Chapter 39

  The five-month training period had come to an end.

  Now, the skies above the sect shimmered with anticipation as dozens of disciples gathered. Adam stood among them, his crimson robes fluttering in the high-altitude wind, eyes fixed on the shimmering veil of clouds above. The air was crisp, laced with Qi pressure, and charged with the excitement of departure.

  Sect Leader Han Wuqing had conjured a vast, protective barrier around the convoy. They floated high in the sky—far slower than usual—to let the disciples witness the majestic landscape below. Jagged peaks rolled beneath them like frozen waves, rivers glittered like silver veins, and forests stretched endlessly, painted in jade and emerald.

  The convoy itself was a marvel: five enlarged flying swords, each belonging to one of the Peak Masters—Ying, Ai, Lin, Lu, and Yao—linked together in midair to form a massive floating platform. Elder Guo hovered nearby, arms folded, overseeing the disciples with a critical but watchful eye.

  Adam, Xiaoyan, Xiaomei, and Aria made their way through the crowd of outer and inner disciples, walking with calm assurance. When they reached Bo Jin’s group, casual greetings were exchanged. There was no stiffness—only familiarity forged through shared trials and mutual respect.

  Bo Jin grinned when he saw them. “So, the rising stars descend to mingle with us.”

  Adam chuckled. “Congratulations, by the way. Fifth minor realm, huh?” He clapped Bo Jin lightly on the shoulder. “At this rate, you’ll surpass some elders in a few years.”

  Lian Hua, her expression calm and poised as always, nodded politely. “And I’ve reached the fourth minor realm. Still chasing Bo Jin.”

  “Maybe catching,” Bo Jin muttered under his breath, making Han Feng laugh.

  Adam motioned toward the quiet pair beside him. “You all remember Old Bao, right? The fisherman who came with us during the island expedition?”

  Bo Jin blinked. “Yeah. Tough old guy. Wait—you’re saying…?”

  Adam gestured to Xiaoyan and Xiaomei. “His kids.”

  That drew a murmur of surprise from the group. Even Aria raised an eyebrow. But before any awkwardness could settle, Zhou Ren stepped forward and offered a fist-salute.

  “Then you’ve got the same blood that fought through storms. Welcome.”

  Shen Xinyi—ever the fiery one—snorted. “Storms? Hah! I bet Xiaoyan’s already outpaced me. You’ve got that edge to you—tight posture, sharp stance. What’s your style?”

  Xiaoyan gave a smile. “Sword with fire and time. But I’ve added some sword technique from Brother Adam recently.”

  “Damn.” Shen Xinyi’s eyes lit up. “Teach me sometime. After the tournament—assuming you’re not all dead by then.”

  Meanwhile, Lian Hua and Mei Lan had drawn Xiaomei into a conversation about her dragon companion. The soft blue-green serpent coiled lazily around her shoulders, its eyes half-lidded.

  “I’ve never seen a spirit beast like that,” Mei Lan said, reaching out cautiously.

  “She’s not tamed,” Xiaomei replied gently. “We made a promise. She helps me when she wants to.”

  “Sounds more like a partner than a pet,” Lian Hua said, nodding in approval.

  Adam stood back for a moment, letting them mingle. The quiet hum of Qi from the flying swords vibrated faintly through the soles of their feet. The horizon ahead was distant and golden, the first rays of sunlight glinting off the clouds like divine fire.

  As the flying swords glided through the clouds, Adam felt a sudden chill crawl across his spine. Not from the altitude or wind—but the unmistakable weight of someone's glare.

  He turned his head slightly.

  Across the platform, nestled in another cluster of disciples, stood Mu Qing Li. Regal. Sharp. Eyes narrowed and focused like a hawk sighting prey.

  Bo Jin leaned closer to Adam, voice low but playful. “Uh… why is Senior Sister Mu staring at you like you stole her sect contribution points?”

  Adam sighed. “Let’s just say… we had a terrible first impression.”

  “When?”

  “Twenty-five years ago.”

  Bo Jin blinked. “She’s been holding a grudge for two and a half decades?”

  Adam scratched his head awkwardly. “I might have said something stupid. Or… several stupid things. Who knows?”

  Mei Lan, standing beside them, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yeah, that tracks. A woman can hold a grudge longer than a divine beast can hibernate.”

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  Aria crossed her arms, her noble demeanor unshaken. “True.”

  Lian Hua simply nodded with a serene smile, though the look in her eyes said she agreed completely.

  Then all three slowly turned toward Adam.

  Their gazes locked on him like judging elders, silent but powerful—equal parts curiosity and condemnation.

  Adam raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay—I know I messed up alright?”

  Bo Jin, Han Feng, and Zhou Ren couldn’t hold it in anymore. They burst into grins, snickering like schoolboys at the center of drama.

  Bo Jin gave him a nudge. “Must’ve been some fuck-up.”

  Han Feng leaned in. “Was it romantic?”

  Zhou Ren chuckled. “Or did you insult her entire bloodline?”

  Adam shot them a withering look. “You three are worse than gossiping aunties.”

  But the moment he said that—

  All three chorused in unison, mock-serious and way too smug:

  “I see, I see…”

  Adam closed his eyes and sighed, muttering under his breath, “Great. Surrounded by clowns.”

  As the floating sword platform gently glided through the skies, Adam leaned toward Bo Jin and the others. “So… who’s actually participating in the tournament?”

  Bo Jin stretched his arms behind his head lazily. “Only those in the 2nd and 3rd minor realms of Foundation Establishment. The rest of us just broke through to Foundation, so we’re not eligible. Lian Hua and I are already past the threshold.”

  Lian Hua nodded. “They’re keeping it limited. Probably to keep things fair for the younger generation.”

  Zhou Ren added, “Each sect can only send four participants. As far as I know, it’s you, Xiaoyan, Senior Sister Mu Qing Li, and Senior Brother Li Fan.”

  Adam tilted his head slightly. “Sounds about right.”

  Then Bo Jin gave him a side glance. “But what I don’t get is—why did you also sign up as the standby healer?”

  At that, several heads turned. Everyone gave Adam a raised brow, silent but clearly judging.

  Adam shrugged. “Why not?”

  Zhou Ren let out a chuckle. “Well, now we don’t have to worry about permanent injuries if things go south. Just as you saved me during the mantis encounter, remember?”

  He patted Adam’s shoulder meaningfully. “Still grateful for that, by the way.”

  Adam just gave a wry smile. “Let’s hope you don’t need saving this time.”

  The mood lightened, the group enjoying the breeze and each other's company. Far in the distance, a golden glint began to appear on the horizon.

  Moments later, they saw it in full.

  The tournament grounds stretched across a sprawling plateau—just five hundred miles from the majestic Royal Palace, which loomed like a celestial fortress in the distance. The site itself was grand and intricately designed.

  There were dozens of sect quarters, each bearing their insignia in spiritual banners that fluttered in the sky. The quarters weren’t simple pavilions—they were small compounds, with meditation chambers, sparring courts, and lavish accommodations prepared for each group.

  Han Wuqing descended slowly, guiding the flying sword platform to their designated area. As the disciples gazed around in awe, a faint hum of Qi pulsed through the air—the entire place was suffused with formations and protective arrays, proof of the royal family’s investment and seriousness about the event.

  “Welcome to the Royal Tournament,” Elder Guo’s voice rang out calmly. “Let this be the proving ground for strength, will, and reputation.”

  Adam followed the robed worker through a long marble corridor, the walls inlaid with spirit jade veins that hummed faintly with Qi. The air grew denser as they neared the healing ward, laced with spiritual energy—pure, focused, and warm.

  The worker, a young man with light robes and a calm gait, gave Adam a respectful glance. “I appreciate you volunteering for the emergency ward, Disciple Adam. Not many step forward willingly.”

  Adam gave a casual shrug. “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help where I can.”

  The worker nodded. “Although it’s called a death tournament, that’s more about the possibility than the intention. The royal family doesn’t want unnecessary deaths. If someone can be saved—even at the brink of death—it’s our duty to do so.”

  Adam’s expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Understood.”

  They turned a corner and walked past a set of double doors guarded by two cultivators in silver robes, each holding spears etched with healing runes. One of them pushed the door open without a word.

  As they entered, the worker continued speaking. “There are 120 participants this year. Thirty sects in total—ten major sects and the rest lesser-known. The first round is a team survival game to reduce the number down to twenty.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow slightly. “Team survival?”

  “Exactly. Less chaos. More strategy. But also more chances of critical injuries. So… we’ll be busy.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Inside the healing ward, Adam was greeted by a room glowing with soft golden light. Qi amplifiers pulsed along the walls like beating hearts, and replenishing arrays embedded in the floor fed a constant stream of spiritual energy into the air. No scent of herbs, no pills—just pure ambient Qi. This wasn’t a place for medicine. It was a place for those with the talent to manipulate heals directly.

  There were a few others already present—volunteers, like Adam. The rest of the ward’s staff wore emblems of the Royal Tournament Committee—professional healers, hired for the event.

  A woman with a sharp jawline and dark hair tied in a high braid gave Adam a nod as he stepped in. She wore the sigil of the Celestial Wave Sect, one of the Ten Major Sects.

  “Another volunteer, huh?” she said, folding her arms. “Good. We need more people with hands that can stop blood faster than it spills.”

  Beside her stood a male cultivator with a calm demeanor and wide shoulders, dressed in the same sect robes. “I’m Ren Mo,” he introduced. “She’s Ji Yue.”

  “Adam,” he replied, nodding to both.

  They all exchanged brief pleasantries—measured, professional. There was no warmth, but no malice either. Everyone here had seen blood. And everyone knew what was coming.

  Ren Mo gestured toward one of the jade alcoves. “We’ve each got a space. Qi channels run through the floors, and there’s a Soul Harmony Conduit above each bed to help patients stabilize.”

  Adam nodded in approval. Efficient. Cold. Functional. Just the way a war-zone infirmary should be.

  Ji Yue leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Let’s just hope the first round doesn’t turn into a massacre. But… that’s wishful thinking.”

  Adam looked out toward the open ward.

  He could already hear the distant cheers and drums of the crowds beginning to gather.

  Before the tournament began, Adam informed the two other healers in the ward, “I’ll be heading to the stage now—I’m also a combatant.”

  Ji Yue blinked. “Wait, you’re competing and volunteering as a standby healer?”

  Adam shrugged casually. “Just because I choose to.”

  Both Ji Yue and Ren Mo looked completely dumbfounded, but Adam was already walking out without further explanation.

  ---

  The massive open arena buzzed with excitement as Adam arrived at the stage, stepping beside his teammates—Lan Xiaoyan, Mu Qing Li, and Li Fan. Their sect’s emblem shimmered faintly on their robes under the midday sun.

  Surrounding them were 30 teams, each one emanating pressure in various degrees. Most of the teams had cultivators in the 3rd minor realm of Foundation Establishment, with one or two members in the 2nd minor realm. It was clear many had come fully prepared.

  Among them, nine teams hailed from the other major sects, and they carried themselves with confidence born from deep resources and intense training. Some radiated power freely, while others kept their strengths cloaked in silence.

  As Adam swept his gaze across the arena, he noted the subtle differences: most competitors had activated only one dantian, a fair number cultivated with two, but only two others—besides Adam—had activated three dantians. It wasn’t hard to sense; the density of their passive Qi was heavier. It pulsed outward in quiet waves, subtly announcing their multi foundations.

  The massive stadium was filled with millions of spectators, seated in perfectly sectioned layers. Flags of various sects fluttered in the wind, talismans glowed, and spirit beasts lounged near VIP boxes.

  At the highest, most extravagant platform were three ornate seats—reserved for the Princess, Zhou Yanyue the Enlightened One, and the Crown Prince. Their presence alone cast a silent gravity over the event.

  A booming voice echoed across the coliseum—the gamecaster.

  “Welcome, esteemed spectators and disciples of the empire! What you see before you are the finest young talents from across thirty sects—both major and minor!”

  He paused for dramatic effect as the crowd roared.

  “This first phase shall be a Team Survival Game! Each combatant has been issued a single tag and a talisman. The objective is simple—survive one week and gather at least five extra tags to advance.”

  “These tags are individual, not team-based. Each combatant must meet the requirement. However! There are also three special quests hidden within the wilds—completing them guarantees your entire team a pass to the next phase!”

  The excitement surged as golden platforms appeared behind each team.

  “Each team will be teleported to a random location within the vast wilderness: a world of diverse biomes, dangerous beasts, hidden threats, and of course… each other.”

  “Guard your talisman well. If you lose it, you are immediately disqualified.”

  A worker moved through the formations, handing a single glowing tag and a sleek talisman to each contestant. Adam glanced at his. The talisman pulsed slightly with his Qi signature—probably bound already.

  “Combatants, step onto the array!”

  Each team moved onto the glowing teleportation platforms.

  The caster raised his hand, voice ringing out like a crack of thunder.

  “Let the Royal Grand Tournament… BEGIN!”

  With a surge of light and humming force, the teams vanished—teleported into the unknown.

  The game had begun.