The arena fell into a heavy silence.
Zhao Feng stepped onto the platform slowly.
Unlike the others, he did not try to hide his killing intent.
It pressed outward in cold waves.
His injured arm hung at his side, wrapped in white cloth—but the spiritual energy around it was unstable.
Forced activation.
He was ignoring the damage.
Lin Xuan stepped onto the platform as well.
His breathing appeared uneven.
His complexion slightly pale.
The poison still "working."
Perfect.
The referee hesitated before raising his hand.
"Begin."
Zhao Feng moved instantly.
No testing.
No circling.
His palm shot forward, wind-attributed energy roaring around it like a compressed storm.
This was not an Outer Court technique.
It was Inner Court level.
The air shrieked as it split.
Lin Xuan crossed his arms to block—
BOOM.
The impact sent him sliding backward across the platform.
Cracks spread beneath his feet.
The crowd gasped.
That strike alone was far stronger than Wu Jian or Sun Qiang.
Zhao Feng did not pause.
He pressed forward again, palm after palm, each strike heavier than the last.
Lin Xuan retreated strategically, deflecting instead of clashing head-on.
His arms trembled slightly.
Not entirely an act.
Zhao Feng was genuinely stronger.
"You should have stayed quiet," Zhao Feng said coldly between strikes. "You attracted attention you cannot handle."
Another blast of wind energy slammed toward Lin Xuan's chest.
This time, Lin Xuan did not block.
He stepped aside at the last possible moment.
The strike tore through empty air and smashed into the arena barrier.
The elders' brows furrowed.
Too much force.
Zhao Feng wasn't just trying to win.
He was trying to cripple.
Lin Xuan's eyes sharpened.
Enough measuring.
Zhao Feng gathered energy into his injured arm.
The bandages tore apart.
Spiritual energy condensed violently around his palm.
A forbidden overexertion technique.
If released fully at close range—
It could shatter bones.
The air pressure dropped sharply.
Some Outer Court disciples instinctively stepped back.
From the elevated seats—
Elder Han's gaze hardened.
"Zhao Feng…" he muttered.
But he did not stop the match.
Lin Xuan felt it clearly.
This was the strike meant to end him.
If he dodged too obviously, suspicion would rise.
If he blocked normally, he would be severely injured.
There was only one precise solution.
As Zhao Feng lunged—
Lin Xuan stopped retreating.
Instead, he stepped forward.
At the same time—
Deep within his core—
The dragon opened one eye.
A faint crimson pulse flashed beneath Lin Xuan's skin.
Not explosive.
Not visible to most.
Just enough.
Zhao Feng's palm descended—
Lin Xuan twisted his body half a degree.
The strike missed his heart by inches—
But struck his shoulder instead.
A sickening crack echoed.
Pain exploded through his arm.
At the same instant—
Lin Xuan's fist drove forward.
Not at Zhao Feng's chest.
Not at his head.
But directly into the unstable meridian point in his injured arm.
Precise.
Calculated.
Contained.
For a fraction of a second—
Time felt suspended.
Then—
Zhao Feng's condensed wind energy destabilized violently.
A backlash erupted.
Spiritual energy exploded outward in a shockwave.
Both figures were thrown apart.
Dust filled the arena.
Silence.
When the dust cleared—
Lin Xuan was on one knee.
His shoulder hung unnaturally.
Clearly fractured.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Across the arena—
Zhao Feng lay on his back.
His injured arm twisted at a grotesque angle.
Spiritual energy around him was chaotic, out of control.
He tried to rise—
Coughed blood—
And collapsed again.
The referee hesitated only a moment.
"Zhao Feng… unable to continue."
A pause.
"Lin Xuan… advances."
The arena exploded in noise.
No one expected this.
Not like this.
From the elder seats, tension thickened.
Elder Han's eyes were no longer calm.
That counterattack—
That precision—
That timing—
Too refined.
Too mature.
Lin Xuan forced himself to stand slowly.
Every movement looked painful.
Which was not entirely false.
His shoulder was genuinely fractured.
But the poison inside him?
Gone.
Burned away in that single crimson pulse.
He staggered slightly as he stepped off the platform.
Medics rushed toward Zhao Feng first.
Of course.
Lin Xuan did not look back.
Because he could feel it.
The spiritual perceptions focused on him had intensified.
Not suspicion.
Not yet.
But certainty.
He was no longer just a talented Outer Court disciple.
He was now—
An anomaly.
As he reached the edge of the arena, Chen Wei whispered from the crowd:
"You… you actually won…"
Lin Xuan gave a faint smile.
"Barely."
But inside—
The dragon's voice echoed low and satisfied.
They are no longer testing you.
Lin Xuan's gaze lifted briefly toward the elder seats.
Now they are deciding what to do with you.
High above, inside the pavilion—
The cloaked figure watched silently.
"That strike," the figure murmured.
"It felt familiar."
Beside him, another elder spoke quietly.
"Do we eliminate him before Black Mist Valley?"
A pause.
The cloaked figure's eyes narrowed.
"No."
"Let him enter."
"If he truly carries that resonance…"
A faint smile appeared beneath the hood.
"Black Mist Valley will force it out."
Back in the arena—
The announcer's voice echoed again.
"Top five confirmed."
"Lin Xuan… qualified for Black Mist Valley."
The crowd roared.
But Lin Xuan felt no excitement.
Only clarity.
The real battlefield was no longer the arena.
It was the valley.
And whatever waited there—
Was already aware of him.