Chapter 87: One-on-One Duels
"Now, I will no longer take more of your time," the elder said in a calm voice. By the end of his dialogue, his voice had become too low, almost like he was muttering.
The elder stroked his beard, his eyes sweeping over the remaining contestants.
"From this point onward, the battles will take on a different form. One-on-one duels! Here, there will be no chance of escaping into the crowd, no distractions, no outside interference—only two warriors facing each other in the arena, their strength, skill, and fate deciding who shall advance!"
He raised his hand, gesturing toward the sky.
"Out of the twenty who stand here today, only ten will remain by the end of this round! Victory is the only path forward!"
His tone deepened, carrying the weight of experience.
"These battles are not just about winning or losing. They are tests—of your comprehension, of your discipline, of your ability to stand tall even when the odds are against you. Power alone does not make a cultivator; it is the heart, the unyielding will to surpass one's limits, that forges true strength!"
His eyes gleamed as he turned back to the audience.
"Now, let the duels begin!"
...
As the hosting elder stood before the gathered participants, an ornate wooden box was placed on a pedestal. Inside, twenty numbered sticks lay waiting, their polished surfaces glinting under the lantern light. One by one, the disciples stepped forward, reaching into the box with steady hands—or trembling fingers, depending on their nerves.
I sat among the crowd, watching in silence as each disciple retrieved a stick, glancing at their number before stepping aside. The tension in the air was thick, rippling through the audience like an invisible current. Some clenched their fists, hoping to avoid a powerful opponent, while others smirked, eager to test their strength.
"Drawing lots, huh?" I mused inwardly. A method as old as time, yet no matter how random it seemed, fate always had its own way of arranging the most interesting encounters. The strongest rarely escaped an early challenge, and the weakest could only pray they wouldn't face an insurmountable wall.
The hosting elder finally raised his hand, a powerful aura silencing the murmurs. "Now that the draw is complete, let the matchups be revealed!" His voice echoed through the colosseum, amplified by a mysterious formation.
The hosting elder stood atop the grand platform, his voice booming through the arena.
"Now that fate has spoken, let me present to you the matchups for Round Two! Twenty warriors stand before us, but only ten will remain after today! Each duel will test not just skill but willpower, resilience, and the wisdom of battle. Now, disciples, prepare yourselves—your moment of glory is at hand!"
The moment the elder announced each matchup, the crowd erupted into murmurs, cheers, and hushed speculations. Friends encouraged each other, rivals glared, and sect members whispered predictions. Some anticipated intense clashes, while others silently prayed they wouldn't face a monster in the next round.
...
The first match was between two vassal sect disciples, due to which the crowd was mostly silent, with only slight sounds of cheers from the stands where the vassal sect disciples were in the majority.
While others ignored the match and were busy talking to one another, I did not waste any time and focused all my attention on both of them.
I noted their basic choice of weapon. One used a dagger—uncommon but not rare—while the other used fire attacks. I did not know how this worked, as I had still not studied any Daoist techniques, but it was still interesting to see something new. Halfway through the match, I noticed the biggest drawback of using Daoist techniques. The disciple from the vassal sect using fire attacks was soon grabbing his knee for support and panting.
The one with the dagger had not attacked throughout the duel, as though he was sure that his opponent would soon run out of energy.
The stadium had become charred black in some spots where the disciple from the vassal sect had utilized fire against his opponent.
"Time to end this." The disciple with the dagger said with a menacing look while sliding his index finger along the sharp edge of his dagger, which shined when it met the rays of the sun.
He leaped at the now-exhausted disciple. The disciple, panting and leaning slightly forward with his hands on his knees, tried to channel Qi and conjure up one more fire attack as the opponent—who had been running and dodging throughout the fight—was finally coming toward him.
"Heh." The disciple with the dagger heard a low scoff as his opponent, who he thought was exhausted, suddenly erupted with a frightening amount of Qi that soon took the shape of a huge fire sphere—almost like a small sun. Its heat, however, was far from something that could be termed 'small.' But still, fire was fire, even in its weakened form.
"Roasting time." He drowned the sphere of fire onto his opponent, who had been confident that he had won. As someone who specialized in combat, he was unable to fend off the fire that stuck to him. Even though he had activated his Qi Reinforcement—as both he and his opponent were at the seventh level of Qi Condensation—the fire of his opponent was strange. Somehow, it bypassed his defenses and began burning his skin.
He started smelling burning flesh—like roasted meat, but without the support of spices, it was nothing but the stench of a charred corpse.
I admired his willpower. Even while being burned by such a high-degree flame, the boy with the dagger did not let even a single grunt escape from his lips.
"Don't underestimate me, you bastard." He walked out of the sea of flames, his skin turning black due to the fire, and his robe almost completely burned away, leaving him nearly naked.
I was surprised, as I had believed the match had already been decided, and I was curious why the elder had not stepped in to announce the winner yet.
Tch—
The boy with the dagger swung his weapon as soon as he got close to his opponent, striking at his opponent's temple with the hilt of his dagger. He clicked his tongue in irritation, as they were not allowed to kill.
"Count yourself lucky." Leaving that last comment ringing in his opponent's ears, he kicked him off the platform. He did not even care about his burned clothes, leaving him almost naked.
I stared in amazement and also felt a little emotional, seeing how desperate just the participants of the first match were. Here I was, running away from fights, unable to face that Long Chen. Even though I had long changed the flow of what had happened in the trial, I think only after having a life-and-death duel against Long Chen would I be able to get over this knot in my heart. Even if I lost my life once again, at least it wouldn't be a death at the hands (being a simp for her) of some Saintess.
The meaning of battle changes people's perspectives.