Chapter 7 — The First Dawn of the Tournament
The morning sun rose over the peaks of the Righteous Sky Sect like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Golden light washed over the terraces, banners rippled in the cold wind, and the sound of drums echoed from the valley below — deep, solemn, and heavy with anticipation.
For the first time since its founding, the sect would open its grand arena for all disciples — the Inner Sect Tournament, where pride, talent, and fate would be measured in combat.
Arin adjusted the strap of his sword and began the long walk down the stone-paved road from the training terrace.
The path wound through towering pines and open courtyards, past statues of long-departed heroes. Each step echoed faintly, mixing with the distant chatter of hundreds of disciples making the same journey.
The mountain wind carried the scent of incense and fresh morning dew. Bells rang softly from distant pagodas, harmonizing with the slow, rhythmic beat of the ceremonial drums.
As he descended toward the valley floor, the view opened — a colossal circular arena carved directly into the mountain, surrounded by tiered stone seats.
The banners of the Righteous Sky Sect hung proudly above the entrance: two crossing swords beneath a sky of swirling clouds.
Disciples filled the stands, laughter and excited whispers blending into a living sea of sound.
Groups of students clustered together, some stretching, others boasting loudly.
Arin moved quietly among them, unnoticed by most until someone called out.
"Hey, look who showed up — the moon boy!"
Laughter erupted from a group of outer disciples. One, a tall youth with messy brown hair, grinned. "Arin, right? Ranked number one hundred! I thought you'd be too scared to show your face today."
Arin smiled faintly. "You might be right. I almost didn't — but then the moon told me not to waste the view."
The boy blinked, unsure whether to laugh or frown. "What?"
"Never mind," Arin said, walking past him.
Nearby, several disciples whispered among themselves.
"Did you hear? Top ten are all here — even Kael of the Blazing Fist."
"And Serin the Twin Blade prodigy… I heard she reached Rank 1, Stage 5 already!"
"They say she's so fast you see two of her before the strike lands."
Another laughed. "Meanwhile, that country boy barely passed the initiation. What's he doing here?"
Arin ignored them. He wasn't here to win their approval — only to test his path.
A sudden hush fell across the arena as the air shimmered faintly.
From above, three figures descended, stepping on clouds of condensed Qi.
Each radiated power so immense that even the air trembled around them.
At the center stood Grandmaster Lorian, his long white hair flowing behind him like silk in the wind. His robes were pure blue trimmed with gold, and his gaze carried both kindness and unyielding authority.
To his right, a woman in crimson robes with fiery eyes and hair bound in a tight braid — Elder Kaelis, master of the Flame Hall. Her very presence radiated heat, and faint embers seemed to flicker with every breath she took.
To his left, a man in dark green robes, tall and lean, his face sharp as a blade's edge — Elder Faen, master of the Wind Hall. His eyes never stayed still, darting with restless energy, and when he smiled, it was like the calm before a storm.
They landed at the center platform, and silence fell.
Grandmaster Lorian raised his hand. His voice, calm yet powerful, carried across the valley.
"Disciples of Righteous Sky Sect — today marks the beginning of your path toward mastery. The rules are simple."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the crowd.
"Each match will be one-on-one. Weapons are allowed. Killing is forbidden, but injury is expected. Victory is determined by submission, ring-out, or unconsciousness. You may use any Qi-based technique within your level. Those above Rank 1, Stage 5 will not participate — this tournament is for growth, not pride."
He lowered his hand. "Let the first round begin."
A gong sounded, deep and resonant. The ground beneath the arena pulsed with light as Qi barriers activated, forming a protective dome.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
On the side terraces, disciples began making wagers.
"I'll bet three spirit stones Kael wins this entire thing!"
"You're insane — Serin's twin blades will slice him apart."
"Don't forget about Juno, the Silent Arrow. She never misses."
And from another group:
"What about that last-ranked kid, Arin? Any bets?"
"Ha! The only bet is whether he survives the first round or faints before it starts."
"Five stones says he loses in under ten breaths."
Laughter echoed again.
First Match — Kael vs. Hirin
The first match was announced.
"Kael of the Blazing Fist, Rank 1, Stage 5 — versus Hirin of the Stone Path, Rank 1, Stage 4!"
Kael stepped onto the platform. His crimson robe bore the symbol of the Flame Hall, his bare arms covered in faint burn scars that glowed faintly with heat. His eyes blazed with confidence.
Across from him stood Hirin — tall, broad-shouldered, his skin rough as stone, dressed in simple brown robes. His Qi radiated stability and raw endurance.
Kael moved first. His fists ignited with red fire, and he dashed forward like a comet. Hirin braced, his body turning to stone as Kael's blow collided with his chest — a sound like a hammer striking an anvil.
Cracks appeared in Hirin's defense.
Kael twisted, flames spiraling around his arm.
"Crimson Burst!" he roared, striking with both fists. The explosion threw Hirin backward, slamming him into the barrier.
Smoke cleared. Hirin fell to one knee, coughing blood.
"I yield…"
Cheers erupted from the stands.
Kael grinned, raising his hand to the crowd. "First round goes to the Flame Hall!"
Second Match — Serin vs. Juno
The second match began almost immediately.
"Serin of the Twin Blades, Rank 1, Stage 5 — versus Juno of the Silent Arrow, Rank 1, Stage 4!"
Serin stepped forward — a woman with silver hair tied high, twin curved swords crossed behind her back. Her movements were elegant, measured. Her eyes, cold as ice, never wavered.
Juno stood opposite — shorter, wearing dark blue robes, a longbow of white wood resting in her hand. Her expression calm, unreadable.
The gong struck.
Juno moved first, releasing a volley of glowing arrows that curved midair, homing in on Serin from multiple directions.
Serin spun, drawing both swords in a single, fluid motion.
"Moon-Cut Mirage!"
Her blades traced silver arcs through the air. The arrows shattered one by one, deflected by precision alone.
Then, with a single leap, she closed the distance — her movements a blur.
"Too slow," she whispered, and struck twice.
Juno barely had time to raise a Qi barrier before she was knocked from the ring by the force of the twin strikes.
The crowd gasped, then erupted again.
"Serin wins!"
Even some elders nodded approvingly. Elder Kaelis smiled faintly. "Refined, efficient, and merciless. Just as I taught her."
In the stands, Arin watched silently.
Each strike, each movement — he memorized them all.
Beside him, Taren whistled. "They're monsters. You sure you want to go in there?"
Arin smiled faintly. "A sword learns nothing if it stays in its sheath."
Taren laughed. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Just… don't die out there."
Meanwhile, the elders spoke quietly among themselves.
Elder Faen said, "The top disciples perform as expected. But I sense something strange among the lower ranks. The boy Arin — his Qi is… unusual. It fluctuates like moonlight, never stable yet never fading."
Grandmaster Lorian nodded. "He trained the Moon-Forged Body, did he not?"
Elder Kaelis frowned. "That technique? Dangerous, unstable. If he overreaches, it could shatter his meridians."
Lorian's gaze turned distant. "Or awaken something greater."
The announcer's voice rose again.
"Next match — Arin of Lungshen, Rank 1, Stage 2… versus Drevin of Iron Hall, Rank 1, Stage 3!"
A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd.
"Wait, he's really fighting?"
"Stage two? He won't even last a breath!"
"Poor kid… this'll be quick."
Arin rose slowly, his expression calm.
He adjusted the strap on his sword, exhaled once, and stepped toward the arena.
The world around him seemed to slow.
Each sound, each cheer, each gust of wind became clear — sharp and distant.
And as he stepped onto the stage, the faintest shimmer of silver light followed him.