The flash of qi came from nowhere else but Riven's palm.
It was the second martial skill he'd acquired alongside Falconburst Kick.
Frostbind Chains.
He'd finally managed to reach minor mastery over the last week.
A pale blue glow bloomed beneath his palm — not explosive, not violent. Controlled.
But unlike what someone might expect, the assassin wasn't blasted back. He was struck — but the palm itself had no special power behind it, besides the force it was thrown with. That wasn't the point.
Because when Riven pulled his hand away, something remained.
A small, light-blue mark glowed on the assassin's chest, no larger than a coin.
And between them—
A chain formed.
Translucent. Ice-blue. Not quite solid, but unmistakably real.
It extended smoothly as Riven drew his hand back — link after shimmering link — until it reached about fifteen centimeters.
Then it stopped.
He couldn't control a longer chain.
It pulled taut and his palm wouldn't move farther.
The assassin had just enough time to register surprise—before Riven yanked his arm back.
The Frostbind Chain snapped tight.
The assassin's torso lurched forward violently, pulled off balance as his feet lagged behind.
Riven didn't hesitate.
He stepped in and drove his knee up—hard.
The impact landed flush against the assassin's abdomen.
Air burst from his lungs as his body folded around the strike.
Crack.
The skeletal array flared to life for a brief instant—then shattered, dissolving into pale, fading fragments of light.
Out.
Riven lowered his leg, steadying his breath. His gaze flicked to his palm.
He hadn't been sure he'd find a clean chance to use this in a real fight. Not at it's current level.
But it had worked.
Surprisingly well.
For a second, he let his mind wander.
If he could reach higher mastery... he could lengthen the chain. Attach it to other things. Link an enemy to a tree. A rock. Maybe even another enemy.
There was potential.
But also limitation.
At this level, Frostbind Chains was still a situational skill.
If he'd had something that directly amplified his palm strike, he could've ended the fight even more easily.
Still—
He hadn't even needed his needles.
That was something.
A flicker of pride stirred beneath his otherwise calm exterior.
Then he turned, eyes shifting to the other fights.
Ziren's match seemed to be ending as well.
He stood tall, unscathed — no weapon in hand.
Riven still didn't know if he even used one in serious fights.
But across from him, his opponent stumbled back, a flash of qi bursting as his array shattered.
That convinced Riven.
Besides the pigtailed girl from Silk Dominion and the Inner Condensation disciple from Graveweaver Court, no disciple here could truly challenge Ziren.
Not counting himself, of course.
He allowed himself a faint smirk at the thought.
Last time they met, he'd surrendered — back when they were enemies in the Newcomer's Final.
He'd been exhausted and there was nothing to gain by fighting back then.
And an injury could have risked his chances at getting home.
But now that he knew there was most likely no chance to get home before the auction in six months, he could risk a fight.
Not now though.
They were on the same side this time.
Besides.
He reminded himself.
Maybe he could find an earlier chance through the Silk Dominion.
His thoughts aside, across the platform, Lara's fight was still raging — and loud.
Her glaive swung in wide arcs, slicing through the air with erratic rhythm between every strike.
To someone unfamiliar, it might've looked like a mess — wild, impulsive, unrefined.
But every move landed with weight. With intention.
And clearly — with results.
A final burst of motion, a grunt of pain, and then a soft crack.
Another shattered array. Another victory.
But not all battles were going their way.
Talia's wasn't.
Her opponent — a smaller, wiry assassin — had gone full speed from the start.
He slipped past her again and again, his movements serpent-smooth, evasive and relentless.
Talia was fast — but this time, not fast enough.
And without the ability to pin him down or force a trade, she couldn't land a single solid hit.
Eventually, he took her down.
She exhaled sharply through her nose and walked off the platform, eyes narrowed — but said nothing.
That left only one assassin standing.
He looked around.
Three of his teammates were already down.
He glanced at the seemingly untouched Riven and Ziren, before looking at the slightly messy Lara.
A moment of stillness.
Then — quietly — the assassin raised his hand and stepped back.
Forfeit.
And just like that, the match was over.
The elder's voice echoed across the platform.
"Venomthread Sect — victory. Three pearls."
Riven exhaled slowly. The tension drained from his shoulders.
On the other side, the brown-robed elder of the Black Widow Pavilion frowned.
His eyes flicked between the defeated disciples, then toward Elder Syen.
"...Hmph."
He knew that the Venomthread Sect had been getting stronger and stronger recently, but he still thought they were gonna win this small tourney.
But clearly he had underestimated them.
Everyone began to step off the platform.
Riven rolled his shoulders out as he walked, letting his body cool down from the brief fight. The Frostbind Chain had worked better than expected… but it had also drained more qi than he'd hoped.
Across the way, Ziren moved like nothing had happened. No visible exertion. No emotion.
And Lara?
She was beaming, happy with winning her fight this time.
Talia had already returned to the table. She didn't speak, but she didn't look particularly upset either. Just thoughtful.
Meanwhile the ever stoic Elder Syen smiled slightly and Mei practically beamed.
Clearly they were happy with the results.
A moment later, the elder's voice rang out once again across the courtyard.
"This concludes the tournament."
A subtle ripple of qi spread out to get everyone's attention.
"The rankings are as follows:
First place — Venomthread Sect.
Second place — Black Widow Pavilion.
Third place — Graveweaver Court.
Fourth place — Silk Dominion.
According to the agreed-upon division, the shares will be split as such:
40%, 30%, 20%, 10%.
Congratulations to the Venomthread Sect."
Guess the pearls weren't even needed...
Riven thoughts to himself before a light applause rose from some of the tables.
Not loud. Not forced. Just polite.
Riven noticed the Silk Dominion pigtailed girl clapping more enthusiastically than the rest of her sect — he'd taken her for the more reserved kind. Her blonde teammate next to her looked like she was trying to fade into her seat.
The Graveweaver disciples smiled slightly.
And the Black Widow Pavillion disciples, in contrast, didn't look happy at all.
Surprisingly enough the third place looked happier than the second.
"Now then," the elder continued, tone a touch more relaxed, "the formal portion of the banquet is over. Feel free to enjoy the food, the garden, or the company of your peers."
He gave a slight pause, eyes sweeping over the gathered disciples.
"After all—" he said, a small smile forming, "—you may not get another chance to be this friendly the next time your sects meet."
Some polite laughter followed.
A few disciples were already standing and stepping toward other sects, unsure but curious. A tentative mingling began.
Riven was also getting ready to stand up.
He had to find a chance to talk to the Silk Dominion disciples to see if they had a bigger map.
The only question was.
Which one should he approach?