CHAPTER 12 — Tournament Arc, Part II
The roar of the crowd rolled across the Outer Sect arena like a living tide. Dust floated lazily above the stone platform, still unsettled from the previous match. Arin stepped through the tunnel's shadow into the sunlight, and dozens of eyes snapped toward him at once.
Some widened in surprise.
Some narrowed with contempt.
Others simply watched, curious, measuring him in silence.
Arin did not react. His footsteps were even, calm, almost deliberate. The sword at his back felt lighter than before—his newly tempered body had changed the balance of everything.
As he approached Section Eight, where his bracket waited, several disciples turned immediately.
A tall boy with reddish-brown hair elbowed his friend. "Look who finally crawled out. The mighty Rank 100 himself."
Snickers followed.
Another disciple, short but broad-shouldered, leaned forward with a mocking grin. "Where were you these last days, Arin? Hiding? Or did you faint from fear?"
Arin met his gaze, voice steady.
"I had no scheduled matches. So I trained."
The boy blinked, then burst out laughing.
"You actually say that like it matters."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so the mockery felt personal.
"You do know you're expected to lose at the end of the preliminary round, right? Don't embarrass yourself trying to do anything else."
Arin's expression didn't change. He simply watched him until the boy grew uncomfortable and looked away.
But a calm voice broke the tension:
"Enough. Leave him alone."
The disciples turned. Kael stood a few meters away—tall, disciplined, dark-haired. Rank 1, Stage 5. Fourth strongest in the entire Outer Sect.
His eyes were cool but steady.
"If you believe he's weak, that should be advantage enough for you. Mocking someone before the match shows insecurity, not strength."
A cold hush fell over the group.
Few ever challenged Kael's words. Even fewer dared respond.
Arin gave him a respectful nod.
Kael returned a faint one—not quite friendly, but acknowledging him as a real participant, not a ghost sitting at the bottom of the ranking.
Then the sound of a heavy bronze bell thundered across the arena.
Three elders approached from the eastern gate—Elder Varun, Elder Heiyan, and Elder Shun—each step deliberate, each gaze sharp. Their presence weighed on the air; even the spectators quieted.
Elder Heiyan raised his voice, crisp and commanding:
"Outer Sect Tournament, Round Two—begins now."
Cheers erupted.
Elder Varun lifted his hand, signaling a disciple by the platform.
"First match: Kiro versus Danver! Step onto the arena."
Kiro climbed onto the stone platform first—thin, sharp-eyed, movements light.
Danver followed: stocky, powerful arms, heavy steps, wide grin.
Danver cracked his knuckles.
"Ready to get flattened, Kiro?"
Kiro said nothing. He lifted his short sword and exhaled.
Elder Shun's hand dropped.
"Begin!"
Danver charged instantly. His footwork shook dust from the platform.
A heavy downward strike—brute force meant to crush.
Kiro slid sideways, narrow steps, wrist flicking—his blade kissed Danver's shoulder.
A metallic ring.
Danver snarled.
"That all you've got?!"
He countered with an overhand strike, forcing Kiro back. The thin boy skidded across the arena, boots screeching.
Spectators shouted:
"Hold your ground, Kiro!"
"He's too strong—be careful!"
Kiro steadied. Danver lunged again.
This time, Kiro didn't dodge.
He raised his blade, waited—
CLANG!
At the perfect moment, he deflected Danver's force, letting it drag the big disciple off balance. Danver stumbled forward.
Kiro pivoted, swept low, slicing behind Danver's ankle.
Danver dropped to one knee, surprise flashing in his eyes.
Before he could recover, Kiro's blade met his throat.
Elder Varun spoke without hesitation:
"Winner—Kiro."
Applause burst across the arena. Some disciples murmured in approval, others in disbelief.
Arin watched carefully. Kiro's strength wasn't raw power—it was timing, footwork, precision.
He noted every movement.
Next came two of the noisiest fighters.
Sheno entered with his spear, blue eyes sharp as frost.
Ardrel followed, muscular and imposing, confidence radiating like heat.
Ardrel smirked. "I'll try not to break you in half."
Sheno didn't blink.
"Talking too much is what weak fighters do."
Spectators erupted in laughter and jeers.
Elder Heiyan raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Sheno's spear struck first—fast jabs, slicing arcs.
Ardrel dodged with surprising agility, weaving around the spear like a boulder turned acrobat.
He slammed his fist into the shaft. Shockwaves tore up Sheno's arm.
Sheno adjusted immediately, sweeping in a wide arc.
Ardrel leapt over it, flipping, fist angling toward Sheno's ribs.
Sheno blocked, sliding back ten steps.
Ardrel wiped a thin line of blood from his cheek. "Nice cut."
He clenched his fists. Qi hardened his knuckles, darkening skin like iron.
Spectators gasped:
"He's using Iron Pulse Fists!"
"This'll get good!"
Arin narrowed his eyes, observing the Qi distribution. Ardrel's technique was powerful but direct. Easy to counter—if one recognized the pattern.
Ardrel lunged.
Sheno braced the spear, vibrations running through the pole.
BOOM.
A shockwave blasted dust outward.
When it settled, Sheno's spearhead hovered at Ardrel's throat.
Ardrel's fist hovered beside Sheno's skull.
A perfect deadlock.
Elder Heiyan announced:
"Draw. Both advance."
The stands roared with appreciation.
As Sheno and Ardrel left the stage, Arin stood silently, absorbing every detail.
Whispers grew into ripples across the arena.
"Is Arin fighting soon?"
"He beat Drevin—maybe it wasn't luck after all."
"He's been gone for days. Injured? Training? Hiding?"
"No, his bracket just didn't have matches."
"Doesn't matter. He'll lose anyway."
Arin remained still. Let them talk. Let rumors build. None of it mattered.
Kael stepped beside him again.
"When you face someone stronger, what exactly are you hoping for?" he asked quietly.
Arin turned to him. "Not hoping. Planning."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"Planning?"
"I watch. I listen. I learn. When the fight begins, I don't rely on hope. Only on what I know."
Kael studied him for a long second.
"You really are different."
Arin looked back at the arena.
"I don't try to be. I just try to improve."
Kael gave a faint smirk.
"Let's see if your sword matches your words."
Suddenly Elder Varun raised his voice:
"Next match: Arin versus Jiro Sallen!"
Silence fell.
Then—
"You're kidding…"
"Arin is fighting Jiro? Stage 4 Jiro?"
"Goodbye, Arin. It was nice knowing you."
"Jiro's going to butcher him."
Jiro stepped from the far side of the arena—tall, elegant, long black hair tied back, violet eyes sharp like polished steel. His uniform was immaculate, his blade slender and elegant.
He regarded Arin with cold disdain.
"This is insulting. They expect me to waste time on you?"
Arin stepped onto the stone floor.
"If I'm that weak, beating me should be easy."
Jiro's jaw tightened.
"You'll regret saying that."
Elder Shun lifted his hand.
"Begin!"
Jiro moved first, drawing his blade with flawless grace.
Arin stepped back, blade rising into guard.
A vertical slash—precise, fast.
Arin blocked diagonally, minimizing motion.
Jiro scoffed.
"You're strong… but slow."
He twisted his wrist, releasing a thin blade of Qi that cut the air with a shrill whistle.
Arin lowered his stance. His ribs tightened; his legs rooted into the stone.
CLANG.
He redirected the wave downward. The stone cracked under their feet.
Gasps exploded around the arena.
"He neutralized a Qi wave?!"
"No way! He's just Stage 2!"
"What kind of body does he have?"
Jiro's eyes narrowed.
"So the rumors were true. Something's off about you."
He lunged again.
Arin tracked him—hips, shoulders, foot pressure.
His world slowed into angles and motion.
CLING!
He blocked.
Jiro stepped back, visibly annoyed.
"You're learning my movements while we fight."
"I learn from everyone," Arin replied.
Jiro grit his teeth.
"Then learn this."
He blurred forward—his blade splitting into afterimages.
"Flickering Edge Technique!"
Three attacks came at once: neck, ribs, thigh.
Spectators screamed.
Arin took a single breath.
He mapped the timing:
1. Downward stroke
2. Delayed slash
3. Fastest low cut
He shifted half a step—
CLANG—CLANG—TSSSH!
He blocked all three.
Silence crashed over the arena.
Jiro froze.
Elders leaned forward.
Elder Varun whispered, "He isn't reacting. He's predicting."
Elder Heiyan nodded.
"His reading ability… is dangerous."
The crowd erupted in chaos:
"He's a monster!"
"I didn't even see the third slash!"
"Who IS this kid?!"
Jiro trembled, half rage, half disbelief.
"Fine," he hissed. "I'll stop playing."
He raised his blade overhead. Qi surged into the metal, making it vibrate.
Arin tightened his stance.
Jiro roared:
"Flickering Edge—Second Form!"
He shot forward—
Arin inhaled—
And just as their blades were about to meet—