The roar of the crowd was deafening.
Five grand arenas, carved of obsidian stone and fortified with formation seals, stood side by side like titans awaiting blood. Protective barriers shimmered faintly over each, capable of restraining even Immortal-level attacks. Above them, banners of every sect and empire rippled in the wind, their colors like rivers of power flowing into the same sea.
The emperor and the gathered superpower leaders watched from a private golden pavilion suspended above the arenas, gazes sharp and calculating. Below them, tens of thousands of spectators from across the five continents filled the seats, betting slips clutched in white-knuckled fists as they shouted over one another.
A clear, resonant voice echoed across the fields.
"The First Round—Arena Battles—begins now! Match participants will be decided by lot! Enter!"
The five arenas flared to life, each displaying glowing names upon the barrier walls. The crowd surged in excitement, eager to watch the opening clashes.
The First Five Battles
Arena One – Cao Lin vs. Ma Heng
Two youths ranked in the nineties faced off. Cao Lin wielded a heavy glaive, Ma Heng a curved sabre. They fought fiercely, exchanging blow for blow. Blood ran, teeth were broken, and the match ended only when Cao Lin disarmed his opponent and forced him to yield. The crowd cheered, admiring the grit—even if neither had the spark of a true genius.
Arena Two – Wei Rong vs. Dai Feng
Dai Feng panicked after a single exchange. Seeing Wei Rong's fiery fists bear down like falling meteors, he stumbled back and threw down his token in surrender. Boos and jeers filled the air. "Coward!" the crowd shouted. But Dai Feng walked away alive.
Arena Three – Liu Huan vs. Yuan Zhi
Liu Huan, a slim spear-user, stunned the audience by fighting with a calm, measured rhythm. Though both were nobodies from the lower hundreds, Liu Huan's precise strikes forced Yuan Zhi into retreat until he was knocked out of the barrier. The spectators whispered: a potential black horse?
Arena Four – Zhang Fei vs. Huo Tian
This was brutal. Zhang Fei, with a hammer the size of an ox, crushed Huo Tian's sword with a single strike, breaking his opponent's ribs with the next. Huo Tian spat blood and fainted instantly. The healers rushed in. The crowd murmured uneasily at the savagery.
Arena Five – Sun Qiao vs. Ning Lan
A clash of elements—Sun Qiao, wielding lightning qi, against Ning Lan, an earth cultivator. Sparks and dust filled the arena, a furious back-and-forth that ended when Sun Qiao's last strike knocked Ning Lan flat. This match drew cheers for its entertainment value, even though neither contestant was high-ranked.
The crowd's blood was hot, but they knew these were only appetizers.
Then the names shifted again. The atmosphere froze.
The Special Matches
Arena One – Luo Min vs. Yōuxuán Jian (Dark Horse, Top Ten).
The moment Luo Min saw his opponent's name, his face turned pale. Yōuxuán Jian entered the arena with his sword unsheathed, silent as a drawn blade. Luo Min swallowed hard, then raised his hand.
"I… surrender."
The audience erupted into laughter and jeers, some mocking, some praising his pragmatism. Yōuxuán Jian merely turned and walked away, not sparing him a glance.
"Another coward!" someone shouted. But in the betting booths, odds shifted quietly. Even without drawing his sword, Yōuxuán Jian's aura alone had crushed the will of his opponent.
Arena Two – Ling Han vs. Zhao Ke.
The betting hall fell silent. All eyes locked onto Arena Two.
Zhao Ke trembled as he gripped his blade, but he still stepped forward, unwilling to surrender outright.
"Begin!"
Ling Han moved.
One punch.
The air cracked like thunder. The protective barrier shook. Zhao Ke's sword snapped in two, and his body was hurled across the arena like a rag doll, crashing against the barrier wall before sliding down in a broken heap. Blood sprayed the ground.
The healers rushed in, but the damage was done. Zhao Ke's pride was crushed even worse than his bones.
Ling Han didn't even glance at him. Hands clasped behind his back, he turned his gaze toward the emperor's pavilion, his expression calm and arrogant, as though declaring to all: This tournament belongs to me.
The silence broke into chaos—cheers, shouts, even gasps of fear. For many watching, the gap between geniuses and ordinary participants had never felt so vast.
And thus, the first round of battles began in earnest.
When the next name lit across the barrier wall, the noise of the crowd swelled into thunder.
Shen Ruòxuě.
The Shen Empire's jewel, the number one genius on the rankings, and the princess of Shen Yao.
Her opponent was none other than Shen Wulei, a young clansman of the Shen bloodline, ranked in the seventies. Though far beneath her in talent, he stood tall, bowing with clenched fists before the fight.
"Your Highness, please give me guidance."
Ruòxuě inclined her head lightly. "Then forgive me for being swift."
The moment the referee signaled, she moved.
Like frost on glass, her sword gleamed, flashing three times in succession. Shen Wulei's defenses shattered before he could complete his second stance. In an instant, his weapon flew from his hand, and his knees buckled under the crushing weight of her elemental qi.
"I concede!" he gasped, chest heaving.
Ruòxuě lowered her sword with grace, stepping back without a trace of arrogance. Her battle ended almost before the other arenas had begun.
The crowd erupted, chants of "Princess! Princess!" shaking the heavens.
Inside the Pavilion
The golden viewing chamber fell into silence as the great figures watched.
Old patriarchs of ancient sects nodded quietly. Several clan leaders exchanged meaningful glances. Efficient. Elegant. Ruthless when necessary.
Even the usually stoic faces of the southern and western continent representatives showed approval.
But the emperor… sat motionless. His eyes unreadable.
And then, for the first time since the tournament began—
The leader of the Bàtiān Sect leaned forward. His sharp eyes glinted with cold contempt.
"So this is the prodigy seed of Shen Yao," he said, his voice carrying like steel scraping over stone. His lips twisted into a mocking sneer. "Truly worthy of praise."
He paused. His next words slithered into the air like poison.
"…Yet how laughable it is, that the mighty Emperor Shen, who fathers such brilliance… also sired a trash child with no elemental affinity. A blemish on the legacy of Shen Yao."
The chamber froze.
The emperor's expression, once calm and unreadable, darkened into iron. His eyes turned sharp and cold, as though he would pierce the Bàtiān Sect leader where he sat.
The taunting continued, the sect leader's tone rich with mockery. "What? Have I touched a sore wound? Do not glare at me, Shen Hóngtú. I am not like the others here who cower at your shadow."
Across the room, the Lu clan leader—silent until now—curved his lips into the faintest of cold smiles.
The other powers remained still, though the tension weighed on them like a mountain. All knew of the long and bitter enmity between the Bàtiān Sect and the Shen throne. None dared intervene. All eyes watched, breaths held, as Emperor Shen's hands clenched upon his throne.
Then—he rose.
The golden dragon engravings upon his throne seemed to ripple with killing intent. Power swirled faintly, and in that instant it was clear: if he struck, the pavilion itself might not withstand the clash.
But before the spark could ignite the fire—
"Enough."
Old Man Yōuxuán's voice cut through like a clear bell. The aged sect master leaned forward, eyes glimmering with boundless calm.
"The tournament is for the young. If we old relics quarrel, what example do we set?" His gaze passed between the emperor and the Bàtiān leader. "The world watches. Let them watch the youth."
The emperor's breath slowed, the fury in his eyes dimming though the coldness remained. He sat back down, his dragon robes whispering across the throne. His gaze locked upon the Bàtiān leader with ice.
The Bàtiān leader smirked and gave a dismissive snort, leaning back with arms crossed, others might be careful around the emperor but he wasn't the least bit concerned.
The storm passed—but the stormy atmosphere was still in the pavilion.
Back to the Arenas
Below, the next matches raged on, fists and swords clashing, qi tearing across the air. The crowd knew nothing of the fire that had nearly erupted above them.
But those in power understood: the battles on the arena floor were not the only ones shaping the fate of the five continents.
Emperor's Silent Move
The whispers of the "trash child" had begun to fester in the crowd.
Among the common people, it was no more than hushed muttering. They dared not raise their voices, yet suspicion still spread like wildfire in the shadows.
But in the delegations from the other continents, the words were spoken loudly and brazenly.
"So the great Shen clan has a blemish after all."
"A trash heir beneath their lofty pride? How fitting."
Their laughter carried sharp edges, deliberately testing the empire's patience.
Shen Hóngtú's face grew colder by the breath. The emperor of the Shen Yao Empire sat upon his throne like a mountain of ice, his silence heavier than rage.
At his side, General Shen Língxiāo lowered his head, awaiting orders.
The emperor's words were soft, meant only for his most trusted.
No thunder, no decree. Only a command carried like a blade in the dark.
The lots were quietly rearranged. To the ordinary eye, nothing seemed unusual—the drawing proceeded as though chance alone had guided it. But those with keen vision, the envoys of sects and clans, saw the truth. They felt the hand of the emperor moving pieces like a master of chess.
Then the names flashed upon the crystal wall.
Ling Han — Bàtiān Sect.
Shi Guang — Southern Abyss Hall.
A tremor passed through the arena. Two of the top ten, forced into collision in the very second round.
The common crowd exploded with anticipation, their whispers of scandal buried beneath the fever of spectacle. "Ling Han! Against Shi Guang?!" … "Already, this early?!"
But among the high seats, expressions shifted.
The Southern Abyss Hall's leader stiffened, his face turning as dark as storm clouds. His hall had no quarrel with Shen Yao, yet here was his most prized youth being used as the emperor's tool. Anger burned in his eyes, but he held his tongue. To challenge the emperor here would bring no benefit, only trouble.
Across from him, the Bàtiān Sect leader did not say anything remaining silent. A thin, cold smile curled at his lips, filled with contempt and mockery.
He spoke no words, yet his smile said everything: The emperor dares to test our seed. Let us see if his gamble holds weight.
Only Shen Hóngtú remained unmoved, sitting back upon his throne, his gaze as sharp as a blade. He had chosen deliberately—not a single Central Continent prodigy was touched, only one from beyond their borders. Against the outer continents, he would show no restraint.
The crowd roared with anticipation.
The envoys of the great powers exchanged meaningful glances.
And Shen Hóngtú's unspoken message was clear:
This is Shen Yao's arena. All who stand upon it will dance to my will.