The echoes of Feng's body hitting the marble floor didn't fade; they seemed to settle into the very cracks of the Azure Arena. High above, the thousands of spectators who had been screaming for the laundry boy's blood were now paralyzed by a collective, chilling realization.
This wasn't luck. It wasn't a fluke.
Long Chen stood in the center of the ring, his tattered grey rags fluttering in the mountain wind. He didn't celebrate. He didn't look at Feng's unconscious form. He simply waited, his breathing so rhythmic and deep that those in the front rows felt their own hearts trying to sync with his.
The Elder's Fury
On the high podium, Elder Gao's face was no longer purple with rage; it was pale with a calculating fear. Beside him, the other twelve Elders were whispering, their auras flickering like dying candles.
"He didn't use Qi," one Elder whispered, his voice trembling. "I felt no Dantian activation. No spiritual flow. He broke a Grade-3 Wind Blade with his bare palms."
Sect Master Yun Che leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He saw the "Structure" of Long Chen—the way the boy's bones seemed to absorb the ambient light of the arena. He realized that if Long Chen continued, he would expose the "Jade Ceiling" of their cultivation levels. He would show everyone that their Stage 5 "Gods" were hollow.
"The tournament... continues," the Sect Master commanded, his voice cold as the ice on the peaks. "Bring out the second seed."
The Semi-Final: The Iron Fortress
The crowd shifted. The silence broke into a low, fearful murmur as Iron-Body Wei stepped into the arena.
Wei was a mountain of a man, nearly seven feet tall and three hundred pounds of dense, dark muscle. His skin didn't look like flesh; it looked like cold-forged iron. He was the Sect's pride—the man who had supposedly stood beneath a waterfall of lead for a month to temper his skin.
"I watched what you did to Feng," Wei growled, his voice sounding like two grinding stones. "He was soft. Weak. You can't 'vibrate' me, laundry boy. My density is absolute."
The Fight Begins:
Wei didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one. He charged, each footstep leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the reinforced marble. He threw a straight punch, a move so simple and powerful it created a sonic boom that shattered the glass lanterns hanging around the ring.
The Smart Play:
Long Chen didn't dodge. To the horror of the crowd, he raised his left forearm to meet Wei's massive fist.
CLANG.
The sound was metallic, deafening. It was the sound of a hammer hitting a vault door. Long Chen didn't move an inch. The force of the punch traveled through his arm, down his spine, and into the ground. The marble tiles beneath Long Chen's feet exploded into fine powder, but his body remained as steady as the mountain itself.
Long Chen looked into Wei's eyes. "Absolute density is your prison," he said softly.
Long Chen reached into his belt and pulled out the Stone-Breaker's Gavel. To the audience, it looked like a toy against the giant Wei. But Long Chen didn't hit Wei's chest. He dropped to one knee and tapped the floor exactly three inches from Wei's right heel.
The Logic:
With his Origin Sight, Long Chen saw the "Stress Lines" of Wei's Iron-Body technique. Because Wei's skin was so rigid, his internal organs were effectively trapped in a metal box.
Tink.
The Gavel sent a high-frequency pulse into the marble. Because Wei was a "conductor" of physical force, the vibration didn't go around him—it went through him. The frequency matched the resonance of Wei's hardened ribs.
CRACK.
Wei's "Iron Skin" didn't break, but the Qi holding it together shattered. The giant's eyes went wide as his own defense turned against him. The vibration rattled his brain and lungs. He stumbled back, coughing up a spray of dark blood. His skin turned from iron-grey back to a sickly, pale white.
He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his "invincible" body defeated by a single tap of a stone hammer.
The Grand Final: The False God
The atmosphere in the arena was now one of pure terror. No one mocked. No one cheered. They watched as Senior Disciple Yan, the undisputed #1 of the Outer Hall, stepped into the cratered ring.
Yan was Level 4—the Foundation Realm. He didn't just have strong skin; he had an elemental soul. He raised his arms, and the temperature in the arena skyrocketed. A massive, blue-flamed Spirit Tiger materialized behind him, its roar shaking the banners.
"You are a plague, Long Chen," Yan said, his eyes glowing with azure fire. "You are an error in the world's logic. I will burn you until not even your 'Weight' remains."
The Tiger leaped. It was a wall of blue fire, five thousand degrees of pure, spiritual heat.
The Origin Play:
Long Chen reached into his pocket and gripped the Rusted Key. He didn't pull it out, but he channeled the "Void Logic" into his marrow. He stepped into the blue flames.
The crowd screamed. They expected to see him turn to ash. But inside the fire, Long Chen was the "Anchor." He swung the Gavel in a vertical arc, hitting the Air itself.
Fwoosh.
He triggered a Dual-Polarity Implosion. The Absolute Cold of his marrow met the Absolute Heat of Yan's tiger.
The blue fire didn't expand; it was sucked into a single point—the head of Long Chen's hammer. The vacuum was so strong it pulled Yan forward, dragging him into his own collapsing fire.
Long Chen emerged from the white steam, his hand locked onto Yan's throat. He lifted the "Goddess's Favorite" three feet off the ground with one hand.
"Your fire is loud," Long Chen said, looking into Yan's terrified eyes, "but it has no gravity."
He tossed Yan out of the arena. The #1 Disciple landed in a heap at the feet of the Elders, his blue silk robes smoking and his pride shattered.
The Exile's Reward
Sect Master Yun Che stood up. He didn't look at Yan. He looked at the boy in the center of the ruins. He knew he couldn't kill Long Chen here—not without the disciples seeing him as a tyrant.
"The servant has won," Yun Che's voice boomed, but there was no joy in it. "You have proven that you are beyond our walls. Therefore, your reward is the Envoy's Burden."
He tossed a black wooden box at Long Chen's feet. "Go to the Ghost-Salt Desert. Recover the Sunken Library. If you succeed, you are a hero. If you fail... you are simply another grain of salt in the wasteland."
Long Chen picked up the box. He didn't thank the Sect Master. He didn't bow. He turned his back on the thousands of silent, fearful faces and walked toward the gate.
The "Dust" of the Cloud-Mist Sect was gone.