The matches continued one after another, qi flashing across the platforms like streaks of lightning. By the time Nuna returned from her bout, the crowd was still buzzing with talk of her overwhelming performance.
Kyle stood as she entered the waiting area, greeting her with a faint grin." Well done," he said warmly. "That was a beautiful first victory."
Nuna smiled back, just slightly, before lowering herself into a seat beside him.
They didn't have long to enjoy the calm.
Almost immediately, a group of young men—sect disciples and so-called young masters—approached, wearing the kind of smug confidence that usually came with good family names and inflated egos.
"Well, well," one said, folding his arms. "So this is the famous spear girl everyone's talking about."
Another leaned forward, smiling too widely. "Miss, I am Wei Long of the Radiant Cloud Sect. It would be my honor to invite you—"
"Fuck off!" Kyle interrupted, his tone flat but edged with steel.
They turned to him, some frowning, others smirking. "And who might you be?" someone asked with a condescending tone.
Kyle's gaze hardened. "You heard me. Fuck off."
The words dropped like a blade.
The air shifted; the gathered cultivators stiffened, some glaring at him, others sneering in disbelief.
One of them scoffed. "We are not here for you. You think your glare scares anyone?"
Kyle let some of his peak foundation establishment aura leak, leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping low and cold. "If you know what's good for you, don't try me."
That shut most of them up.
After a tense pause, one of the older disciples placed a hand on his companion's shoulder. "Forget it. We can approach her later—during his fight."
Kyle's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and unyielding. "Don't you dare."
They didn't reply, only snorted and turned away. The tension hung for a few seconds more before dissipating, leaving Kyle and Nuna alone once again.
He sighed, sitting back. "Persistent, aren't they?"
Nuna chuckled softly. "You gave in to their provocations far too easily."
"Better than letting them think they have a chance of wasting our time. It's better to set things straight from the get-go."
Nuna smiled. "On that, I agree."
Down in the arena, the next groups took the stage. Kyle watched with mild curiosity as familiar faces began to appear.
The Twins—Zenith and Zephyr—stepped onto separate platforms. Both wielded twin daggers, their movements sharp and mirrored, each strike elegant and lethal.
Kyle remembered the details from the novel. The techniques they were using—Stormfang Twin Dance—were dual arts, designed to draw strength from synchronization. When together, they were exponentially stronger. But even alone, they fought with frightening precision.
Though each seemed slightly weaker without the other's rhythm, their opponents didn't stand a chance. The twins dismantled them effortlessly, their blades flashing silver under the arena lights before either foe could land a proper strike.
Then came Lucien—the so-called Sword Saint of Dusk himself. Though none of them were known by those names at the moment. They were yet to make a name for themselves.
Kyle watched with narrowed eyes as Lucien drew his blade, his aura erupting like a storm. His opponent barely had time to raise a defense before Lucien's sword traced a single glowing arc—and the fight was over.
Clean and flawless. Exactly as Kyle remembered it from the story.
He couldn't help but grin faintly. 'So the novel really is playing out.' Zenith and Zephyr were both love interests for the protagonist—Lucien's future lovers, starting from their time in the Twilight Sect. It was strange seeing them alive, moving, and real.
When the tenth group was called, a faint light pulsed from the talisman at Kyle's waist. His number glowed faintly.
"Looks like it's my turn," he said, rising smoothly.
He glanced toward Nuna, who nodded, her expression calm but her eyes glinting with quiet pride. It was finally time for her beloved to shine on the stage and build a reputation for himself.
With a brief shimmer, Kyle's figure vanished from the waiting area—teleported onto one of the rising platforms outside.
A young woman appeared opposite him, dressed in crisp sect robes, a halberd in hand. Her eyes widened slightly as she took him in—his white hair, his composed demeanor, and his unearthly handsomeness.
"Hello," Kyle greeted with an easy smile.
Her face flushed red almost instantly. She shook her head sharply, trying to compose herself. "R-Right… let's have a good match."
Up in the stands, Nuna sighed softly, shaking her head in defeat. "This guy…"
But before she could relax, a group of young men approached her—true to their earlier words.
"Lady Nuna," one began smoothly, Nuna quietly wondered how he had come to know her name, "I am Lei Feng of the Azure Sky Sect. It's an honor to—"
"Pardon me, but I believe I spoke first," another interrupted. "Jiang Hao of the Sunfire Pavilion. I was hoping you might join me for a—"
"You two are too forward," a third interjected, bowing politely. "Allow me to—"
They tripped over one another's words, competing shamelessly.
Through it all, Nuna remained perfectly still, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze fixed calmly on the arena screen. She didn't even look their way.
After a few awkward seconds, she tilted her head slightly—to the side, away from them—as if they didn't exist at all.
The cultivators froze.
One actually coughed blood from sheer indignation.
"The audacity!" one hissed. "She's completely ignoring us!"
Another clenched his fists. "Unbelievable…"
In the end, none of them found the courage to say another word. One by one, they walked away in silent, humiliated defeat.
Back in the arena, the proctor raised his hand. "Begin!"
The girl moved first, her halberd flashing as she lunged forward with practiced speed.
Kyle didn't move. He watched her approach, his expression one of mild curiosity.
The moment she entered range, he sidestepped effortlessly—using no qi, no flourish, just raw precision and speed. His sword appeared in his hand like a silver whisper, and before she even realized it, its edge was at her neck.
The proctor's eyes went wide. "M-Match over! Winner—Kyle!"
The girl blinked, stunned.