The arena had fallen silent, the dust of battle settling over the worn stage. Around the edges, disciples murmured in hushed tones, recounting each clash, every technique. But the focus now shifted to the raised platform in front of the academy—where five imposing figures stood, each exuding quiet authority.
Old Bai, his arms crossed behind his back, stepped forward. Though his hair was graying and his back slightly hunched, none in the courtyard doubted the strength still buried in those scarred muscles.
"Disciples," he said, voice rough yet firm. "The regional tournament has ended. But this is only the first step."
Beside him stood the four patriarchs of the major clans.
Patriarch Gu of the Gu Clan—an older man with piercing eyes and a sword scar running across his jawline—gave a short nod. "My grandson, Gu Tianshen, has proven himself. But we must see if he can shine beyond this region."
"Mm," rumbled Patriarch Han, taller and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark martial robes. "Han Jue performed well. As expected. But the prefecture will have talents from five cities like ours. If he doesn't sharpen his fists further, he'll be crushed."
Patriarch Zhao, a wiry, keen-eyed strategist with fingers always twitching as if moving invisible chess pieces, looked toward the gathered disciples. "Zhao Lingxin… Fei'er… this is your moment to gain connections, to show that the Zhao Clan does not breed mediocrity."
Finally, Patriarch Lei, wrapped in heavy fur robes despite the sun, barked a short laugh. "Lei Yanshu made it to the top ten. Good. Not great. But I've brought pills and scrolls. He'll catch up."
The disciples stood at attention below, all of them still bruised from the recent bouts. Li Yuan Tian stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his breathing steady. He had secured the third position, but there was no pride in his gaze—only hunger.
Han Jue stood beside him, arms folded, a cocky grin on his face.
Gu Tianshen, aloof as ever, was slightly apart, not speaking, only watching.
Old Bai spoke again. "All of you—Gu Tianshen, Han Jue, Li Yuan Tian, Zhao Lingxi, Lei Yanshu, and Zhao Fei'er and other will represent this city in the semi-finals, to be held in Dongping Prefecture City, two weeks from now."
Patriarch Gu raised a hand. "We ride at dawn tomorrow. Carriages are ready. Guards have been arranged."
Zhao Lingxin exchanged a glance with Yuan Tian and whispered, "You think the prefecture's disciples are stronger?"
"They have better resources," Yuan Tian replied. "But strength… we'll see."
Han Jue cracked his knuckles. "Doesn't matter. I'll smash my way through."
Zhao Fei'er rolled her eyes. "Your fists work, but do try using your brain once, brute."
Han Jue chuckled. "Not all of us can prance around with illusions and tricks."
Lei Yanshu let out a sigh. "Save your bickering for the arena."
Old Bai's voice cut through. "Enough. Tomorrow, you depart with the patriarchs. Represent our city. Fight well, but don't throw your lives away. Prefecture-level matches aren't like ours. There are nobles. Sects. Even wandering cultivators watching."
Patriarch Lei added with a grunt, "And recruiters. Get noticed, and doors open."
Gu Tianshen finally spoke, his voice cold and precise. "We'll bring honor to the city. That's enough."
That night, the academy remained awake long after sunset. Disciples exchanged farewells, sparring one last time under the moon. Yuan Tian sat beneath a pine tree near the east wing, polishing his blade. Han Jue approached, tossing him a dried meat bun.
"Eat. You'll need the energy. They say the prefecture's arena is five times larger than ours."
Yuan Tian took the food silently. "Do you think we'll make it to the capital finals?"
Han Jue grinned. "If we don't die first, sure."