Stage One — the final unresolved bracket.
Dust stirred in the gaps between stone tiles. Murmurs rolled through the crowd like waves, quiet but ever-present. Hundreds of disciples were pressed in above the arenas now, leaning forward in their carved stone seats. Hungry eyes. Twitching fingers. Even the laziest onlookers had gone silent.
One figure stood still.
Ziren Raal.
Unmoving. Calm.
Same as Riven, he hadn't had to move at all from the start to now.
And beside him, three fighters clashed — two boys, one girl, all bruised and bloodied, breath coming ragged.
At that moment, one of the boys went flying.
A solid kick caught him square in the chest and sent him crashing backward — his body tumbling once before skidding past the edge of the ring.
A sharp crack echoed across the arena as he hit the stone beyond the boundary.
Disqualified.
Only two remained now.
The girl straightened, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. The remaining boy mirrored her — teeth clenched, stance tight.
From the fragments of whispers drifting over from the lower rows, Riven caught their rankings.
The girl had been ranked as fifth and the boy as fourth.
But only one of them would walk away with a place in the top four.
The fight resumed in an instant — fast, tense, and vicious.
The boy attacked first — a downward slash of his shortblade, clean and sharp. The girl stepped sideways, nearly vanishing from the strike zone, her qi flaring faintly beneath her feet. A moment later, she was behind him.
He spun to block, but she was already gone.
Another flash — and she appeared again to his left, striking low with a spinning heel that slammed into his ribs.
He staggered.
The girl didn't stop.
Her movement was a blur. Controlled bursts of qi-driven acceleration, smooth and practiced.
Riven watched with sharp, narrowed eyes.
She was fast.
Not faster than Extreme Speed — he could tell that much. She still had startup time, still telegraphed her steps if you looked closely. But unlike him…
She could use it repeatedly.
There was no pause. No aftermath. No backlash ripping through her limbs. Just fluid motion, again and again.
A movement technique.
He exhaled once through his nose.
Maybe I do need one of those.
This trial — and the tournament that followed — had made it painfully clear how important repeatable actions were.
Yes, Extreme Speed had won him a fight.
But now?
He was still recovering. His body hadn't fully caught up. He wouldn't be able to use it again for the rest of the tournament. And frankly, he wasn't confident he could win without it.
Worst case, I just surrender.
And he wouldn't even mind that much.
After all, he'd already reached his goal. Fourth place. That was the cutoff for Verdance — and he was in. Everything beyond that? Just bonus.
Below, the duel reached its end.
The boy launched one final, desperate slash.
The girl blurred.
She passed him like smoke, momentum crisp and clean. Her palm struck the back of his neck, and his body folded with a thud, crumpling forward like a dropped sack.
She stood alone.
Panting. Blood smeared along her cheek. Hands low at her sides.
Victorious.
The crowd above them erupted in cheers — louder this time, more focused. They liked a good underdog fight.
A moment later, Elder Syen's voice cut through the noise — loud, calm, and unmistakable.
"Ziren Raal. Talia. Lara Kien. Riven," Elder Syen's voice rang out. "Step forward to the central stage."
A faint ripple passed through the crowd.
"As the final four you are all talented disciples of the Venomthread Sect. You will be taken along to Verdance at a later date. Now—let us determine the final rankings. The last two standing will receive a low-grade artifact weapon. The final person standing will be promoted to Inner Disciple… and hold the title of Fangbearer for one month."
Riven saw a pattern by now. Elder Syen did not enjoy wasting time. He always drove things forward like the whole sect was on a timer. But this time… something about his tone felt a little different. Less cold. Less distant. Like, for once, he didn't just see them as ants swarming a sugar cube.
Still probably thought they were ants.
Just slightly better ants.
Riven shook the thought off as movement rippled through the stands.
Murmurs had already started.
"Still group format?" someone whispered in the middle stands. "Even now?" "Doesn't seem fair," another muttered. "Should be proper one-on-ones."
But an older disciple leaned forward, arms folded across his knees.
"You think fights are always one-on-one?" he said, not even looking at them. "If you get ambushed outside the sect? If someone doesn't like how you look? You think they'll wait in line to duel you?"
Silence.
He snorted softly.
"That's why it's still a group match. The sect's not training duelists. It's training survivors."
The words lingered.
"Plus. It's Elder Syen administering the trial this time. He's known to always speed things up."
The younger disciple nodded in understanding.
But Riven hadn't caught any of that.
He was too far away to actually make out details of conversation.
Instead the four of them — Riven, Lara, Ziren, and Talia — began to make their way toward the central platform, each step echoing across stone as the crowd leaned forward in anticipation.
Lara glanced sideways at him as they walked.
Riven offered a faint smile.
She didn't return it.
Fair.
Talia moved with subtle caution while rubbing her sore arms on the way.
Ziren walked in quiet majesty, seemingly unbothered by anything happening around him.
Above, the crowd leaned in closer as the four figures approached the central stage.
A spectating disciple whispered, "I'm betting on the core disciple."
"Nah," another voice replied. "Smart money's on Ziren. Did you look at his posture?"
A third voice: "I'm betting on the girl."
Someone else: "Which one?"
And just as the atmosphere was starting to heat up, outside the Fangcradle gates, someone else arrived.
Long hair trailing like windblown silk.
Robes untouched by dust.
A single jade tassel swinging gently from their waist.
Their eyes swept across the mountain-ringed arena.
Then as if seeing something amusing their eyes twinkled.
They quickly stepped into massive arena construct, hastily making their way towards an empty spectator seat.
"Just in time."