Chapter 16 — Before the Quarterfinals
The noise of the arena faded behind Arin as he stepped through the stone passageway. The air inside the corridor was cooler, calmer, untouched by the frenzy outside. His heartbeat had already steadied, silver Qi rotating gently around his core like a silent orbit.
He exhaled slowly.
That control… it's getting clearer.
The Silver-Light within him responded in faint pulses—like a second heartbeat.
He reached the resting hall. Disciples murmured, staring at him, quickly looking away when his gaze drifted near. Even the ones older than him stiffened, unsure how to approach the boy who had just dismantled Drevin—Top 20 ranked—with frightening composure.
Arin ignored them.
He took a seat near the corner—quiet, shadowed, away from the crowd.
His thoughts shifted toward the next match.
Quarterfinals.
Fewer opponents.
Stronger opponents.
More unpredictable techniques.
He sensed someone approaching before he saw them.
Soft footsteps. Slow. Measured.
A familiar voice:
"You didn't disappoint."
Arin looked up.
Lyris stood before him—snow-white hair, thin silver earrings, robe perfectly pressed. Eyes like still water, always calm but carrying a depth he could never quite read.
She sat down across from him without waiting for invitation.
"You didn't come to mock me?" Arin asked lightly.
"Mock you?" Lyris smiled faintly. "No. If anything, you've made things… entertaining."
Arin raised an eyebrow.
"Entertaining?"
She nodded.
"Everyone expected Drevin to overwhelm you with sheer force. Instead… you displayed perfect reading of technique, refined control over a mutated element, and footwork I've only seen in Inner Court duelists."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Arin. What exactly are you?"
He didn't answer.
Silence hung for a moment.
Then Lyris leaned back.
"You don't need to tell me. I'll see for myself soon."
Arin smirked. "You sound confident."
"I am. But I'm not foolish enough to underestimate you anymore."
Lyris stood, dusting her robe.
"Quarterfinal announcements will begin soon. Rest while you can."
She left with the same soft footsteps.
Arin leaned back and allowed his eyes to close briefly.
Silver Qi swirled around him more densely than before.
Stronger.
Clearer.
The Silver-Light… is responding faster.
At this rate…
His thoughts faded as footsteps approached again—heavier this time.
A boy dropped onto the bench beside him with a groan.
"Damn my ribs… That Drevin brat is crazy."
Arin turned.
It was Jorah—massive shoulders, bronze skin, thick forearms—like a moving wall of muscle. Despite his size, he wore the Outer Court uniform stretched almost to breaking.
He grinned painfully.
"Heard you turned him into dust."
Arin shook his head.
"He's not weak."
"No," Jorah agreed, cracking his neck. "But you're just… absurd."
He leaned closer.
"You're in the quarterfinals. You know that, right? With monsters. Real monsters."
"I'm aware."
Jorah slapped his knee.
"I hope to fight you someday. After I figure out how to block teleporting."
Arin gave a rare laugh.
A powerful gong sounded from the arena above.
"I guess that means the placements are ready," Jorah said, pushing himself up with a grunt. "Come on—let's see who you're up against."
Arin rose and followed.
The walk to the arena tunnel felt shorter this time.
Maybe because everything was sharper to him now.
Every scent.
Every footstep.
Every ripple of Qi in the air.
When they emerged into the sunlight, the crowd's roar trembled through the air like a living beast.
The announcer stood in the center, voice booming.
"THE QUARTERFINALS ARE SET!"
Arin exhaled slowly.
Names flickered across the giant talisman board—
Strong disciples.
Familiar names.
Dangerous techniques.
Then—
A ripple went through the crowd.
Jorah swore under his breath.
"Oho… Arin… You're up against HIM."
The talisman board glowed bright crimson as the combatants were paired.
And there it was:
QUARTERFINAL MATCH 1
ARIN — vs — VARIK KALON
A collective gasp swept the arena.
Even Arin's eyes narrowed slightly.
Varik Kalon.
The "Crimson Fang."
A disciple with a reputation dripping in rumors.
Sadistic discipline.
Unnatural technique mastery.
A body reinforced with a rare blood-based constitution.
A killing intent so heavy even Inner Court disciples avoided him.
Jorah whispered:
"Man… that guy… he's not normal. Not even close."
Arin didn't respond.
He simply walked forward, toward the center of the arena, silver aura quietly rising around him.
Across the massive stadium, another figure stepped onto the stone platform—
A tall disciple with dark-crimson hair, a jagged scar across his nose, and eyes like burning coals.
Varik.
He carried no sword.
No spear.
No weapon.
Just two metal gauntlets—dripping faintly with blood-red Qi.
He smirked when he saw Arin.
"So we finally meet."
Arin stopped a few steps from him.
"Seems like it."
Varik tilted his head.
"You made the last round boring, you know. I expected Drevin to scream more."
Arin frowned slightly.
"…You enjoy that?"
Varik's grin widened.
"I enjoy breaking things."
Whispers spread across the stands.
"He's terrifying…"
"Even elders don't like dealing with him…"
"He fights like a beast wearing human skin…"
Varik lifted his gauntleted hands.
"I heard you can teleport."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Good. I'd hate for my prey to die too fast."
Arin's eyes sharpened.
"You won't enjoy this fight."
Varik licked a drop of crimson Qi running down his knuckle.
"We'll see."
The announcer stepped back, voice shaking.
"Combatants—prepare for QUARTERFINAL MATCH ONE!"
Arin slid into stance.
Varik hunched forward slightly, like a predator lowering its center of gravity.
Their auras collided—
Silver radiance meeting blood-red madness.
The wind grew still.
The arena held its breath.
The announcer's voice trembled:
"BEGIN—!"