Chapter 46

  It was a new day

  Adam woke up fresh as a daisy.

  Considering everything that had happened the day before, one might expect him to wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, maybe even shaking. But no—Adam had prepared for this.

  Ever since the space-traveling Redditor incident, he’d made it a priority to ensure a solid night’s rest, no matter how absurd life got. So he’d used his memory manipulation ability to implant a mental skill for inducing non-REM deep sleep.

  The result? He slept like a log and fully recovered from the mental chaos of yesterday.

  Now, with a clearer mind, he began piecing things together.

  Infinite voids. Incomprehensible geometry. Interdimensional prophets ranting about women. Tesseracts. And, most importantly—the poem about a future event.

  Muttering to himself:

  “Well... according to what he said, ‘lively scenes’ probably means something’s going to happen in today’s tournament. ‘Laughter in the air’... maybe something everyone finds entertaining? ‘Guests will soon arrive’—that’s the tricky part. Sounds like some people are going to show up here. New faces. Outsiders?”

  He frowned, staring at the ceiling.

  “‘Bring fortune his way’—so Turtle’s going to benefit from whoever these guests are. Doesn’t mean we will. I don’t know what his version of ‘lively,’ ‘guest,’ or ‘fortune’ even is.”

  He paused.

  “Best case, they mean exactly what they sound like. Worst case... it’s the opposite. And as for those ‘guests’—was he talking about other cultivators or... something else?”

  “Putting that aside—for today’s tournament, it’s going to be one-on-one fights.”

  Adam finished dressing, sliding on his freshly repaired red disciple robes. He equipped his storage ring and strapped on his beast pouch.

  He paused briefly in front of the mirror.

  Hair: mostly fine.

  Eyes: still blue.

  Face: chiseled—almost offensively well-defined, like a Greek statue.

  Left arm: still a sword.

  He gave the blade-arm a lazy wave.

  “Can’t wait to hit Nascent Soul,” he muttered.

  The blade glimmered faintly in the light—subtle, restrained, yet undeniably unnatural.

  He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and stepped toward the door.

  The moment he opened it, Xiaoyan was already waiting in the hallway, arms crossed and clearly unimpressed.

  “Took you long enough,” Xiaoyan said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “I was recovering from a void prophet’s lecture on women, geometry, and destiny. Cut me some slack.”

  Xiaoyan blinked. “...I don’t even want to know.”

  Adam smirked. “Good instinct.”

  They fell into step side by side, heading down the corridor. The dull roar of the arena crowd was already audible through the stone walls, growing louder with every step.

  “So,” Adam said, stretching lazily, “what’s the setup for today?”

  Xiaoyan glanced over. “One-on-one duels. Just as they announced it just before.”

  “Straight fights?”

  “Kind of,” Xiaoyan replied, cracking his neck. “There’s a twist. The stage changes every round. It’s not just a standard platform. Terrain, environment—even gravity—they’re all randomized each match.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So they’re testing adaptability as well.”

  “It’s not just about raw power. They want to see who can actually fight.”

  Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Keeps things from getting stale.”

  Xiaoyan’s expression turned more serious. “By the brackets they organised we might end up fighting each other in the finals.”

  A brief pause.

  “Perfect. You’re aiming for second, I’m shooting for third.”

  Xiaoyan gave a small smile. “Yeah. That was the plan.”

  Adam’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Then we don’t need to hold back when we fight. No restraint, no hesitation. And afterward…”

  “We just trade prizes,” Xiaoyan finished. “Simple as that.”

  “So let's go all out, no holding back.”

  Xiaoyan nodded. “Same.”

  Their footsteps echoed against polished marble as they walked together, the arena drawing closer with every step—the cheers of the crowd swelling like a tide, and the weight of what lay ahead finally settling in.

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  Adam and Xiaoyan stepped onto the coliseum grounds, the morning sunlight spilling across the polished stone and casting long shadows ahead of them.

  The roar of hundreds of thousands of spectators filled the air—sect elders, disciples, curious cultivators, and nobles packed tightly into the stands. Excitement buzzed like static in the atmosphere, thick with tension and anticipation.

  The arena was vast and circular, etched with intricate formation lines that pulsed softly with spiritual light. Floating talismans and scrying orbs hovered in a precise orbit around the battlefield, projecting real-time views of the grounds to every corner of the stands.

  As they made their way toward the staging area, a booming voice echoed through the stadium—amplified from the central sky platform, where the gamecaster now floated high above the center ring.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, sect elders, and honored guests,” the voice rang out, clear and authoritative, “welcome to the final phase of the Rising Talents Tournament!”

  A thunderous roar of cheers erupted from the crowd, like a tidal wave of sound crashing against the sky.

  “The rules for today’s matches are simple: one-versus-one battles. A contestant is eliminated if they submit, are forced out of bounds, or die. If a contestant is unable or unwilling to continue, they will be considered defeated.”

  The crowd didn’t even flinch at the word death. After all, this was the cultivation world.

  “This is a stage for cultivators,” the gamecaster continued. “Not children. Hesitation leads to failure. Cowardice leads to loss.”

  Adam muttered under his breath, “inspirational.”

  The gamecaster pressed on.

  “Each match will take place on a transformed battlefield. Terrain will change with every round—randomized and rebuilt by the formation masters. Each battlefield will be advantageous to both fighters, but also hostile to both. Victory will not rely solely on strength, but adaptability.”

  Adam frowned slightly. “So it’s not just the opponent. The terrain’s trying to kill you too.”

  Xiaoyan nodded. “Yup. You’ll have to time everything right. Pick the wrong moment… and the stage might finish you off before your opponent does.”

  They continued walking toward the contestant’s section—a shaded area beneath the audience stands, specifically designed so fighters could observe the upcoming matches while they waited.

  Adam scanned the space. Only a handful of participants remained now. No more than a few dozen.

  “With how many are left, looks like this’ll wrap up in a day,”

  Xiaoyan exhaled through his nose. “I hope so.”

  They found their seats as the crowd erupted again—somewhere above, the first match had just been called.

  The final phase had begun.

  The booming voice of the gamecaster echoed through the coliseum:

  “For the first battle”

  A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd as the scrying orbs swiveled toward the center of the arena, where the battlefield lay dormant—smooth, unremarkable stone.

  “The first match will be between…”

  A deliberate pause.

  “Li Feihong of the Crimson Phoenix Sect!”

  Crimson Qi flared overhead as a tall figure in red stepped into the spotlight. Slender and sharp-eyed, he bore a long bow on his back; tiny flames danced at his fingertips with every measured stride.

  The audience erupted. The Crimson Phoenix Sect was a Minor Sect that was almost on par with the Major sects—Li Feihong’s reputation preceded him.

  “And his opponent…” the gamecaster continued, “Qin Hailan of the Riverstone Path!”

  A murmur rippled through the stands. Qin Hailan represented a Lower Minor Sect few had heard of—yet the man himself was impossible to ignore. Broad-shouldered, arms thick as ironwood, he wielded a double-headed battleaxe nearly as tall as he was. A pale mist of ice and water Qi followed him like a cloak.

  Adam, perched in the contestant’s section, let out a low whistle.

  “Fire and bow versus water and brute strength… this’ll be good.”

  “Wait for the terrain,” Xiaoyan murmured. “That’s where it really gets decided.”

  The gamecaster’s voice boomed again:

  “Contestants—anything to say to your opponent?”

  Qin Hailan’s deep voice rumbled back, “A bow user? Aren’t the Dao of bows and spears the same? Why diverge?”

  Li Feihong smiled thinly. “Not at all. A spear is just an oversized arrow. Bow users must master both bow and arrow—so we’re naturally superior.”

  Several spear-wielding disciples in the audience bristled, while a few elders chuckled at the banter.

  Qin Hailan sneered and gestured at the crowd. “You’ve got some nerve, flaunting that here. I admit that—confidence of yours.”

  No sooner had he spoken than the formation masters began their work. Below, the smooth stone ground shivered as glowing runes blazed to life. With a low roar, the surface cracked and reformed.

  The Molten Snowfield materialized:

  Ribbons of molten lava snaked beneath scorched black stone.

  Patches of snow and ice clung stubbornly to the surface.

  A thin, freezing mist drifted across the battlefield.

  Heat and cold clashed in every step, forcing both fighters to stay on the move, never lingering in one spot for long.

  Overhead, the orbs glowed brighter, ensuring every spectator could watch the shifting ground and the two warriors testing its hazards.

  The moment the terrain stabilized, the gamecaster’s voice thundered through the arena:

  “Begin!”

  The ground cracked underfoot as Li Feihong launched himself backward, flames bursting from his heels in controlled blasts. In a blur of motion, he drew his bow, nocked an arrow of pure fire Qi, and loosed it with practiced ease.

  The blazing arrow cut through the frigid mist like a shooting star—

  —but Qin Hailan didn’t flinch.

  With a grunt, he slammed the head of his battleaxe into the snow. A geyser of icy mist erupted around him, thick enough to obscure his silhouette. The fire arrow hissed into the fog and fizzled, swallowed whole.

  “You’ll have to do better than pretty fireworks,” Qin growled.

  And then he charged.

  Despite his size, he moved like a glacier in a landslide—steady, fast, and inevitable. He closed the gap, heavy steps cracking ice and snow beneath.

  Li Feihong kept pace, skating backward with bursts of fire Qi underfoot, spacing himself with precision. While in motion, he nocked a glowing red arrow and let it fly.

  Qin met it head-on. A thick wall of ice surged up with a flash of frost. The arrow struck with a concussive boom—but the wall held. Mist-enhanced ice cracked, then crumbled, but Qin was already in motion.

  Using his ice Qi to slick his soles, he rocketed forward, skating with brutal momentum—axe raised.

  Li Feihong, standing on a lava-veined section of the battlefield, jumped, igniting his feet with fire Qi. He soared into the air just as Qin’s axe came swinging.

  Qin’s swing carved a wide arc of water that instantly froze into a spiked crescent—

  —and exploded into a barrage of icy shrapnel.

  Li twisted midair, narrowly dodging the brunt of the frozen blast. He returned fire, losing three arrows simultaneously, each one infused with focused pure fire Qi.

  Just as the arrows screamed through the air, a sudden hiss erupted from the ground.

  A pocket of lava beneath a snow patch exploded, sending a plume of scalding steam rocketing upward between the two fighters.

  The blast bent one of Li’s arrows off-course mid-flight.

  He scowled. “The hell—?”

  Boom

  Qin raised a blast of mist to intercept—

  —but the outer edge of the explosion still caught him, hurling him backward like a ragdoll through steam and smoke.

  “Big axe, small brain,” Li called out, landing in a fluid slide across the frozen ground. His footwork was elegant, almost smug. “Do you even know what trajectory means?”

  Qin grunted, smoke rising from his scorched back. “Yeah. Trajectory’s that thing I break with my axe.”

  Then… he did something unexpected.

  He raised both hands and gathered Qi—

  —not ice, not water, but something in-between.

  A fusion.

  From the contestant stands, even the lower elders leaned forward.

  Adam squinted. “What is that?”

  One of the three-dantian cultivators beside him spoke in awe.

  “To think that guy fused both his elements… That’s Cryo Tide Qi.”

  “Cryo Tide?” Adam repeated.

  “A fusion element—rare. Wildly unstable for most. But if you pull it off…”

  “I will explain this after,” he muttered.

  “You have to”

  Back on the field, Qin’s fused Qi swirled into a massive orb of shimmering liquid—empowered by the surrounding mist, it surged with overwhelming force. He hurled it in a high arc toward Li Feihong.

  Li responded the same way he had before—jumping high, fire bursting from his feet.

  But this time…

  The Cryo Tide Qi exploded across the battlefield like a wave. Lava veins froze solid. Snow turned to diamond-hard frost. The ground disappeared beneath a glacial flood—and Li had nowhere to land.

  Qin looked up at him and sneered.

  “I got you now.”

  But Li Feihong’s eyes sharpened.

  “I’ll end this now.”

  He pulled out a bundle of arrows—each one wrapped with talismans.

  With deliberate recklessness, he channeled Qi through the wrong dantian. The talismans surged—unstable, volatile, chaotic.

  Qin’s expression darkened. In an instant, he retracted all the Cryo Tide liquid back to himself and formed a thick, icy dome.

  Li released the arrows.

  Each talisman-powered projectile screamed through the air, radiant and unstable. Qin roared and hurled his axe toward the barrage. As it spun, the Cryo dome around him crystallized into fortified solid ice.

  The axe collided midair with the arrows—

  —and everything exploded.

  A shockwave cracked the battlefield. Lava erupted, snow vaporized, the mist vanished in a thunderous roar. The arena trembled under the impact. For a moment, it was nothing but smoke and ringing ears.

  Silence.

  Then—

  A cough.

  Qin Hailan rose first, swaying on his feet, blood at the corner of his mouth. His axe was gone. Across the battlefield, through the parting smoke, Li Feihong hovered in the air—held aloft by faint embers of fire Qi. He too was wounded, face pale, cloak scorched.

  They stared at each other.

  Then Qin smirked.

  “…Looks like we’re done here.”

  Li blinked, confused—until he glanced down.

  He wasn’t standing on the arena floor.

  He was floating outside the bounds.

  The gamecaster’s voice roared across the coliseum:

  “Li Feihong has gone out of bounds! The victor is—Qin Hailan of the Riverstone Path!”

  The crowd

  exploded.

  A Minor Sect had just taken down a Major Sect genius. The arena shook with cheers, gasps, and stunned mutterings.

  Li Feihong’s eyes widened.

  “Damn…”

  Li’s jaw tightened

  “ tch. I lost.”

  From the contestant’s section, Adam leaned back with a grin.

  “Now that’s a good fight.”