The arena was being cleaned.
Not by disciples, but by spirit formation puppets — dozens of them. Their metal limbs creaked as they swept dust, polished stone, and restored the sigil lines embedded in the floor.
The Minor Challenge was no small matter.
It was held once every four years — a public test where outer sect disciples could earn a place in the inner sect. A chance for obscurity to become influence. For the nameless to rise.
Or for some… to fall spectacularly.
---
Jiang Xuan stood alone in the inner balcony above the arena, his arms crossed as he watched the preparations below.
He hadn't asked to be placed in the challenge.
He didn't care about inner sect rankings.
But the elders insisted.
Some wanted to test him.
Others wanted him to fail publicly.
He didn't know which bothered him more.
---
Lin Tao found him before the sun rose.
"Senior Brother!" he called, breathless from the stairs. "They've posted the brackets!"
Jiang Xuan gave a quiet nod. "And?"
"You're fighting last."
"Of course."
"And—" Lin Tao hesitated, biting his lip, "—your opponent is… Wei Zong."
Jiang Xuan blinked slowly. "Convenient."
"He's already bragging," Lin Tao muttered. "Says he'll 'crush the arrogant stray dog in front of the whole sect.'"
Jiang Xuan didn't react.
But inside… something stirred. Not anger. Not fear.
Something colder.
---
By midmorning, the arena was full.
Outer sect disciples packed the stands. Inner sect elites sat in rows above them, robes pristine, expressions bored or curious. Even a few elders appeared in the sky pavilions.
Whispers floated through the crowd like fog:
"Did you hear? Jiang Xuan's in it."
"The orphan with no background?"
"He killed a mid-grade beast alone. I heard he used no technique. Just intent."
"That can't be true…"
"Then why are the elders watching?"
---
Yao Xi stood in the shadows of the colonnade, arms folded, eyes scanning every inch of the platform.
She didn't care about the other matches.
She only watched him.
Jiang Xuan.
He stood like a statue on the far side of the ring, sword sheathed, gaze lowered.
Still. Calm. Too calm.
She had seen this stillness before.
Right before entire sects burned.
---
The early matches were forgettable — basic footwork, small flashes of qi techniques, cocky boys shouting names of their sword moves.
Then came the fourth match.
A boy named Duan Yi tried to use a flame talisman to boost his palm strike.
The talisman exploded in his hand.
The crowd gasped. He fell screaming, half his robes scorched.
Jiang Xuan's gaze didn't flicker.
Neither did Yao Xi's.
But inside, her mind shifted.
That wasn't a mistake.
Talisman formations didn't misfire without interference.
And interference meant one thing:
Someone was stirring chaos on purpose.
---
As the matches continued, Jiang Xuan quietly moved to a bench beside the arena steps. Lin Tao sat beside him, bouncing nervously.
"You're not nervous?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"No."
"I am."
"I can tell."
They sat in silence.
Then Lin Tao leaned in, whispering, "Everyone's betting on Wei Zong."
Jiang Xuan's brows lifted slightly. "Are they."
"Even the inner disciples. They think you're some cursed fluke."
"…They might be right."
Lin Tao frowned. "But I don't think so."
Jiang Xuan looked at him.
"I think you're something else," the boy said, quieter now. "Something rare. Something the sect isn't ready for."
"…Maybe they should be."
---
Above them, Elder Wen stood with his arms behind his back.
Grandmaster Yao joined him.
"Do you really think he'll hold back?" Grandmaster Yao asked.
"No," Elder Wen said. "And that's what worries me."
They both turned as the final match was announced.
The crowd quieted.
A gong rang once, deep and loud.
"Final match: Jiang Xuan versus Wei Zong."
The arena floor shimmered as protective formations lit up, glowing lines encircling the ring.
Jiang Xuan rose.
Wei Zong stepped in from the opposite gate, grinning wide.
"I've been waiting for this," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Hope you're ready to bleed, orphan."
Jiang Xuan didn't answer.
He drew his blade.
And the wind… stopped.
----
The arena fell silent.
Even the wind stilled, as if the air itself didn't dare breathe.
Jiang Xuan stood with his blade drawn — simple, unadorned, and steady. Wei Zong opposite him grinned, golden tattoos gleaming faintly beneath his sleeves.
"Draw first blood," the elder judge announced. "Or force surrender."
The gong rang.
Wei Zong moved first.
He lunged like a tiger, roaring mid-strike — spiritual energy crackling along his fist. His strength surged through his body, backed by years of inner sect resources and guidance.
He struck like someone who wanted to make a point.
To humiliate. To crush.
But Jiang Xuan didn't move.
Not until the fist was inches away.
Then — he stepped sideways. Clean, fluid, effortless.
The punch missed entirely.
Wei Zong's eyes widened—just as Jiang Xuan's sword tapped his wrist.
Not cut.
Tapped.
And yet—Wei Zong's hand went numb instantly.
"What…?"
He jumped back, shaking his arm. "Poison?"
"No," Jiang Xuan said quietly. "Your qi pulse was disrupted. Your technique is unstable."
The crowd murmured.
Wei Zong's face flushed. "You think you can lecture me?!"
He slammed both palms together and roared—
"Raging Fang Technique!"
A wave of energy burst from him — twin arcs of spiritual force shaped like snapping wolf jaws. They howled toward Jiang Xuan like stormwinds, carving deep scars into the floor.
Yao Xi watched carefully, expression tight.
Let's see it, Jiang Xuan. Show them. Show them what's under your skin.
Jiang Xuan raised his blade.
One breath.
One step.
One cut.
The arcs split in half mid-air — not exploded, not deflected — but cleanly severed. As if the air itself obeyed his strike.
Wei Zong staggered. "You—! You're cheating! What kind of spirit art is that?!"
Jiang Xuan walked forward slowly. "I don't use spirit arts."
"Then how—?!"
"Will," Jiang Xuan murmured. "That's all it takes."
Wei Zong screamed and charged again, this time channeling all his energy into a spinning, double-fisted slam.
Jiang Xuan didn't block.
He stepped inside the strike.
Too close.
And with a small twist of his wrist—
CRACK.
Wei Zong's knee buckled.
He hit the ground, choking in pain, unable to understand how he'd lost the fight before it even started.
Jiang Xuan stood over him, eyes dark.
"You lost the moment you relied on noise," he said flatly.
He raised his sword—not to strike, but to point it downward.
The elder on the platform quickly raised a hand. "Stop! Match concluded!"
Silence.
Then—
The crowd exploded.
Disciples gasped. Some cheered. Others stared like they had just seen a ghost.
"He didn't even use a technique…"
"Did he move? I didn't see it—"
"Was that intent control?"
"Is that even possible at his age?!"
---
Above them, Elder Wen folded his arms.
"He's accelerating," he murmured.
Grandmaster Yao nodded grimly. "But into what?"
---
Yao Xi stood still as the crowd shifted around her.
She'd seen enough.
He was already dangerous.
He didn't know what he was doing, not fully—but the Path of Manifested Will was unfolding beneath him all the same.
And worst of all… he looked calm.
Too calm.
Like this was natural.
Like violence made him feel more alive than stillness ever could.
---
Wei Zong was dragged away by medics, groaning, his pride in pieces.
Jiang Xuan remained in the center of the ring, blade still sheathed.
Then he turned to the judges' platform.
"I forfeit further matches."
The elder raised a brow. "You've already qualified. You'll be offered a place in the inner sect."
"I don't want it," Jiang Xuan said.
Gasps echoed again.
"Why not?" Elder Wen asked, standing now. "You've earned it."
Jiang Xuan looked up at him.
"I didn't come here to rise."
"Then why did you come?"
Jiang Xuan's voice was soft.
"To understand what I am."
---
That night, Jiang Xuan sat in the same spot beneath the crooked pine tree near the cliffs.
He didn't speak.
Didn't train.
Didn't sleep.
The wind finally returned.
And it whispered something he wasn't sure came from the trees… or from within.
"Almost…"
----
End of Chapter 5