"That Alex Ward is… interesting."
From the shadows above the courtyard, Rowan Mercer watched as Alex staggered out, pale and visibly drained. Rowan rubbed his chin, reassessing.
Before tonight, Alex had barely registered on his radar. He knew the name, mostly because Vivian Bellamy had once mentioned him with an odd mix of fondness and frustration. As for Alex's fighting style, that soft, circular martial art everyone talked about had never impressed Rowan.
But now?
That was a different story.
Alex hadn't come to flatter the Mountain Master. He'd come to intervene.
He believed that if Evan Clarke were forced into a corner later in the tournament, the Mountain Master might be tempted to interfere, even subtly, to steer the outcome. That kind of interference would stain the Mountain Master's reputation permanently and ripple through the entire empowered community.
So Alex planned to stop it himself.
If fate demanded someone lose, he would take that loss personally.
The Mountain Master, however, wasn't convinced Alex could manage it. Curious, he tested him.
That was when things became genuinely interesting.
Alex hadn't relied on his usual techniques at all.
Instead, he unfolded something far deeper. A spatial art that bent positions, distorted sequencing, and even brushed against time itself. Rowan had seen Evan Clarke's tactical arrays before. This was cleaner. Sharper. More dangerous.
That single technique Alex used, the one that froze motion mid-flow, didn't just disrupt timing. It overrode it.
With what Alex had shown, beating Evan wouldn't be difficult. Even seasoned veterans would struggle against him.
And yet, the Mountain Master had still overpowered him.
Even temporal distortion hadn't been enough.
Rowan's gaze sharpened. "If that art surpasses Evan's… then it can only be one thing."
A legendary method whispered about but rarely confirmed.
He let the thought settle, then dismissed it for later.
There would be time.
"Worst case," Rowan muttered, amused, "I tie him up and deliver him to Vivian as a wedding gift. Problem solved."
Some distance away, Alex suddenly shivered.
"…Why do I feel like I just offended fate itself?" he muttered, then shook his head. "No point checking now. Once you step into this mess, there's no clean way out."
Back in the courtyard, the Mountain Master remained where he was, gaze lifting slowly toward the night sky.
"You've been watching for a while," he said calmly. "You might as well come down."
Rowan smiled.
Detection like that was expected. He dropped his concealment and descended lightly into the courtyard. His disguise remained intact. An elderly Daoist, unfamiliar, unrecorded.
"The harmony between man and the world," Rowan said mildly, "gives practitioners like you frightening awareness. They weren't exaggerating when they called you peerless."
The Mountain Master studied him, brows knitting slightly. He was certain of one thing.
He had never seen this man before.
"And yet," the Mountain Master said, "someone with your presence doesn't simply wander in for sightseeing. State your purpose."
"Nothing complicated," Rowan replied. "I wanted to exchange a few moves."
The ground answered him.
Frost spread outward from Rowan's footstep, sheathing the courtyard stones in a thin layer of ice.
The Mountain Master's eyes narrowed. He stroked his beard slowly. "It's been a long time since anyone sought me out like this. Very well. I wouldn't want to disappoint."
The courtyard dissolved.
Reality folded inward, flipping like a mirror.
They now stood in a reversed space, sky beneath their feet, ground arching overhead.
"A reflection domain," Rowan said casually. "No matter how loud we get, the outside world won't hear a thing."
The Mountain Master's posture shifted. For the first time, he became fully serious. Golden radiance poured from his body, dense enough to feel solid.
"I've never seen a technique like this," he said. "It seems I should stop holding back."
He vanished.
One moment he stood across the space. The next, his palm was already descending toward Rowan's chest.
Fast. Too fast.
Rowan barely registered the movement.
Compared to the Ward patriarch earlier that day, this speed wasn't on the same scale. It wasn't even close. Had the old man faced the Mountain Master directly, he wouldn't have survived the opening exchange.
But Rowan was not the Ward patriarch.
As the palm closed in, Rowan exhaled.
"True Flame."
Tri-colored fire erupted from his mouth, engulfing the Mountain Master in an instant. The golden radiance hissed and burned away under the intense heat, forcing the Mountain Master to retreat sharply.
He reappeared several steps back, restoring his defense, eyes wide.
"That flame… That isn't anything the strategist clans possess. And its power far exceeds theirs."
Rowan didn't answer.
Instead, he produced a small sphere from his sleeve. With a pulse of energy, it unfolded into a slender ritual sword etched with flowing sigils.
A portable focus. Refined, stored, and nourished internally.
"Mountain Master," Rowan said pleasantly, "please receive this."
The sword swept outward.
A roaring gale surged forth, condensing into a spiraling dragon of wind that tore through the mirrored space.
The Mountain Master responded instantly.
Lightning detonated from his core, colliding head-on with the storm.
They held.
Then Rowan moved again.
Flame followed. Water surged. Thunder descended.
Four forces layered together, crashing down in unison.
The Mountain Master braced himself, power blazing, but even so, his body locked in place under the pressure. He could defend, barely.
But advancing was impossible.
No talismans. No formation. Just a blade and incantation…
His mind raced.
What sect teaches this? What lineage produces someone like this?
As the storm raged around him, one thought repeated louder than all the rest.
Where did this Daoist come from?
...
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