The sun had only just crested the eastern ridge when the first bell rang across the Righteous Sky Sect's valley. The sound was deep, metallic, and strangely melodic—as if the bell had been cast from the bones of some ancient beast. Each toll vibrated through the stone pathways, and disciples began converging on the central arena in slow, buzzing waves.
Arin stepped quietly from the forest path into the main walkway just as the third bell echoed. He felt different. His heartbeat and Dantian pulsed in perfect rhythm, each footfall naturally aligned to the marrow's resonance. Even without consciously activating the Tashkent Step, his movements were lighter, smoother—almost ghostlike.
Some disciples recognized him and immediately began whispering.
"Look, it's him—Arin. Finally showed up."
"Thought he disappeared after beating Drevin."
"I heard he was injured."
"No, idiot. I heard Elder Kaelis took him for secret training at night."
Arin ignored the voices. He wasn't here for their rumors.
Ahead, the massive arena—the Crescent Hall of Trials—rose like a crown of stone. It was carved directly into the mountainside, its grey walls veined with faint silver streaks that shimmered under sunlight. Legend said the hall had been built during the sect's founding, when a wandering sword saint cleaved the mountain into shape.
The arena floor was wide and oval, surrounded by tiered stone stands. Even at this early hour thousands of disciples filled the seats, banners fluttering, voices mixing into a rumbling storm.
Today's bracket would decide the last contenders who would move into the Top 32—the round where Arin was scheduled to make his entrance.
He approached the registration stone where an elder in sky-blue robes waited — Elder Ryusan, a thin man with narrow phoenix eyes and short silver hair tied back neatly. His robe sleeves were embroidered with flowing patterns resembling wind currents.
"You are late, Arin of Outer Ring," Ryusan said, though his tone held no anger—just assessment.
"My matches were scheduled for the final set," Arin answered calmly, bowing. "I am here to observe and prepare."
Ryusan nodded once, approving the composure.
"Your time draws near. Watch carefully. Today's fights will decide the strengths you may soon face."
Arin bowed again and slipped into the stands.
The center platform shimmered as the protective formation activated. Thin lines of light raced through the stone, marking boundaries. A glowing barrier rose around the fighting area, sealing it like a transparent dome.
A booming voice erupted from the announcer's stage.
"Outer Sect Tournament, Day Six! Final Preliminary Battles – Round Five!
All disciples to their sections! Judges take your places!"
Five elders descended to the judge seats at the front row—each representing a different division of the sect.
Elder Maylun, the Evergreen Physician—soft-featured, jade hairpin, eyes like clear water.
Elder Voshen, massive arms, braided beard, aura heavy like rolled thunder.
Elder Kaelis, Arin's instructor—cold and sharp as moonlit ice.
Elder Ryusan, the Wind Scholar—now seated, pen and paper in hand.
Elder Shurei, small, fox-like eyes, smile mischievous.
Their presence alone raised the intensity.
Elder Voshen struck a gong.
"Bring out the first pair!"
Battle One — Kalen vs Myra
Two disciples stepped onto the arena floor.
Kalen
Age: 15
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 4
Style: Stone-Rooted Fist
Appearance: Broad-shouldered, messy dark hair, heavy cloth gauntlets.
Myra
Age: 14
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 3
Style: Willow Step + short-blade technique
Appearance: A slim girl with braided red hair and agile foxlike eyes.
The gong struck.
Myra burst forward first, feet barely touching the ground—Willow Step made her movements sway like branches in the wind. She wielded two short crescent blades, flashing silver arcs aimed toward Kalen's wrists and ribs.
Kalen didn't dodge. He rooted both legs to the ground, drew Qi down into his heels, and punched.
Stone-Rooted Fist: Mountain's First Knuckle!
A shockwave erupted from his fist, small pebbles lifting from the arena floor.
Myra twisted mid-air, sliding past the blow like a ribbon. Her blades cut shallow lines across his upper arm—drawn blood, but not deep.
The crowd gasped.
"Nice opening!"
"Her speed's insane!"
Kalen grunted, rotated his hips, and slammed both fists downward.
Stone-Rooted Fist: Earth-Sundering Step!
The ground cracked, forcing Myra off balance for a heartbeat.
Just one.
But it was enough.
Kalen's next punch hit her short blades dead-on. The impact threw Myra backward twenty paces until she skidded to a stop, breath knocked out.
Elder Maylun raised a hand.
"Myra Yield?"
She struggled… then nodded.
"Winner — Kalen!"
The crowd clapped, murmuring excitedly.
Arin watched carefully. Stone-Rooted… strong but predictable. Good endurance, but the timing is slow.
His Moon-Pulse could counter it effortlessly.
Battle Two — Saro vs Lin Fei
The next pair entered.
Saro
Age: 16
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 5
Style: Azure Palm
Appearance: Slender, tall, aquamarine robe, calm expression.
Lin Fei
Age: 15
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 4
Style: Whirlwind Spear
Appearance: Hair tied high, sharp eyes, spear taller than herself.
The moment the gong struck, Lin Fei lunged. The spear whirled in a spiral, wind pressure whipping across the arena.
Whirlwind Spear: Tempest Coil!
Saro raised one hand, palm open, Qi swirling around it in a serene spiral.
Azure Palm: Flowing Barrier.
Wind clashed with water-like Qi. The audience gasped as the two forces collided, ripples spreading across the barrier.
For a moment, they were equal.
Then Lin Fei spun faster—her spear movements a blur.
"Fei fights like she's dancing!"
"She's pushing him back!"
Arin felt the Moon-Pulse responding unconsciously. Her strikes are fast but linear. Azure Palm should be able to redirect… yes… there.
Saro stepped aside lightly and thrust his palm forward.
Azure Palm: River's Lash!
A sharp wave of Qi struck Lin Fei's ribs, throwing her backward even as her spear scraped Saro's shoulder. She coughed, breath hitching.
"Yield?" Elder Kaelis asked, voice sharp.
Lin Fei tried to stand, spear trembling—then fell to one knee.
"…Yield."
"Winner — Saro!"
The crowd cheered again.
The announcer called for a brief intermission as the next participants prepared.
Arin sat in the shadows beneath the stands, studying every movement.
He whispered to himself, "Patterns… timing… inefficiencies."
The Moon-Pulse resonated faintly, as if answering his observations.
He could feel it: he had risen above his previous self.
His marrow held light.
His heartbeat obeyed the moon.
He touched his chest lightly.
I can match them all. Even surpass them.
Up on the judge's platform, the elders discussed quietly.
Maylun frowned. "Many disciples are stronger than last year's batch. The foundation is better."
Elder Shurei smirked. "True, but I am waiting for the boy."
Kaelis didn't turn his head. "Arin will appear when his bracket begins."
Ryusan tapped his pen. "The rumors around him… defeating Drevin shook the balance."
Voshen laughed, voice booming. "If he truly reached Moon-Pulse at his age, he deserves victory!"
Kaelis's eye twitched slightly — the smallest sign of annoyance.
"His progress is his own matter."
But a spark of pride glinted deep in her gaze.
Battle Three — Varun vs Elira
This was the fight everyone whispered about.
Varun
Age: 17
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 5
Style: Iron Serpent Whip
Appearance: Dark skin, hair bound in thick cord, metal whip coiled at his belt.
Elira
Age: 15
Cultivation: Mortal Rank 1, Stage 5
Style: Crystal Feather Blade
Appearance: Pale silver hair, elegant stance, long crystal-forged sword.
Before the battle, a group of disciples shoved forward, shouting:
"Varun! Crush her!"
"Elira is too soft—won't last a minute!"
Others countered:
"Idiot. Her Crystal Feather style is too fast! She'll cut him apart!"
Arin watched closely.
This was a battle between speed and flexible reach.
The gong struck.
Varun cracked his whip instantly—
WHIP!
—creating a spiraling force like a striking serpent.
Elira didn't move.
Not yet.
She took a single breath—
Then—
Crystal Feather Blade: Shimmer Step.
She slid forward so fast she became a blur of white-blue light. The whip cut the space where she had stood a heartbeat before.
The crowd screamed—
"She vanished!"
"No—she moved!"
Varun's eyes widened—he spun the whip in a defensive arc.
But Elira's blade flicked like a falling feather—
Crystal Feather Blade: Crescent Split!
The strike cut not flesh, but Varun's footing—she aimed for the arena floor under him, tilting the ground slightly. Varun stumbled; the whip's momentum broke.
He retaliated fiercely.
Iron Serpent Art: Chain-Fang Lunge!
The metal whip lunged toward her throat with brutal malice.
But her blade danced again—
small, precise, impossibly elegant.
The whip split into two pieces.
Gasps exploded around the arena.
Varun froze, breathing hard.
His weapon lay in fragments.
"I…"
He clenched his jaw.
"…Yield."
The arena roared.
"Winner — Elira!"
Elder Voshen slapped his thigh. "Beautiful technique!"
Kaelis murmured, "Clean footwork."
Ryusan wrote quietly. "She and Arin… yes, an interesting collision."
Arin watched in silence.
Her rhythm was excellent.
But rhythm can be read, he thought.
His Moon-Pulse quivered in acknowledgment.
As the sun began lowering, the announcer finally called—
"Next bracket: Group #7.
Tomorrow morning—Arin of Outer Ring begins his matches.
Prepare yourselves!"
A wave of whispers rolled through the crowd.
"He's finally fighting?"
"This will be interesting."
"He won't last long."
"He beat Drevin—moron."
"He's a fluke."
"He's a monster."
Arin rose from his seat.
The moonlight glinted faintly as the first star appeared above the peaks.
Tomorrow his trial would begin.
He stepped away from the arena, the silver rings in his eyes faintly swirling—
slow, calm, precise.
As Arin walked down the mountain path, several disciples still muttered behind him:
"Where was he these last days? Hiding?"
"Did he skip his matches?"
But the truth was simple:
Arin had not appeared earlier because his bracket had no scheduled matches until tomorrow.
His name was placed in one of the final groups, meaning he had received a natural delay.
While others fought daily, Arin used the time to deepen his body refinement, complete the Moon-Pulse Resonance, and master the Tashkent Step.
Now he was ready—
more than ready—
to enter the arena.