Jane sat in the designated contestant booth, flanked by William and Cain. Before them stretched the polished combat arena—its smooth surface hiding the promise of blood, surrounded by roaring crowds and the pounding of ceremonial drums signaling the start of the first official round.
"Those are the five targets," Jane said, pointing toward the arena where fighters were entering one by one.
She pulled out a folded slip of parchment and tapped her finger on each name as the combatants took their positions.
"The first one, from the Black Bone Sect—brutal, blood-heavy style. Second, from the Third Eye Sect—he's all about senses and deception. Third is a tank from the Blue Water Sect—slow, but nearly impossible to crack. Fourth, from the Shifting Shadow Sect—a trained killer, quick and silent."
She hesitated at the fifth—a man in plain gray robes. No insignia. No expression.
"And this one…" she said slowly, "We don't know anything about him. No name, no records. It's like he doesn't exist."
Cain muttered,
"Sometimes, the ones with no past… are the most dangerous."
One by one, the targets stepped into the ring, and one by one, they emerged victorious.
Their wins weren't just efficient—they were surgical.
These weren't contestants fighting for glory.
They were moving toward something.
Something darker.
**
The announcer's voice echoed through the stone walls:
"Next round: Dirk Vane, representing the Silent Ash Sect!"
Cain stood, cracking his knuckles, then glanced at Jane.
"Watch my back."
He stepped into the arena with calm, precise steps, carrying the weight of someone who had survived worse.
His opponent, a Yellow Wind Sect warrior, bounced on his toes—fast, light, and aggressive.
The fight didn't last long.
Five movements.
Two to the legs, a pivot, a shoulder feint, and then—one clean knee strike.
The opponent dropped cold.
The crowd went quiet, then erupted in cheers.
**
A few moments later—
"Lia Orin, Red Healing Sect!"
Jane stepped in with confident grace.
Her opponent was a proud swordswoman, fast and polished—but Jane moved like water. Dodging. Pressuring. Always two steps ahead.
She didn't strike to wound.
She let her opponent fall by herself—exhausted, broken by the weight of her own desperation.
Cain grinned.
"Beautiful as always."
Jane replied without looking at him,
"Better than some old man with a fake midlife crisis."
**
Then the name the crowd was waiting for:
"Ray Solen, of the Savage Southern Sect!"
William stood up.
The crowd hushed.
But it wasn't just the crowd watching him now.
The Elders were watching too.
He entered the arena with only a curved, aged sword.
No armor. No flourish.
His opponent—a dual-wielding swordsman, agile and fast—took position across from him.
"Ready…"
"Begin!"
One second.
Just one.
William didn't blink. He moved.
One step. One cut.
No one saw the strike.
But his opponent dropped, motionless.
Gasps filled the arena.
The Elders whispered among themselves.
"That wasn't a basic technique…"
"He's not from the Southern Sect, is he?"
Even Karov narrowed his eyes.
Alys Vyr—The Sword Queen—lifted her gaze for the first time that day, silently observing William.
He said nothing.
Just turned around and walked out of the arena like he'd done nothing at all.
**
Jane whispered, eyes locked on him,
"He just revealed himself."
Cain nodded.
"And now the Elders will watch every step he takes."
William replied with a low, unreadable tone:
"Let them watch. When the board falls, their counting won't save them."
**
Far above, a bell rang—signaling the next phase.
Everyone was starting to realize:
This wasn't just a tournament.
This was survival.