However, after a moment's consideration, Lordi decided he simply didn't care enough to investigate the mystery. Sun Elaine's internal motivations and psychological state weren't his problem, and whatever game she was playing didn't concern him so long as it didn't directly interfere with his own objectives.
Once Elaine had collected her betting receipt and departed in a rustle of expensive fabric, leading her diminished entourage of sycophants away from the bookmaker's station—noticeably leaving the disgraced Zhao Yen behind to nurse his injuries alone.
Lordi stepped forward to resume his interrupted business with Kay Gool. He reached into his storage pouch and withdrew a $tone purse, one that clinked heavily with the weight of its contents. Setting it on the table with a solid thump that drew the bookmaker's immediate attention, Lordi stated his intentions clearly and directly. "This pouch also contains ten thousand D-grade Spirit $tones, properly counted. I wish to place a wager on myself to win the preliminary rounds."
"Another Ten thousand D-grade Spirit $tones?!" Kay's eyes widened dramatically, his voice rising with shock at the astronomical sum being casually wagered. For a moment he simply stared at the heavy pouch sitting on his table, struggling to process that two customers were seriously proposing to bet such a fortune on an unknown competitor in preliminary matches.
Rather than immediately accepting this wager as he had Sun Elaine's bet, Kay Gool found himself hesitating, suddenly cautious and curious about exactly who this person was and whether he could be trusted.
Kay straightened slightly and offered a respectful cupped-fist salute, his tone shifting to something more formal and probing. "This humble operator is called Kay Gool. Might I inquire which distinguished family the esteemed junior brother represents?"
Lordi's response was calm and matter-of-fact, "I'm from the Payne clan of Deerspring town."
When Kay Gool heard this answer, a strange and somewhat calculating expression flickered through his eyes. After a moment's consideration, the bookmaker continued in smile, "I see... so esteemed sect Brother, you're from the Payne Clan. In that case, I must ask Junior Brother to please wait patiently for just a moment while I conduct some necessary verification."
Rather than immediately recording the bet and handing over a receipt as he'd done with Sun Elaine, Kay Gool began a much more thorough examination process. He carefully poured out the entire contents of Lordi's coin pouch onto his table, creating a substantial pile of Spirit $tones.
Then, with meticulous attention to detail that bordered on suspicious paranoia, he began examining these stones one by one—lifting each piece individually, holding it up to catch the sunlight, rotating it to examine from multiple angles, checking for any irregularities in color, weight, or spiritual energy signature that might indicate counterfeits or degraded stones that had lost their value.
After completing this visual inspection of the entire pile, Kay still wasn't satisfied. He randomly selected one stone from the collection, gripped it firmly in his palm, and actually began actively cultivating while holding it—circulating his spiritual energy through the stone to verify that it could indeed be absorbed and converted properly, confirming through direct test that this was genuine currency rather than cleverly crafted fakes.
Only after completing this exhaustive verification process, only after personally confirming that all ten thousand D-$tones in the offered payment were genuine articles that retained their full spiritual energy value, did Kay's expression finally soften and his professional smile return.
With meticulous care, he swept the verified Spirit $tones back into Lordi's original pouch. Securing it among his records, he turned to this junior brother, his voice now brimming with genuine warmth and admiration. "Esteemed Junior Brother, such a generous gesture speaks volumes. Placing a wager of this magnitude is a profound testament not only to your martial skill, but to your remarkable courage and conviction."
Having apparently decided that Lordi was worthy of his time and attention despite the suspicious family name, Kay Gool's demeanor became notably more accommodating and helpful. "Junior Brother, I notice you have an unfamiliar face—this is likely your first time participating in competition betting, isn't it? In that case, allow me to properly explain how my operation works and what options are available to you. I want to ensure you understand exactly what you're wagering on." He leaned forward slightly, adopting the posture of someone sharing valuable insider knowledge.
"Just like other bookmakers, I offer two distinct types of betting structures here. The first type involves wagering on who will ultimately emerge as the overall winner of the entire preliminary round series—essentially, you're predicting which single competitor will claim that final qualifying slot after all the elimination matches conclude. Just moments ago, Senior Sister Sun placed exactly this type of bet when she wagered on you to claim that ultimate victory position."
Kay continued his explanation, making certain Lordi understood the distinction between the two options. "The second betting type is more granular and focused on individual match outcomes. Rather than predicting the final winner, you're wagering on the results of specific scheduled matches between identified opponents. This allows for more precise betting based on your assessment of how particular matchups will resolve. However, obviously this second type requires knowing who will be fighting whom, which means those bets can only be placed after the lot-drawing process is completely finished and the match pairings have been publicly announced. Until we know the specific opponents who'll face each other, there's nothing concrete to bet on regarding individual matches."
The bookmaker paused to let this information sink in before adding one final important caveat. "Now, there is one critical restriction that applies specifically to you, Junior Brother, since you're planning to personally participate as a competitor rather than just being a spectator. Sect regulations and my house rules both require that competitors who bet on their own matches can only wager on themselves to win—you're explicitly forbidden from betting against yourself or wagering on your own defeat. This prevents the obvious problem of someone deliberately throwing matches to profit from fixed bets. So your options are limited accordingly."
After absorbing this explanation and considering his options, Lordi responded with a simple, decisive choice that required no complex strategy. "I'll take the first type of wager. I'm betting on myself to achieve final victory in the preliminary rounds."
Kay immediately produced a prepared betting receipt from among his paperwork, a formal skin made document designed to serve as proof of the wager and protection against fraud. He filled in the relevant details—Lordi's name, the amount wagered, the specific bet being made, the odds being offered—then added his own spiritual energy signature to the document, creating a unique authenticating mark that couldn't be easily duplicated.
As he handed this completed receipt to Lordi, he provided important warnings about its care and handling. "Junior Brother must preserve this document very carefully. You see this spiritual energy imprint I've placed on the paper? That's my personal seal, created through a specific technique that's extremely difficult to forge convincingly. According to official sect regulations, anyone caught attempting to counterfeit or tamper with these betting receipts faces a penalty of ten times the claimed amount—enough to financially ruin most disciples and potentially result in criminal charges beyond just monetary fines. Additionally, I must emphasize: if you lose this receipt, I cannot and will not issue a replacement under any circumstances. When it comes time to collect winnings, I authenticate tickets, not people—I'll pay whoever presents a valid receipt, regardless of whether that person was the original bettor. So please, guard it as you would guard any valuable treasure."
"Given that Junior Brother you're currently possesses virtually no public reputation at Ghost Shade Peak—forgive the bluntness, but most people here have literally never heard your name before today—the odds I can offer on your victory are quite conservative. The betting market doesn't recognize you as a known quantity, which means there's no premium attached to wagering on you. Your current odds are set at one-to-one, meaning you'll simply double your money if you win. Not the most exciting payout ratio, but that's what the market dictates for unknown competitors."
Lordi nodded and carefully secured his precious betting receipt among his personal effects and departed from the bookmaker's station, moving back toward the arena side to await his match.
Not long later, another figure approached Kay Gool's table to place a wager. This new customer pushed through the crowd with evident purpose, his presence commanding immediate attention from those he passed. When the bookmaker saw who had arrived, he couldn't help but react with visible surprise and a touch of nervousness. He straightened immediately and offered a respectful greeting that carried genuine deference rather than the casual professional courtesy he'd shown most other bettors. "Hail to esteemed Senior Brother Deane Doome! This is an honor! I didn't expect to see you placing bets today!"
Deane was clearly someone with substantial reputation and history at Ghost Shade Peak, a senior powerhouse who'd been part of the mountain's social ecosystem for years and whose name carried weight.
The man didn't waste time with preliminary conversation or pleasantries, having no need to establish his credentials or explain basic procedures that he already knew better than Kay Gool did.
"I'm wagering on myself to win my matches." As Deane spoke, he produced a substantial collection of cultivation resources from his storage pouch and began arranging them on the bookmaker's table. "This pile contains twelve thousand D-grade spirit stones, properly counted. Additionally, I'm offering three vials of Bone Tempering Pills, two vials of Blood Qi Pills, and five vials of Spirit Restore Pills. Calculate the total value and record my bet accordingly."
Kay responded with an awkward, slightly pained laugh. "Oh, Yes sir! Hmm... Senior Brother Doome... you see, ordinarily, my humble operation exclusively deals in Spirit $tones as the sole accepted currency. I don't typically accept payment in the form of cultivation pills or other goods because of the complications involved in valuation and resale. However..."
He paused, clearly weighing his words carefully before continuing. "Given that it's Senior Brother you making this request, given your long-standing reputation and relationship with this peak, I certainly can't refuse to accommodate you without appearing disrespectful. So yes, I'll make an exception and accept these pills as part of your wager."
"But I must be honest about the odds situation: your combat capabilities are extremely well-known throughout Ghost Shade Peak. Everyone who follows the peak-rank news is aware of your strength and track record. Your victory in the early rounds is considered virtually certain by anyone with basic knowledge. Therefore, I simply cannot justify offering you favorable odds—doing so would expose me to unacceptable financial risk since you're essentially betting on an almost guaranteed outcome."
Deane's brow furrowed with displeasure, his voice taking on an edge as he demanded clarification. "What odds are you offering then? Be specific."
Kay winced slightly, knowing his answer wouldn't be well-received but having no choice except to state the reality. "Given the circumstances and the betting market's assessment of your capabilities, I can offer you at absolute maximum a twenty-to-one payout ratio. That's genuinely the highest I can go without risking serious financial problems if multiple people bet on you." His apologetic tone made clear he understood this was an insulting offer, far below what most competitors received.
"If Senior Brother finds these terms unacceptable, if you feel they don't adequately reflect the value of your wager, then I completely understand and won't take offense if you..." He trailed off deliberately, letting the implication hang in the air.
As Kay delivered this respectful rejection disguised as negotiation, his hands were already moving—carefully gathering up the Spirit $tones and pill vials that Deane Doome had placed on the table and gently but firmly returning them to the senior brother's possession.
——
Meanwhile, having concluded his business with the bookmaker and secured his betting receipt, Lordi had positioned himself in the designated waiting area adjacent to Category A Arena Platform where his match would eventually be called. He settled in to observe the proceedings, knowing he might be waiting for considerable time depending on how quickly the preliminary matches progressed.
Under the practiced guidance of sect officials who'd clearly organized this kind of massive event many times before and had the logistics down to a well-oiled routine, the assembled handiman disciples worked with remarkable speed and efficiency to transform what had been an empty plaza into a proper tournament venue worthy of the Abyss Pit Sect's Grand Outer Sect Tournament.
The construction happened with almost supernatural swiftness—which made sense given that many of the workers were cultivators who could move materials with spiritual energy and coordinate through formations that allowed instantaneous communication. Within what felt like mere minutes but was probably closer to half an hour of concentrated effort, the entire arena complex had taken shape before the eyes of arriving spectators who watched the transformation with varying degrees of interest and impatience. The final layout consisted of sixteen separate combat arenas arranged in an elaborate six-pointed star formation that created a visually striking geometric pattern when viewed from above, each platform positioned at precise angles that allowed spectators gathered at the central viewing areas to observe multiple matches simultaneously without obstruction while also ensuring that fighters in one arena wouldn't accidentally interfere with battles happening in adjacent spaces through wayward techniques or knocked-back bodies.
At the absolute center of this massive star configuration, serving as the focal point and command hub for the entire tournament operation, a tall wooden tower had been rapidly constructed through what must have been either formation-assisted building techniques or the work of cultivators with specialized construction abilities. The tower rose perhaps fifty feet into the air, its sturdy framework built from spirit-infused timber that had been treated to resist both weather and incidental damage from spiritual energy fluctuations, with multiple observation platforms at different heights that allowed officials to maintain comprehensive views of all sixteen arenas simultaneously. Dozens of tall flagpoles had been erected around the perimeter of the tournament grounds and clustered particularly densely around the central tower, each bearing enormous banners that displayed the distinctive sect emblem of the Abyss Pit Sect—a stylized image of swirling darkness and descending depths that managed to be simultaneously elegant and vaguely menacing.
The banners fluttered dramatically in the mountain wind that swept across the exposed plaza, creating impressive visual spectacle and ensuring that anyone approaching from any direction would immediately recognize this as an official holy sect event rather than some unauthorized gathering or unsanctioned competition.
Several dozen Foundation Stage cultivators, all dressed in the formal blue robes that marked them as official sect deacons serving in administrative and enforcement capacities, were already seated prominently atop the central tower's highest observation platform where their presence would be visible to everyone in attendance. These weren't random observers or interested spectators—they were clearly the tournament's official referees and sect representatives responsible for recording match results, adjudicating disputes about rules or technique legality, and ensuring that competition remained within acceptable boundaries of violence.
Foundation Stage cultivators serving as referees was actually standard practice for Outer Sect events of this scale and importance, since only cultivators at that realm possessed sufficient speed of perception and spiritual sense range to accurately observe and judge battles between skilled Qi Refinement Stage disciples whose techniques could move faster than mortal eyes could track. Their elevated position allowed them to monitor all sixteen arenas simultaneously through spiritual sense projection while also serving as a visible reminder that powerful authorities were watching and would intervene immediately if things got out of hand or if anyone attempted to violate tournament regulations through lethal techniques or outside interference.
Around each of the sixteen arena platforms, formations had been activated to create and reinforce a solid foundation of condensed spirit flow that served multiple practical purposes simultaneously. The primary function was defensive—creating barriers that would contain wayward techniques and prevent collateral damage to spectators or adjacent arenas when fighters unleashed particularly powerful or poorly controlled attacks. But the formations also served a secondary purpose by generating tiered seating arrangements that rose up from ground level in concentric semicircles around each platform, theater-style rows that provided clear sightlines for hundreds of spectators per arena while maximizing the total viewing capacity across the entire tournament grounds. The seats themselves weren't physical benches or chairs but rather solidified platforms of spiritual energy that could support weight while remaining translucent enough to avoid blocking views for people in rows behind.
The atmosphere throughout the rapidly filling venue buzzed with the kind of electric excitement that always accompanied large-scale competitive events where reputations would be made or destroyed, where fortunes could be won or lost through betting, where Outer Sect disciples who'd trained in relative obscurity finally had opportunities to demonstrate their capabilities before audiences of peers and superiors.
Attending disciples wearing administrative badges moved efficiently through the growing crowds, systematically collecting admission fees from each spectator who'd claimed seats in the formation-generated viewing areas.
The fee structure was tiered—closer seats with better views commanded higher prices, while spots farther back or with partially obstructed angles went for cheaper rates that even relatively poor outer sect disciples could afford if they were willing to sacrifice viewing quality for the experience of attending. The whole operation had the organized chaos of a major sporting event back on Earth, that peculiar combination of structured officiating and carnival atmosphere that arose whenever large numbers of people gathered to watch others compete in violence for prizes and glory.
High atop the central wooden tower, positioned where they could observe everything happening throughout the tournament grounds while remaining removed from the crowd noise and energy below, two Foundation Stage official deacons stood together engaged in conversation while they waited for the formal opening ceremonies to begin.
Both wore the distinguished blue robes that marked their administrative authority, and their relaxed postures suggested they'd known each other for years and had probably worked together on previous tournament organizations. The older of the two, a grizzled cultivator whose face bore the weathered look of someone who'd seen multiple generations of disciples come and go through the outer sect, gazed out across the assembled arenas with an expression mixing pride in the organizational achievement and philosophical contemplation about what all this competitive struggle actually meant in the larger context of cultivation.
"There are nearly a million individual mountain peaks scattered throughout the entire Outer Sect's massive territorial holdings," he observed with the tone of someone stating a fact that still somehow managed to impress him despite long familiarity, "and among all those peaks, there are literally countless late-phase Qi Refinement stage cultivation geniuses currently fighting their way through preliminary rounds just like this one happening simultaneously across the sect's domain."
"Thousands upon thousands of talented young disciples all competing in parallel tournaments, all hoping to advance to the next stage of selection. And those rare individuals who actually manage to emerge victorious at the end of this brutal elimination process, who survive all the preliminary rounds and regional competitions and advanced tournaments to reach the absolute final stages—those disciples are all super geniuses by any reasonable standard, exceptional talents who would be celebrated as once-in-a-hundred-generation prodigies in smaller sects or mortal kingdoms!"
"Once all the regional results are compiled and compared, I do wonder if our Ghost Shade Peak's current number one genius can actually rank in the Top 10,000 genius across the entire Abyss Pit Sect…"
"What? Are you serious?!" the younger deacon couldn't help but exclaim, his voice rising with genuine disbelief and perhaps a touch of defensive pride about his home peak's reputation, the words bursting out before he'd fully considered whether openly questioning a senior colleague's assessment might be considered inappropriate or disrespectful in this formal context. "Our entire Ghost Shade Peak spans five hundred miles of territory from its outermost boundaries to the central administrative zones—that's enormous by any reasonable standard, practically a small nation's worth of land! And within that massive area we maintain tens of thousands of active late phase Qi Refining disciples at various stages of advancement, all training and competing and pushing each other toward improvement through constant rivalry and occasional cooperation. With such a large population base and such extensive territory to draw talent from, with all the resources and training infrastructure our peak has accumulated over centuries of existence, is it really that difficult for genuine genius to emerge from our ranks and manage to place in the top ten thousand of the entire sect?"
"Very difficult!" the elder deacon responded immediately and emphatically, not even pausing to soften the blow or ease into the harsh reality he was about to explain, his tone carrying the weight of someone who'd watched this same pattern repeat across multiple tournament cycles and had long since abandoned any illusions about Ghost Shade Peak's relative standing in the sect's vast hierarchy.
"Extremely difficult!" he emphasized again, as if worried that a single affirmation wouldn't adequately convey just how insurmountable the challenge actually was for disciples from their particular corner of the Abyss Pit Sect's enormous domain. He turned to face his younger colleague directly.
"You need to understand the actual scope of what we're dealing with here. The Abyss Pit Sect doesn't just command hundreds or even thousands of peaks—we're talking about tens of millions of individual peak territories scattered across a cultivation domain so vast that traveling from one edge to the other would take years even for Foundation Establishment cultivators flying at maximum speed. Among all those tens of millions of peaks, roughly one million of them are designated as outer sect peaks like our Ghost Shade Peak—territories that fall under the sect's authority and contribute disciples and resources to the larger organization but which exist at the periphery of power rather than at its center. And you need to really internalize what that means: our Ghost Shade Peak, for all its five hundred miles of territory and its tens of thousands of disciples and its centuries of accumulated history and tradition, is merely one outer sect peak among a million others. We're not special. We're not distinguished. We're just one small piece of an organization so incomprehensibly large that most disciples will never even visit a fraction of the sect's total territory during their entire cultivation careers."
The elder paused to let that sink in before continue. "And here's the part that really matters for understanding why placing in the top ten thousand is so extraordinarily difficult: in terms of the density of strong individuals, in terms of average cultivation level and resource access and quality of training infrastructure, our outer sect peak is vastly, dramatically inferior to the nine million inner sect peaks that exist under the Abyss Pit Sect's direct administration and control. Those inner sect territories receive priority for resource allocation, attract the most talented disciples through superior opportunities and compensation, maintain libraries of higher-quality techniques, employ more skilled instructors, and generally operate on a completely different level than what we have access to out here on the periphery. A mediocre inner sect disciple from one of those nine million peaks would likely thrash our Ghost Shade Peak's top genius without breaking a sweat, simply because they've had access to better everything from the moment they began cultivation—better elixirs, better techniques, better instruction, better sparring partners, better facilities. The gap isn't small or easily bridged through determination alone; it's systemic and structural and reflects resource allocation patterns that have been in place for thousands of years..."
——
The registration process continued for a while longer as final stragglers completed their enrollment for the Category A, but eventually the flow of new participants dried up and officials declared the drawing closed.
At that moment, three resonant gong strikes rang out across the competition grounds, the metallic sound carrying clearly through the ambient noise and immediately capturing everyone's attention.
All conversation ceased as spectators and competitors alike turned toward the source of the sound. A blue-robed official emerged from the administrative area and ascended onto the Category A Arena Platform with measured, dignified steps. His spirit essence shimmering robes identified him as a Foundation Stage strength deacon of the Outer Sect, and more specifically the bronze-colored embroidery visible at his sleeves marked him as belonging to a particular administrative division.
Once he'd reached the center of the platform where his voice would carry to maximum effect, he raised a hand to further quiet the crowd, then projected his announcement with spirit energy enhancement that made his words audible throughout the entire venue:
"The Grand Outer Sect Tournament preliminary rounds of holy Abyss Pit Sect Ghost Shade Peak now officially commence! Would competitors designated as Category A, Number One and Category A, Number Two please ascend to the platform immediately!"
PS:
So, funny story… I finally got a job! Sales, can you believe it? Me, a salesperson. I'm back in the game, officially "adulting" for a meal. Who knew a bowl of porridge could be so motivating? 😄
Small problem though—I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Like, zero. Also, my list of buyers is currently… well, it's just me talking to myself in the mirror. My boss might soon realize I'm better at awkward smiles than closing deals. Lol.
Anyway… just wanted to share the ~glamour~ of my new professional life. Hope you're having a way better day than I am!
Catch you later,
Your friendly wine sales-newbie (probably not for long) 😅