The moon had already dipped beneath the jagged ridge of the Beast Fang Mountains by the time I had returned to the Star bite. My feet scraped the sand-dusted deck. The ship's runes pulsed gently, casting a soft amber glow across the wood and brass railings. Before I could step inside, the doors burst open—
"You're bleeding again, you idiot!" Marla's sharp voice cut through the dark. I cracked a tired smile as she marched up, eyes glowing faintly with battle concern and anger she didn't quite understand. "Relax," I said, "It's not my blood."
"What happened?" Faeluxe asked, sliding down the support rigging, Fan daggers already in hand.
Hammerhead loomed behind her, arms crossed, eyes grim. I didn't give them the full truth. But I gave just enough.
"Assassins. Five of them.
I think someone's trying to kill me before the matches even start." The silence that followed was sharp and fast.
"Then we'll take shifts," Marla said instantly. "You're not sleeping alone tonight."
I mean—I'll take the first watch!"
Faeluxe gave her a sideways look but nodded in agreement. "I'll take second. I can see heartbeats in the dark."
"I'll take third," Hammerhead rumbled, setting down a crate like it was a pillow. I rolled my shoulders, "You guys don't have to—"
"Shut up," they all said. Far below the Spirit Docks, where the spiritual engines of the Star bite hummed and bled light into the sea-stone harbor, a shadow unraveled itself from the hull of a forgotten ship.
Vaylan Dusk Spire. He emerged from a silhouette like oil dripping off moonlight. His black and silver robes flowed as he stepped out onto the dry dock, face expressionless. But his pale eyes glittered. "A blood phage…" he whispered, the name tasting like old fear. "No wonder they want him dead."
He looked up toward the ship's lights. "And no wonder... I want him alive."
He vanished into darkness. Dawn rose in a roar of sound and light. All across the city of the Great Circle Battle Arena, spirit lanterns exploded in fountains of elemental light—flames, petals, gusts, shards, and thunder. The Banners of the remaining five hundred clans unfurled in waves from every balcony and tower.
The Great Arena stood at the center its 15-mile diameter filled with floating stone platforms, shifting terrain zones, and massive audience perches built into the ancient stone structures that once held gods and beast's captive. The Royal Envoys of the Floating Lotus Palace began the ceremonies—sky-born projections of dancers and divine beasts twirling above the arena.
And then...
A hush fell. The Announcer's Voice Amplified by Animus flooded the Great Circle Battle Arena. "By decree of the Lotus King and the Grand Convening of the Thousand Clans...
Let the Tournament of Beasts... BEGIN!"
The totem lit again—this time glowing with all the marks of the participants. across the fifteen mile circle several matches began to take place simultaneously. The added benefit of frightening in such a massive arena was that several matches could be fought at the same time. A giant spinning wheel of names hovered in the sky, slowly ticking down matchups. The Crowd Roared "Look—it's moving! The wheel!" With a chime like a war bell, it struck gold.
ASH OF IRON FANG CLAN
vs.
XU QIRIN OF THE STEEL WIND CLAN
The crowd exploded. Some cheered—others jeered. From the Frozen Heart gallery, Elyahna raised a curious brow. From the Puppet Walker stands, Nara of the Snare narrowed her eyes. In the psychic viewing orb of the Dusk spire enclave, Vaylan said only one word. "Lets see what this dark horse can do."
I stood at the edge of the arena circle, practicing a few battle katas and rolling one shoulder as the spirit lifts activated. As I entered the ring I heard Marla shout:
"KICK HIS ASS, ASH!"
Faeluxe chuckled. Hammerhead just groaned. I nodded, and gestured, ''Cough ahem thank you Marla!"
"I cleared my mind. Okay, let's see what kind of wind this guy's bringing." A sharp gust of air snapped the embroidered banners overhead as Xu Qirin stepped forward, his hair bound back by steel cords, his eyes gray as polished blade metal. He wore no armor—just a sleeveless robe of sky-blue and silver, with the clan's sigil etched across his chest: a whirling gale carrying steel leaves. Around him, Elders nodded solemnly, and the wind itself seemed to hush at his passage.
"Steel Wind Style—Fourth Form Mastery," one elder whispered.
"He'll test the Iron Fang's Divine Body."
Xu Qirin's walk to the stage was calm, measured—every movement perfectly balanced, like a blade sheathed in silk. The wind howled. The arena was a perfect circle of weathered stone, the edges rimmed with flickering boundary flames. Xu Qirin landed silently on the platform's far side. I had been standing there already, eyes scanning the crowd for fun, loose-limbed and smirking like this was a street brawl.
But when Xu approached, my smile faded. We bowed to one another—not exaggerated or theatrical. A clean, simple mutual gesture. Then came the ceremonial Gong Strike—a pulse of sound that split the air like thunder.
"BEGIN!"
"Hidden Dragon Palm!"
No stance.
No shout.
No buildup.
I simply stepped forward—and struck out with a palm like I was swatting a fly. But the moment my fingers snapped into place, something rippled through the air.
I had used the Hidden Dragon Palm, a beginner's martial technique meant to harness internal qi into a burst of force, but I had trained it to maximum level. The ground beneath my foot cracked. A cone of invisible pressure slammed toward Xu Qirin with surgical precision, faster than expected for such a humble technique.
Xu Qirin Countered – ''Steel Wind Rising Form!''
Xu Qirin spun into a low cyclone step, his body blurring with razor wind.
"Steel Wind Style – Second Form: Rising Gale Repulse!"
Blades of air curved around his arms, deflecting the impact to either side as he skated backward on a cushion of qi and wind essence. He barely touched the ground.
Without pause, he countered:
"Third Form – Wind Shear Rush!"
He vanished into the wind—reappearing beside me with a horizontal slicing strike of condensed air across my ribs.
WHUMP!
It hit. So did the next. And the next.
And the next.
I didn't try to move –I let my Spiral tyrant shell tank the hits. Each hit should've broken bone—but instead...
KLANG—KLANG—KLANG.
With every impact, a ghostly projection of cerulean blue and obsidian carapace plates flashed into place across my body. Like sections of armor catching blows from another dimension. Spiral tyrant spirit shell armor. A defensive projection of spirit-forged vitality—generated from the Spire colossal crab core.
Xu Qirin's final strike—a tornado kick of spinning air—landed flush across my temple. The audience gasped. But I simply turned my head back into position with a slow, grinning smirk. "Not bad Xu."
Xu's eyes narrowed. "You let me hit you."
"I needed to see what kind of edge you're swinging with," I replied. "Now I know."
Zhenba of the Thousand Cuts Clan growled. "He's testing Xu. He's not even serious."
Elyahna of the Mystic Ice Path narrowed her eyes in study. "That was an entry level martial learner technique...but he's trained it to peak tier."
Dimitri of the Psychic Fire Eye Clan licked his lips. "He's fun. This is going to be fun."
Nara of the Snare whispered to her puppet drone. "He has layers of spirit armor… and something hungry is inside of him."
The crowd watched in silence—tens of thousands of cultivators from across the continent perched atop spirit-lift balconies and floating observatories that ringed the massive arena. The opening bouts all around were tame, but now…
Something shifted. My stance subtly changed. Xu Qirin narrowed his eyes. The Steel Wind prodigy had trained in speed and perception—he noticed everything. But This was different. There was no killing intent, no power surge, no spiritual flex. Just then I used my serpent mirage step. Xu blanched as his eyes darted around searching for me, "His speed defies belief!" Xu thought to himself.
I disappeared from my position without warning. It wasn't teleportation—it was pure physical speed, faster than most eyes could track. A shuffling shuttle footstep, trained to its apex. No ripples. No echo. No warning. Xu Qirin's instincts screamed.
He turned his head slightly—
Too late.
"HIDDEN DRAGON WIND PALM"
I appeared behind Xu, one hand already extended, palm open and fingers angled. The Hidden Dragon Wind Palm struck center mass. A single, clean hit—It carried the force of three thousand kilograms of compressed qi.
BOOM.
Xu was blasted forward across the arena in a golden arc, the air rippling violently around him. His body hit the far wall of the battle ring—a shimmering barrier erected by the Floating Lotus Palace—and rebounded with a resounding gong as protective wards flared to stop lethal damage. He slid to the ground, dazed, coughing blood, eyes wide.
The gong sounded-match over. The officiating jade seal floated upward, pulsing with emerald light. "Victory: Ash of the Iron Fang Clan."
Silence.
Then a roar erupted from the crowd—some in awe, some in disbelief, some in pure outrage. Zhenba's face twisted with hatred. "He's playing with all of us."
Elyahna's expression was unreadable, but her fingers clenched frost-tight on her sleeves. Dimitri's eyes gleamed with fire. "So that's the pressure of a Divine Grade Spirit Body…"
Nara simply whispered: "He didn't even use his full qi."
Vaylan Dusk Spire, watched from a shadowy alcove above, and smiled. "I knew you were a genius." I gave a small wave to the silent crowd, completely unfazed, and casually walked off the platform. "I hope they send someone stronger next time."
Behind me, the still-cracked arena stones steamed.