Soon, the battle on the eleventh arena reached its thrilling conclusion. The results of the competition exceeded all expectations — as anticipated, the talented Xiao Chen emerged victorious, demonstrating brilliant technique and an unyielding warrior spirit.
The first quarter-final match attracted crowds of spectators eager to witness the clash of two opposing forces: the rising talent Xiao Chen and the heir to the legendary clan — Xiao Fengliu from the «Void Singing Blades».
Even Xiao Chen's оглушительные victories in previous rounds, where he literally snatched triumph from the jaws of defeat, did not shake the audience's confidence. Everyone unanimously predicted victory for the aristocrat of martial arts, whose cloak embroidered with void runes had already flashed in the finals of previous tournaments.
The matter was not in Xiao Chen's weakness — his blows, honed through endless training under the waterfall, shattered the shields of experienced fighters.
The reason lay in a centuries-old tradition: the four great sects, like celestial pillars, had been dictating the rules of the Eastern region for decades.
- You must win this duel, no matter the cost! — the elder of the «Void Singing Blades» clan proclaimed with undisguised confidence in his voice. His face expressed solemn determination, and his eyes sparkled with a steely gleam.
Yesterday's battle had turned into a real nightmare for the «Void Singing Blades» clan. Young Xiao Long, his grandson, was forced to bow his head before Xiao Chen when the ghost steel blade cracked under the strike of the self-taught fighter's sword.
- Calm your heart, elder — Xiao Fengliu's voice rang out like the sound of a blade being drawn across jade. - Whether it was the heir of the Jade Palace himself standing in that upstart's place, I would tear his throat out with my teeth - His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, causing the blade to sing with a thin, soul-chilling hum.
He stepped towards the pavilion window, from where the arena could be seen, strewn with petals of blood cherry — remnants of past battles.
- But this… Xiao Chen… — he exhaled the name with contempt, as if spitting out a poisonous seed. - A mere weed sprouting through the cracks in the pavement of destiny. Have you seen his style? - Fengliu spun abruptly, and his hair sent sparks of qi into the air. - He moves like a monkey drunk on peaches of immortality.
The elder, whose face resembled a withered long-living pear, gave a hoarse sigh:
- But he defeated Lun-er…
- Defeated? — Fengliu laughed, and the sound caused a porcelain cup on the table to crack. - A blind pup can win by biting at thin air if the heavens turn their back! - His eyes flared like two embers in ashes, and the clan seal shimmered on his neck.
Time compressed to its limit. Xiao Chen and Fengliu rushed towards the centre of the arena like two comets tearing through the fabric of reality. The thirty metres between them vanished in an instant: Xiao Chen, leaving behind a trail of golden qi sparks, seemed to scatter sunbeams across the stones; Fengliu left no trace — his movement resembled the shifting of a shadow at sunset.
They froze facing each other, and the air between them seemed to crackle like torn silk under blades.
Xiao Chen's face was calm, like the surface of a lake on a windless night. But in his pupils — those gates to the soul — a typhoon raged. Fengliu, studying his gaze, saw something that sent a shiver down even his spine, the heir of the Void: not contempt, not fear, but… curiosity. As if Xiao Chen stood not before a mortal enemy, but before a rare specimen in the celestial menagerie.
- Look at that — Fengliu's lips curled into a smile resembling a crack in a demon's mask. - The rat has decided to play cat and mouse. - His fingers tightened around the sword hilt, and the blade howled, pouring into the world the sounds of a funeral choir — the moans of fallen ancestors, the rustle of torn souls.
The corner of Xiao Chen's mouth twitched. Not a smile — rather, a shadow of a smile, like the reflection of a moon blade on a blade. In that movement was everything: a challenge, a mockery of the clan's centuries-old pride, and a promise. A promise that someday a quiet stream could wash away even a mountain, given a thousand years.
Fengliu was the first to break the silence. His sword howled, tracing an explosion seal in the air:
- Die, before I change my mind about giving you a quick death!
*****
Royal Family Chambers of the Eastern Region.
- It seems they are both in love with your daughter — Se Yan said quietly, carefully watching the arena. His gaze was calm, but there was a slight playfulness in the depths of his eyes.
The man to whom these words were addressed froze, as if time had stopped for him. His face, usually expressing confidence and strength, trembled for a moment, revealing an internal struggle.
A heavy pause hung in the air. Se Yan's words lingered in the space like arrows ready to pierce the very heart of his interlocutor. Even the light breeze seemed to freeze, not daring to disturb this tense silence.
Se Yan maintained the pause, giving his interlocutor time to comprehend what had been said. There was neither challenge nor threat in his posture — only a sincere desire to share an observation that could not fail to attract his attention.
At that moment, Xia Qingyue couldn't tear her gaze away from the young man who sat calmly beside her father, sipping tea leisurely as if nothing happening around him mattered at all. His elegant fingers held the porcelain cup gently, and a serene expression remained frozen on his face. It seemed as if the whole world could collapse, and he wouldn't even flinch.
By his detached gaze and serene facial expression, it was obvious that the battle unfolding on the stage held no interest for him whatsoever.
At least, that's what it seemed to everyone present in the room. Whoever this man was, they sensed a deep danger. In his presence, the air seemed to thicken, filling with an energy uncharacteristic of the inhabitants of the Lower World.
How strange… The Blessed Son of Heaven named Xiao Chen had avoided conflict with him until now. Moreover, it was Xie Yan who had been weaving a web of intrigue, preparing a trap. Such behavior was completely uncharacteristic of someone bearing such a high title.
Xie Yan's gaze slowly moved down to Xiao Chen's hand. His attention was drawn to the ring adorning the young warrior's finger. It shone with unusual brightness, like a small sun, and during the battle, bursts of spiritual energy would occasionally erupt from it, which Xiao Chen absorbed into himself with astonishing speed.
«…Interesting» — escaped Xie Yan's lips, and in this short sound surprise and mockery mingled.
It seemed that the classic story of a powerful patron was unfolding before him. As one would expect from a Blessed Son of Heaven, there was no getting around the «golden finger».
From the perspective of narrative development, Xiao Chen represented an exceptional phenomenon — a man who rose from the lowest ranks of society, managing not only to break into the elite royal academy but also to become its student. His story was a classic example of rising from the ashes, transforming from a mere mortal into a potential hero of the era.
According to all the canons of the narrative, he should have been only at the beginning of his journey, where the foundation for future achievements was just being laid. The initial phase of the story предполагало the gradual revelation of his potential, a slow but confident ascent through the stages of mastery. However, reality turned out to be far more intricate and unpredictable.
*****
Sorrow's Embrace:
Hello, traveler.
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