The lodging provided by the mountain was basic and functional. Shared rooms, four beds each. No privacy, no frills. It was the same setup the resident trainees lived with year-round.
Rowan Mercer and Marcus Hale were placed in the same room, likely because they already knew each other. Anyone who had come as support staff or observers had been sent elsewhere.
When they pushed the door open, they found someone already inside.
A man lay sprawled across one of the beds, boots still on, arms spread wide as if he owned the place. He turned his head lazily when he heard them enter, then sat up with an easy, unbothered motion.
"Name's Alex Ward," he said. "From the Wudang school. Guess we're roommates."
Unlike Evan Clarke or Aureo, Alex clearly hadn't memorized the tournament roster. He was here for his own reasons and hadn't bothered studying anyone outside a short list.
"Marcus Hale," Marcus replied, nodding politely. "White Cloud."
Alex's expression shifted with mild recognition. He stood and returned the nod. "White Cloud, huh? Haven't heard that name in a while. How's Senior Liu doing these days?"
Marcus blinked. "You know him?"
"Sort of," Alex said, sitting back down. "My dad dragged me there a few times when I was younger. I almost joined up myself. Decided it was too close to home."
Rowan spoke next. "Rowan Mercer. Independent."
Alex waved a hand. "Don't make it sound formal. I'm nobody special."
Rowan smiled faintly. "That's not what my sister said."
Alex paused. "Your sister?"
"She mentioned a guy who got into one of the best universities in the country, then dropped everything to disappear into the mountains," Rowan said. "Her exact words were 'either enlightened or concussed.'"
Alex stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward, studying Rowan's face.
"Mercer," he repeated slowly. "Wait. Your sister isn't Vivian Bellamy, is she?"
Rowan lifted a thumb. "That's her."
Alex groaned. "That explains a lot. Same tone. Same timing. You're the younger brother she complains about? The one who went overseas?"
"London," Rowan said. "She just doesn't know what kind of school it was."
The tension dissolved after that. Conversation came easily. They talked until they realized the fourth bed was still empty, then headed out together for the simple vegetarian meal prepared for the competitors.
The empty bed wasn't unusual. Plenty of fighters preferred staying in hotels down in the old town. Comfort over tradition.
Night settled in quietly.
Sometime after midnight, Rowan opened his eyes.
A moment later, his bed was empty.
High above the rear slopes, concealed and silent, Rowan hovered in the night air and looked down.
Fiona Barlow was below him.
She was digging.
Methodical. Focused. Each scoop of dirt placed neatly aside.
Next to her lay a young man bound hand and foot, struggling furiously against his restraints. Daniel Sterling. Evan Clarke's next opponent.
Rowan stared for a few seconds, then shook his head.
"She's not bluffing," he murmured. "She's actually doing it."
The plan was obvious. Bury him just enough to immobilize him. Keep him alive. Feed him. Release him after the match window passed.
Effective. Also absolutely against every rule in existence.
Halfway through the hole, Fiona suddenly stopped.
"Oh," she said. "I forgot Evan."
She jogged off and returned minutes later, dragging a half-asleep Evan Clarke behind her.
Fiona explained everything with complete seriousness.
Evan went pale.
He immediately untied Daniel, apologized profusely, offered him a cigarette, and talked fast enough to blur the words together. Daniel, humiliated more than injured, demanded a fair fight to prove it hadn't been legitimate.
Evan agreed instantly.
Rowan watched from above, thoughtful.
Evan fought well. Clean movement. Good reactions. Efficient use of his techniques.
But Rowan noticed what wasn't there.
"He's holding something back," Rowan thought. "That core method of his never came out."
Daniel wasn't strong enough to force it.
Just as Rowan's interest sharpened, Fiona suddenly froze.
Her head snapped upward.
"There," she said.
A knife left her hand without hesitation.
Rowan rose sharply, letting it pass beneath him, then vanished a heartbeat later.
He reappeared inside the dormitory, heart steady, mind alert.
"…That wasn't sensing power," he thought. "That was instinct."
Uncomfortably sharp instinct.
He lay back down, eyes closed.
Sleep didn't come immediately.
This world was proving valuable in ways he hadn't expected.
Not because of raw strength. Not because of destructive techniques. But because of philosophy.
Here, people didn't just chase power. They refined themselves. Body and mind together. Stability before excess. Control before ambition.
Rowan realized his own growth had always been uneven.
His body was strong, layered with enhancements. His magic deepened steadily through disciplined practice. His will endured.
But the core, the integration of all those parts, had lagged behind.
This world filled that gap.
Even if its ceiling was limited, its foundation was solid.
And foundations mattered.
Rowan smiled faintly in the dark.
"Take everything that fits," he thought. "Leave nothing hollow."