The arena shimmered under the late afternoon sun, its circular stone platform glowing like heated iron. Dust floated in drifting ribbons, illuminated by the crowd's rising excitement. And at the center, two figures stood opposite each other, locked in silent anticipation.
Arin.
Jiro.
Two outer disciples—equal in cultivation, unequal in voice and reputation.
Arin's breath was steady, centered. His body radiated subtle silver warmth from the Moon-Forged Body: Fourth Link, each heartbeat synchronized with his controlled flow of Qi. His eyes glowed faintly, silver rings spinning in slow, deliberate cycles.
Jiro cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.
"You look more confident than before," he said, tapping his foot lightly against the stone. "Don't tell me you think you can actually beat me now."
Arin didn't answer immediately.
He raised his blade.
The stance was simple—too simple.
A beginner's stance.
Yet something in the stillness around him made Jiro's smirk fade slightly
Jiro burst forward like a wolf leaping from the brush.
Arin moved.
But not quickly.
Not forcefully.
Instead, every step he took glided with perfect efficiency, the resonance of the Fourth Link controlling his muscle tension with absolute balance. The silver Qi around him thinned, not through weakness but through refined precision.
Elder Kaisen leaned forward.
"His body… it's completely stabilized."
Elder Mei Ron nodded.
"His earlier movements were tentative. Now he's moving as if the technique is part of him."
Jiro slashed downward in a heavy strike.
Arin didn't block.
He shifted his weight by an inch, letting Jiro's blade pass through empty space.
The disciples gasped.
"What was that?!"
"He didn't even parry—he just moved!"
"Did he predict the strike?"
Jiro scowled and attacked again—faster, sharper, mixing high swings with low thrusts.
Arin drifted between them like water flowing around stones. His blade barely moved, only making the slightest corrections to redirect force.
Every motion was minimal.
Every angle perfect.
He's… reading me, Jiro realized, sweat forming on his brow. He's reading everything!
Jiro stepped back, breathing harder now.
"You're analyzing my sword, aren't you?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Those spinning rings in your eyes… they're no ornament. You're seeing my technique before I use it!"
Arin didn't boast.
He didn't explain.
He simply lifted his sword horizontally.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Lunar Thread—First Line."
A silver ripple flowed along his blade.
Jiro rushed again—too prideful to back down.
But Arin had already moved.
One step.
One slash.
The cleanest line of sword Qi he had ever produced.
A thin arc of silver carved through the air, cutting Jiro's technique apart like a knife through silk.
Jiro's saber vibrated violently, the backlash ripping through his arm. His elbow buckled and his grip faltered. Arin's slash stopped a finger's width from Jiro's neck, the trailing Qi slicing a few strands of his hair.
Jiro froze.
The arena fell silent.
Then—
"W–what speed was that?!"
"It wasn't speed. It was efficiency!"
"He didn't waste a single movement!"
Up on the Elder's platform, the older masters murmured among themselves.
Elder Huan whispered, "That wasn't a lucky strike. The boy broke down Jiro's form instantly and cut at the structural weakness."
Elder Mei Ron smiled faintly.
"His perception has evolved mid-tournament. Fascinating."
Jiro stumbled backward, face pale.
"That slash… I couldn't even follow it…"
Arin didn't give him time to recover.
He stepped forward with fluid confidence, his stance unwavering. The silver rings in his eyes spun faster, gathering information with each heartbeat.
He spoke again.
"Lunar Thread—Second Line."
Jiro's instincts screamed danger.
He raised his saber—
Too slow.
Arin's slash came diagonally, the blade vibrating with controlled Qi. It hit Jiro's saber exactly at the weakest point, splitting the incoming technique apart.
The force sent Jiro skidding across the arena floor.
He coughed, shaking hands barely holding his weapon.
"This… you weren't fighting like this earlier…!"
Arin approached slowly.
"I wasn't finished analyzing you."
Jiro grit his teeth and roared.
"Shut up!"
He charged with everything he had left, Qi erupting around him like a blazing aura.
"Fierce Wolf Pattern!"
The crowd roared.
"That's Jiro's strongest move!"
"He'll crush him!"
But Arin whispered:
"Moon-Pulse Resonance…
Alignment Complete."
His body settled, muscles relaxing into perfect synergy.
Jiro's wolf-like barrage came in a dozen unpredictable angles—
Arin cut them apart one by one.
Pah—
Pah—
Pah—
Light, efficient slashes that landed exactly where Jiro's movements lost structure. Every time Jiro reset his footing, Arin stepped into the blind angle. Every time Jiro tried to feint, Arin ignored it—knowing the real attack already.
Jiro's frustration bubbled into panic.
"STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING!"
Arin raised his sword for the final time.
"Lunar Thread—Third Line."
This slash was quiet.
Almost gentle.
A thin arc of silver that barely made sound.
But the moment it touched Jiro's blade, the saber shattered into three pieces.
Jiro froze, eyes wide, staring down at the broken metal.
Arin's blade stopped at his throat.
Not cutting.
Just resting lightly.
"I win," Arin said calmly.
The referee didn't need time.
"Winner — ARIN!"
The arena exploded.
"What a monster!"
"He took Jiro apart!"
"That precision—how did he do that?!"
"He won without even taking serious damage…!"
The Elders stood—rarely seen during outer disciple matches.
Elder Kaisen murmured, "A blade specializing in weak-point disruption… that's advanced sword logic, not something a beginner should understand."
Elder Mei Ron crossed her arms.
"He has the perception of a Rank 4 cultivator," she said. "But the body of a Rank 1 novice. A strange imbalance. Dangerous… and promising."
Meanwhile, Jiro staggered back, eyes still fixed on Arin.
He swallowed hard.
"…You improved… mid fight," he said, voice trembling.
Arin sheathed his sword.
"You helped me refine my technique."
Jiro let out a weak laugh.
"You're terrifying."
He bowed—a rare act between competitors.
Arin bowed back.
The disciples watched, shocked by the humble exchange.
"He bowed?! Jiro bowed?!"
"This Arin guy… who is he really?"
As Arin stepped away, medics approached him—though he waved them off.
"I'm fine," he said.
But inside, he could feel it.
His muscles trembled subtly.
His heartbeat was too fast.
The Fourth Link had been pushed harder than intended.
Still—
He walked proudly from the stage.
When he reached the gate, he overheard disciples whispering:
"No wonder he was gone the last few tournament days. His group had no matches scheduled."
"So he was training the whole time?"
"That explains that insane improvement!"
Arin smiled faintly.
If I had fought earlier… I wouldn't have been ready. My match happened exactly when it needed to.
He exhaled softly and stepped through the gate, the roar of the arena still shaking the air.
Next round… will be even harder.
But for the first time—
He felt ready.