Lauren gave a faint smile. “Why don’t you test that theory yourself—and see if my spiritual energy ever runs dry?”

  Timothy shot higher into the air, but because he’d rigged the arena in advance, his head smacked the barrier with a dull thud.

  Below, ice lotuses blossomed in full bloom across the ground. At their peak, they detonated all at once, spraying shards of ice as thick as fingers toward him.

  A biting chill swept through the air. The temperature inside the ring plummeted, frost creeping into his lungs with every breath.

  The cold itself wasn’t enough to wound him—but the cramped space gave him no room to dodge. The icicles pelted his body in a relentless storm.

  They couldn’t pierce his steel-hard flesh, but they clung to him, layering across his arms and chest. Each shard added weight, slowing him down, dragging at his movements.

  It all happened in the blink of an eye.

  Timothy’s face darkened. He realized too late he’d trapped himself. In a wider arena, Lauren wouldn’t have risked such tactics. But here, in the cage he’d chosen, every inch of space worked against him.

  The icicles clung like a swarm of glass insects, crawling across his skin. His limbs grew heavy, and with a grunt he lost altitude, crashing down hard.

  The moment he hit the ground, the ice vines waiting below coiled up around him like living serpents, binding him fast.

  Even tangled and half-frozen, Timothy bared his teeth in a smirk. “All these flashy tricks—pretty enough, but useless. You can slow me down, Junior Sister, but you’ll never hurt me. And I haven’t even started yet.”

  He roared. Above his head, a dragon-shaped shadow erupted, spectral and furious, its jaws yawning wide as it lunged straight at Lauren.

  She slipped aside with effortless grace. The dragon slammed into the barrier wall with a metallic clang, rebounded, and wheeled midair, snapping back toward her.

  To the watching crowd, it looked like Lauren was being hounded across the frozen arena by Timothy’s phantom beast. What none of them noticed was that with every step, she left something behind—tiny glowing sigils sinking quietly into the ground.

  Outside the barrier, Nash’s heart clenched. “Lauren’s Ice Lotus is working, but it’s draining her fast. If this drags on, she’ll burn through her reserves. She has to finish it now.”

  The protective shield muffled all sound and energy; his warning couldn’t reach her.

  Dante frowned. To him, Lauren’s ice techniques looked impossibly costly. By all rights, she should have been pale and staggering by now. But she wasn’t. Her movements stayed sharp, her face calm.

  Could it be…? he wondered. Does she have some hidden gift, some reserve far deeper than an ordinary cultivator?

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  Before he could finish the thought, the ground itself answered.

  A dozen formation totems burst upward, glowing with cold light. From their centers, massive transparent hands of pure ice clawed their way into the air.

  With a deafening crack, they seized Timothy’s dragon phantom and held it fast, pinning the roaring beast in midair.

  A stunned silence swept the spectators.

  The Ice Hands were solid, tangible constructs of power. The dragon was only a shadow, an illusion born of Timothy’s qi.

  So how in the hell had she grabbed it?

  .....

  The dragon soul let out a piercing roar, its bloody maw yawning wide.

  Almost instantly, Lauren summoned the Gintama Sword. It spun like a streak of silver light before plunging straight into the phantom’s gaping jaws.

  Where the blade passed, the dragon soul shimmered and turned an icy blue, its body freezing solid in midair.

  The sword burst out through its tail, leaving behind nothing but a colossal block of ice.

  “Explode,” Lauren whispered, her hands flashing through a seal.

  The frozen beast shattered into glittering shards with a deafening crack, fragments scattering before dissolving into nothingness.

  Timothy staggered. A spray of blood erupted from his mouth, his face bleaching pale as frost.

  “You—!” He tried to speak, but another mouthful of blood cut him off.

  He choked down several ragged breaths, fighting to steady himself. “Your target… was never me. You forced me to unleash my Dragon Soul.”

  Lauren’s expression didn’t change. “Of course. Your body is nearly indestructible. Even Dante’s golden sword—sharp enough to cut jade and steel—couldn’t scratch you. Attacking head-on would’ve been pointless. But once my ice lotus bound you, I knew you’d have no choice but to call out your Dragon Soul.”

  Timothy spat blood again, his voice hoarse with rage. “You… despicable—”

  “Despicable?” Her voice was cold, almost bored. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She released her spell. The ice vines dropped away, and Timothy’s body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

  His fellow disciples rushed to strip the formation flags and scramble to his side.

  “Senior Brother!”

  “Senior Brother, are you hurt?”

  From outside the broken barrier came a wave of cheers, gasps, and cries of disbelief.

  Nash bolted up to Lauren, face alight. “Lauren— Ms.Lauren , you were amazing!”

  Lauren raised a brow. “Shouldn’t you be calling me Senior Sister?”

  “Hah! That’s right, Senior Sister!” he laughed.

  “Senior Sister, you’ve humiliated the Moonlit Sect today. Timothy looked like an absolute fool.”

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled toward the crumpled Timothy, “Hey, quit faking it and call her Senior Sister!”

  Timothy’s eyes rolled back in fury. Another mouthful of blood splattered from his lips.

  He knew the truth—he was stronger than her. But he’d been careless, fallen into her trap, and now he was the one lying in the dirt.

  The taunts stung worse than the wounds.

  When he refused to say it, Nash and the others turned his earlier boast against him, mocking him until he was red-eyed with humiliation.

  Lauren lifted her hand. “Enough.”

  “What do you mean, enough? Didn’t you see how he treated us just now?” Nash snapped.

  “He shouldn’t call me Senior Sister,” Lauren said coolly.

  The group fell silent—then it hit them.

  Right. Among themselves they could joke, calling her “Big Sister.” But her true identity wasn’t sister at all. She was Uncle Junior.

  The Moonlit Sect disciples slunk away, carrying their bloodied Timothy, shame written all over their faces.

  The crowd, however, surged closer, desperate to know who this mysterious Thunder Sect cultivator was.

  Nash puffed himself up, loudly bragging that this was the Thunder Sect’s Big Sister. But nobody was buying it. The major sects tracked all the gifted disciples, their roots and specialties an open secret.

  And Lauren? She hadn’t even cracked the top ten at the righteous sects’ last competition.

  Lauren tugged lightly on Dante’s sleeve. “I want to go back to the inn.”

  At once, Dante sobered. He hushed Nash’s boasting, signaled Sebastian to clear a path, and escorted her away.

  Fame was a double-edged sword. For pigs, it was weight; for cultivators, it was recognition. And once earned, it was impossible to shake off.

  ......