressure that made the air ripple like summer heat. Yu Jin raised his saber — simple, almost crude in appearance — and the clash between the two weapons made the arena quake once more.
Dust rose. Sparks flew.
And, to the astonishment of many… there was no mark upon Yu Jin's black saber.
The combat pressed on, strike after strike.
Now, before all eyes, it seemed balanced.
Each blazing strike of Han Qian was intercepted, redirected, broken by the methodical brutality of the Steel Dragon Saber. The black blade answered every attack as if it had been forged solely for this purpose, never wavering, never chipping, never conceding a single scratch.
The crowd held its breath.
Some believed they were witnessing two equals.
But I… I knew well there was no equality at all.
Han Qian had summoned his Martial Soul.
He had unveiled his spiritual weapon, a clan treasure that shone like an erupting sun.
And yet Yu Jin fought without manifesting any Martial Soul — relying only on his freshly ascended body and that nameless saber.
Or rather… nameless to us.
My eyes lingered on the black blade.
There was something there.
Each time Han Qian's strike fell upon it, I expected to see a crack, a mark, any sign of wear. But the saber remained unaltered, as if forged of a material denser than Heaven's will itself.
It was not simple.
Definitely not simple.
Yu Jin had chosen it thoughtlessly, picking it from among dozens of forgotten weapons in the clan's treasury. An arbitrary, careless gesture — the kind this world always insists on rewarding.
I sighed inwardly.
It was exactly the sort of artifact that only appears in the hands of protagonists.
A worthless scrap of iron to all others… but one that later would prove to be an immense treasure, its origins lost in some ancient era.
The irony was too plain.
While Han Qian flaunted the glory of his heritage, Yu Jin wielded nothing but happenstance — and yet the golden blade could not overcome him.
"Of course… typical."
The apparent balance was only a prelude.
I knew: when that saber revealed its true nature, there would be no doubt left as to who was destined to stand tall over the arena.
The duel raged on, strike after strike, until the arena's air could no longer bear the weight of colliding Qi. It was like watching two rivers crash against each other, each current striving for dominance, neither relenting.
Then Han Qian decided.
The runes beneath his feet flared as his Qi erupted in waves, and behind him, not only did the Desolate Sword rise, but something more.
The space wavered, and a new presence manifested: a flaming sea, vast and roaring, blazing in crimson and gold. The fire stretched as far as eyes could imagine, as though seeking to devour Heaven itself.
My eyes narrowed.
— …A second Martial Soul?
It was far too soon. Much too soon.
Each cultivator could awaken one Martial Soul per major realm — Body Refinement, Spirit Refinement, Core Formation… but when it happened was a cruel enigma.
Some succeeded upon breaking into the first level. Others only at later stages, after adventures or long periods of secluded cultivation. Some, even in the very instant before leaving the realm altogether.
There was no rule. Only mystery, luck… or opportunity.
To awaken a second Soul so early… was a privilege reserved to very few.
But the reason didn't matter. The fact was simple: Han Qian now wielded not only the Desolate Sword, but also the Flaming Sea.
And the effect was immediate.
His next strike exploded with power.
When his crimson blade clashed against Yu Jin's black saber, the flames did not remain bound to the impact: they overflowed.
A sea of fire erupted upon the arena, engulfing everything in incandescent waves, swallowing Yu Jin whole.
The stands erupted in cries.
Some applauded, others despaired.
The name of the Han roared like thunder amid the blazing sea.
And then, within that ocean of flames… it appeared.
Behind Yu Jin, rising like a vision fated to mark generations, three golden dragons soared, roaring at the heavens.
They were not fragile shades.
They were not symbolic echoes.
They were complete dragons, majestic and golden, every scale gleaming as though forged from celestial metal.
My breath halted for an instant.
— …Three?
I wanted — desperately wanted — to decipher the potential of that Martial Soul.
But the world, as always, preferred to mock my curiosity.
The halo of a Martial Soul only revealed itself during cultivation, never in combat.
Another stupid rule, irritating, clearly written to prolong suspense.
Perhaps the whim of the author of this tale, perhaps only Heaven's way of tormenting me.
But I did not need halos.
I could feel it.
The pressure of those dragons was overwhelming, suffocating even the fire that sought to consume Yu Jin.
And, in the next instant, the scene etched itself into everyone's memory.
Yu Jin did not leave the sea of flames.
He remained within it, untouched.
As if he were the very sun greeting a bonfire.
The silence lasted but a second.
And then, the black saber descended.
It was no ordinary cut.
It was like a meteor tearing through the firmament, dragging stars in its fall.
The impact against Han Qian's blade reverberated across the entire arena — and before the stunned eyes of thousands, the crimson weapon shattered into three fragments, flaming shards scattering in all directions.
The saber pressed on, cutting not only steel but flesh as well.
A colossal gash tore across Han Qian's chest, from shoulder to abdomen, blood spilling like a broken river.
The Han heir was hurled from the arena, his body spinning through the air until it crashed against the boundary stones.
His fate mirrored that which he had inflicted upon Ren.
The difference was cruel.
Ren had risen, bloodied, but standing.
Han Qian did not.
When his body fell, it did not rise again.