Dawn broke over the Celestial Peak Sect, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.
Azrael stood at the entrance of his cave, fully equipped. His upgraded combat outfit—sleek gray and blue with hidden formations—fit perfectly. His Grade 8 Jian sword hung at his waist. His qi storage gloves covered his hands, the embedded gems already fully charged. His space ring sat on his finger. His mask concealed his face.
Today was the qualifying competition.
He stepped outside and immediately noticed the activity. Disciples were streaming from all directions, heading toward the center of the sect. Some walked in groups, chatting nervously. Others ran, afraid of being late. Many flew overhead on swords or spiritual artifacts, colorful streaks against the morning sky.
The Celestial Peak Sect was enormous—roughly the size of a continent. The outer sect alone covered thousands of square kilometers. Getting to the central arena would normally take hours on foot.
Most disciples used the teleportation arrays fixed at various locations throughout the sect. Simple formations that could transport you instantly to designated points. Convenient, efficient, boring.
Azrael had a different idea.
He wanted to fly.
Real flight, not standing on a sword like a passenger. Qi Condensation through Core Formation cultivators couldn't achieve true flight—their cultivation wasn't high enough. They needed flying swords or artifacts to carry them through the air.
But Azrael wasn't most cultivators.
His Primordial-rank qi control let him manipulate his body's energy with perfect precision. His law comprehensions—particularly wind and space—gave him understanding of how movement through air actually worked. And his grasp of fundamental forces meant he could control his own electromagnetic field.
Flight should be possible.
Azrael closed his eyes and focused. He gathered qi throughout his body, distributing it evenly. Then he began adjusting his electromagnetic field, making it repel against the planet's natural magnetism.
His feet left the ground.
He opened his eyes to find himself hovering three feet in the air, perfectly stable. His qi circulation was smooth, effortless. The electromagnetic repulsion required almost no energy to maintain.
"It works," he said, grinning behind his mask.
Then he shot upward.
Qi exploded from his body in a controlled burst. He rocketed into the sky at ten times the speed of sound, the acceleration so sudden that the air displaced violently.
BOOM!
A sonic boom shattered the morning quiet, rolling across the outer sect like thunder.
Below, disciples froze mid-step. Flying sword riders nearly fell off their mounts. Everyone's heads snapped up to see a gray-and-blue figure ascending like a missile, leaving a vapor trail in his wake.
"What the—"
"Did you see that?!"
"Who flies that fast?!"
"That's not even flying, that's launching!"
An inner disciple who'd been peacefully meditating on a rooftop stood up, eyes wide. "Why is such a master hidden in the outer sect?!"
Another disciple laughed nervously. "I guess we have a new dark horse for the competition."
Azrael ignored the commotion below. He'd reached an altitude of several thousand feet and slowed to a hover, taking in the view.
The Celestial Peak Sect sprawled beneath him like a living painting. Mountain ranges with jade pavilions. Waterfalls cascading into misty valleys. Training grounds where tiny figures sparred. The central arena in the distance, a massive circular structure that could hold tens of thousands.
The cracked moon hung in the sky above him—a permanent reminder of the ancient war that had nearly destroyed the continent.
"Beautiful," Azrael murmured.
Then he oriented himself toward the arena and began flying.
He started at a reasonable speed—maybe fifty times the speed of sound—using wind law comprehension to reduce air resistance. (AN: you call that reasonable.)
The air flowed around him like water, offering no drag. He accelerated smoothly, pushing faster and faster.
Seventy times the speed of sound.
Ninety.
One hundred.
The world below became a blur. Disciples on flying swords appeared frozen in place. Even the fastest flying artifacts looked like they were standing still.
But Azrael wanted to go faster.
A memory surfaced from his Myriad Spiritual Library—a movement technique he'd copied and cataloged weeks ago. He'd barely glanced at it then, but his Heaven-Defying Comprehension had absorbed every detail.
It was based on a theoretical concept from his old world: the Alcubierre warp drive.
The idea was elegant. Instead of moving faster through space, you manipulated space itself. Contract spacetime in front of you, expand it behind you. You don't accelerate—you ride a wave of compressed space that carries you forward at effectively faster-than-light speeds.
The original concept required exotic matter and impossible amounts of energy.
But Azrael had 79% Space Law comprehension and perfect qi control.
He could make it work.
Azrael focused his consciousness on the space in front of him. His Space Law understanding let him perceive the fabric of reality—not as empty void, but as a flexible, malleable structure that could be folded, bent, compressed.
He began compressing it.
Space contracted ahead of him like a spring being squeezed. At the same time, he expanded the space behind him, creating an imbalance that would propel him forward.
The technique activated.
Reality lurched.
Azrael's perception fragmented. One moment he was flying at a hundred times the speed of sound. The next moment, the world seemed to stop.
No—he had accelerated beyond perception.
Space compressed in front of him into a tunnel of distorted light. Behind him, space expanded violently, leaving subtle cracks in the fabric of reality that healed instantly but left faint shimmer trails.
He was moving at the speed of light.
Everything else appeared frozen. Disciples on flying swords hung motionless in the air. Birds mid-flight looked like statues. Even the wind seemed to have stopped.
But Azrael could still see them—his enhanced perception let him process information at speeds matching his velocity. He watched himself overtake countless disciples, elders, even a Soul Transformation realm grand elder who'd been flying at "high speed."
To them, he would appear as a flash of light. A blink-and-you-miss-it blur.
To him, they were moving in extreme slow motion.
0.0001 seconds.
0.0002 seconds.
0.0003 seconds.
He crossed three thousand kilometers in three ten-thousandths of a second and arrived at the central arena.
Azrael deactivated the technique.
Space snapped back to normal. Time resumed its regular flow. He decelerated smoothly using wind law manipulation, killing his momentum without creating another sonic boom.
His feet touched the ground just outside the arena's main entrance.
The whole experience had been surreal. Moving so fast that causality bent around him. Watching the world freeze while he flew past. The sensation of riding compressed spacetime like a wave.
"That," Azrael said quietly, "is definitely my primary movement technique from now on."
He'd need a name for it. Something appropriate.
Void Step? No, too simple. Spatial Warp? Too technical. Lightspeed Stride? Too dramatic.
"Dimensional Shift," he decided. That worked.
Azrael looked around. The arena entrance was already crowded with disciples—mostly outer sect, some inner sect. They were registering, checking tokens, forming groups.
Nobody had noticed his arrival. As far as they knew, he'd just walked up normally.
Perfect.
A few minutes later, the first disciples he'd overtaken began landing nearby on their flying swords. They looked confused, glancing at each other with questioning expressions.
"Did you see something fly past us?"
"I thought I saw a flash of light."
"Probably just a shooting star."
"In the daytime?"
Azrael smiled behind his mask and joined the crowd heading into the arena.
The qualifying competition was about to begin.
The arena was massive.
The central structure was circular, easily a hundred kilometers in diameter, with tiered seating that could hold five hundred thousand spectators. The floor was smooth white stone inscribed with formations—barriers to contain destructive techniques, healing arrays to prevent fatal injuries, spatial anchors to prevent combatants from escaping mid-match.
Three separate fighting stages floated in the air, each massive. The first stage glowed with outer sect colors—gray and blue. The second shimmered with inner sect burgundy and gold. The third radiated core sect silver and white.
Ten thousand outer sect participants had gathered below the first stage. Five thousand inner sect disciples clustered near the second. One thousand core sect disciples stood beneath the third.
An elder stood on a raised platform overlooking the arena. He was tall and severe-looking, with white hair and a long beard. His robes marked him as an enforcement hall elder—someone who maintained order and fairness during sect events.
"Attention!" the elder's voice boomed across the arena, amplified by formation arrays. "I am Elder Han, and I will be overseeing today's qualifying matches."
The crowd quieted.
"There has been a change in the competition rules."
Immediate murmurs. Some disciples looked angry. Others confused. But nobody dared speak out against an enforcement elder.
Elder Han continued, his voice brooking no argument. "The previous format has been deemed inefficient. The new format is as follows: each stage will conduct a free-for-all elimination battle."
The murmurs grew louder.
"For the outer sect stage—ten thousand participants will enter. Only the top fifty remaining on the stage will advance to the secret realm expedition. For inner sect, five thousand enter, fifty advance. For core sect, one thousand enter, fifty advance."
Angry voices rose from the crowd.
"That's not fair!"
"We prepared for one-on-one matches!"
"How are we supposed to—"
Elder Han's spiritual pressure descended like a hammer, silencing everyone instantly. Core Formation realm cultivators in the crowd stumbled. Even Golden Core disciples looked uncomfortable.
"The rules are final," Elder Han said coldly. "However, to compensate: contribution points will be awarded based on eliminations. The more opponents you defeat, the more points you earn. Even if you don't advance, you can still gain rewards."
The angry murmurs transformed into excited whispers. Contribution points were valuable—they could be exchanged for techniques, pills, spirit stones, even sect positions.
"Additionally," Elder Han continued, "eliminations are valid anywhere on or above the stage. Flight is permitted. Killing is discouraged but not prohibited. The arena formations will attempt to prevent fatal injuries, but accidents may occur. Life and death are your own responsibility."
He pulled out his jade slip. "Outer sect participants—prepare to enter the stage!"
[END CHAPTER 11]