Chapter 50

  The scene shifted away from the roaring arena to the high podiums where the sect leaders sat. Each platform was adorned in the style of its sect—ethereal floating lanterns for the Heavenly Flux Sect, void-crystal spires for the Void Pillar Sect, and the serene simplicity of the Grand Harmony Sect where Han Wuqing rested with calm composure.

  In total, nine other major sect leaders had gathered, along with representatives from three powerful minor sects whose prestige was close to stepping into the major ranks. Their eyes were fixed on the duels below, and the conversation naturally turned toward the two names that now dominated the tournament’s whispers—Lan Xiaoyan and Adam.

  “Lan Xiaoyan…” one elder from the Burning Sun Sect mused, stroking his beard. “To kill so decisively, and in such a brutal manner… that was no accident. He wanted to send a message. A boy like that may yet grow into a deterrent on his own.”

  The Void Pillar sect master gave a small chuckle. “Hmph. Ruthlessness is valuable, but it burns bright and fast. Still, the impression he left will echo long after today.”

  Another leader, this one from Heavenly Flux, shifted the topic with a half-smile. “And then there is Adam. That one is… eccentric. He can jest and play the fool one moment, then become serious, and in an instant, terrifying. It is hard to say which face is truly his.”

  “Yes,” said another, leaning forward with interest. “But the most concerning is not his antics—it is his element. Death. A dangerous affinity, and one that history shows often leads to disaster. Tell us, Sect Master Han, how do you intend to guide such a disciple?”

  All eyes turned toward Han Wuqing. His expression remained unchanged, calm as still water. He neither hurried nor postured as he answered.

  “If something goes wrong…” His gaze lingered briefly on the arena below. “…then I shall deal with him myself.”

  Silence followed his words, and none pressed further.

  From the side of the podium, one of the minor sect leaders leaned forward, his voice sharp but curious.

  “Sect Master Han, there is something I must ask. Why reveal to that boy the truth of this tournament? This is not meant to be a death match, and the combatants are never in true danger. Yet you admitted as much to him directly. Why?”

  Han Wuqing did not waver. His tone remained even, as though he had already prepared for the question.

  “Because Adam had already discovered it himself. To deny it would have been pointless.”

  A stir ran through the leaders’ gathering. The Void Pillar master arched a brow.

  “Oh? And how did such a youth manage to uncover what the rest of his peers never questioned?”

  Han Wuqing clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on the arena as though replaying the memory.

  “It was simple. He attempted to heal one of the ‘dead’ bodies.”

  Murmurs broke out among the other sect leaders.

  Han Wuqing continued, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority.

  “As you all know, only a Nascent Soul cultivator can restore a life within the brief window after death—two minutes, at most. Anyone below that realm, regardless of talent, would not have the power to accomplish such a feat, unless they wielded a special artifact or has a grade nine synchronisation. Adam, however, possesses what he claims to be an artificial soul-bound artifact that enhances his healing.”

  He let the words hang for a moment before finishing.

  “Because the bodies we use here are substitutes, his healing did not take effect. That was a flaw in our design, one we never anticipated. After all, who else would think to heal the ‘dead’? Yet in this case, his curiosity exposed the truth.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Some of the sect leaders exchanged glances, suspicion and intrigue flickering in their eyes.

  Han Wuqing allowed himself the faintest of smiles.

  “I, too, have kept my eye on him. Just as the rest of you now will.”

  One of the leaders from a minor sect could no longer hold his tongue. His brows were knit tight, his tone laced with lingering frustration.

  “This whole system… it left far fewer combatants standing than it should have. And why is that? Because the disciples of the greater sects took more tags than they needed! Even after qualifying, they continued to strip others bare. How is that fair?”

  A faint silence followed, the words cutting through the polite atmosphere.

  Most of the other minor sect leaders did not seem quite as worked up. In truth, they had entered this tournament with tempered expectations. They knew well their disciples stood little chance against the heirs of the major sects. Their true purpose was to give their juniors experience, not to demand victory.

  When the tag mechanic had been revealed, many had felt a flicker of hope. But only a flicker. In the end, two of the weakest minor sects had managed to qualify a team each. That result alone, while modest, was already a feat worthy of recognition.

  A leader from one of the major sects gave a small chuckle.

  “You should instead praise them—for their cunning, if nothing else. To think of such a tactic and carry it out so cleanly, that too is a kind of strength. And let’s not forget, the minor sect disciples weren’t merely victims. Many of them joined forces to resist the majors as well.”

  Murmurs of agreement followed, though the sharp gaze of the complaining leader showed he remained unconvinced.

  Zhou Yanyue, the esteemed representative of the Ebonreich Empire, finally broke the low hum of discussion. Her voice carried with the weight of authority, and all eyes turned toward her.

  “As it stands, the next match in order should pit Qin Hailan against Jin Zixuan. But if we continue in that order, the one to face Adam and Lan Xiaoyan of the Grand Harmony Sect will inevitably ensure both second and third—or even first—fall into their hands. Surely, you all see the imbalance in that.”

  She allowed her words to hang in the air for a moment, her sharp gaze sweeping across the other sect leaders.

  “Thus, I propose this: they will be given a choice. Either they fight one another, or one of them forfeits, allowing another to advance. That way, no sect can claim all the top positions outright. I trust you can all agree with such fairness.”

  The gathered leaders exchanged glances, murmuring among themselves. One by one, they nodded in reluctant acceptance.

  Zhou’s eyes fell on Han Wuqing, sharp as blades.

  “What say you, Sect Master Han?”

  Han Wuqing’s expression remained unreadable. “I have no objections.”

  Then, at last, his gaze drifted to where Adam and Xiaoyan waited below. His eyes softened ever so slightly, though his voice remained calm.

  “…Weren’t you both looking forward to securing second and third place? Now, how will you deal with this turn of events? How will you deal with this, Adam?”

  Once the formation masters had finished cleansing the arena, a worker entered to collect what remained of Wei Lian’s belongings.

  Jin Zixuan narrowed his eyes. “What is he doing with my sectmate’s equipment?”

  The worker walked calmly until he stood before Xiaoyan, bowing slightly. “As per the rules, since your opponent has fallen, the equipment is yours to claim. Will you be taking it?”

  Xiaoyan glanced at the scorched gun-sword and the pouch of trinkets, then shook his head firmly. “No. I don’t need it.”

  “Very well,” the worker replied. “Then it shall be returned to his sect.”

  Adam’s brow twitched, a thought flashing through his mind. He leaned a little closer, muttering half to himself, half aloud, “Wait… so if your opponent dies in the arena, you can just take their equipment for yourself?”

  The worker gave a crisp nod. “Yes. That is the arrangement agreed upon by all sects.”

  Adam tilted his head, voice dropping lower with a sly edge. “And… what if ‘they’ want it back?” His tone made it clear he wasn’t speaking about the sect, but about the not-so-dead owners hidden away in the hidden ward.

  The worker didn’t even blink. “In that case, they are free to attempt buying it back. Whether you agree to sell is entirely your choice.”

  Adam gave a long hum, eyes narrowing as though he’d just uncovered another amusing wrinkle in this whole system. “…Huh.”

  Adam leaned back on the bench, his eyes still fixed on the departing worker. His lips curled into a half-smile, half-smirk as he pieced it together.

  [So that’s how it is… If the ‘dead’ want their stuff back, they have to buy it.]

  He tapped his chin, thinking.

  [If they’ve got the money, no problem—they can just pay and reclaim what’s theirs. But if they don’t… that’s where things get interesting. They’ll either have to swallow their pride and borrow from someone else, or worse, from their own sect.]

  He snorted quietly to himself.

  [And debts in a sect? That’s chains tighter than iron. Owing favors, owing resources… sometimes worse than just losing the damn item in the first place.]

  His gaze flicked toward Xiaoyan, who seemed unconcerned after refusing the equipment.

  [And what if the so-called victor doesn’t want to sell at all? Then that equipment’s gone for good. The original owner can rage, cry, or plot all they want—doesn’t change the fact that it’s no longer theirs. The rules make it fair… but also cruel.]

  Adam stretched his arms behind his head, still grinning that eccentric grin.

  [Heh. Whoever thought of this system was either brilliant or sadistic. Maybe both.]

  The gamecaster’s voice boomed across the arena, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Attention! By the decision of the overseers, the match order has been altered. Combatants Adam of the Grand Harmony Sect and Lan Xiaoyan of the Grand Harmony Sect must now choose—one may forfeit, or the two may face each other in battle!”

  The crowd rippled with murmurs. A sect battling itself this late in the tournament was rare, and it immediately became a spectacle in its own right.

  Adam leaned back with a sigh, tapping his sword-arm against the bench. “Tch. Figures they’d pull something like this on us.”

  Xiaoyan frowned. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in irritation at the disruption. “We were planning for second and third place. Now they’re forcing us into this kind of corner.”

  A silence stretched between the two, neither speaking, both weighing their options. The memory of the promise they made that morning drifted back—the promise to cross swords seriously, with nothing held back.

  Adam finally broke the silence. His usual grin returned, though this time it was sharper, almost daring.

  “Well… we did promise, didn’t we? No holding back, no excuses. Might as well settle it here and now.”

  Xiaoyan slowly exhaled, then nodded. “Fine. Let’s fight it out. No regrets.”

  The tension between them shifted, irritation melting into a mutual resolve.

  The crowd roared in anticipation. Two comrades from the same sect, now about to clash—one to advance, the other to fall.