The harsh mid-day sun hung at its absolute zenith above the jagged granite peaks surrounding the Sun-Moon Academy, casting a brilliant, blinding glare across the vast expanse of the central grand arena.
Despite the scorching sunlight beating down upon the stone tiles, a heavy, almost suffocating chill lingered distinctly around the perimeter of Combat Ring Four. Word of "Disciple Lin's" terrifyingly fast, brutal defeat of Iron-Crusher Meng had rippled outward like a wild, unstoppable flame, reaching every corner of the outer grounds within minutes. Disciples standing near neighboring rings spoke in muted, fearful whispers, their eyes darting nervously toward the shadowy corner of the waiting enclosure where Railin sat cross-legged upon a flat stone slab, his eyes half-closed in tranquil, unbothered meditation.
Deep inside his dantian, Railin's dark core—now stabilized firmly at the absolute peak of the Fifth Level of Spirit Refining—revolved with smooth, mathematical precision. The residual earth-attribute spirit essence he had violently extracted from Meng was being systematically broken down, filtered of its impurities, and absorbed into his expanded meridians. Although the raw spirit energy harvested from a mere Sixth Level cultivator was relatively modest given Railin's vast, ravenous appetite, every drop served to reinforce his physical bone structure and sharpen his control over his dark, ancient Ashen Devouring Qi.
The enforcement dogs are already moving into position, Railin noted silently, his sharp, highly refined soul sense sweeping outward across the crowded floor.
He could clearly feel the discrete, synchronized movements of two purple-robed enforcement disciples moving stealthily through the dense gathering of spectators surrounding Ring Four. They were slowly encircling his position, their gazes locked onto his navy-blue robes with undisguised scrutiny.
Senior Disciple Feng is growing deeply suspicious, Railin mused, a faint, cold smirk flickering internally within his consciousness. Good. Let the hawk send his hounds into the light. The larger the crowd, the sweeter the upcoming harvest.
"Match Number Thirty-Four! Ring Four!" the arena referee's voice boomed across the entire sector, amplified by a powerful sound-expansion array embedded into the central pillar. "Disciple Lin versus Disciple Ye!"
Railin opened his eyes. The pitch-black pupils were utterly calm, reflecting neither excitement nor apprehension. He stood up with an effortless, fluid motion, lightly brushing a speck of dust off his crisp outer robes before stepping out of the shadowed enclosure toward the stone steps of the ring.
As he reached the center of the broad, sun-drenched platform, his opponent stepped onto the opposite edge of the ring.
Disciple Ye was a renowned figure among the upper ranks of the Outer Academy. Tall, lean, and possessing an aura of aristocratic elegance, Ye was clad in intricate, light silver chainmail armor over white silk robes. At his hips hung a pair of matching short swords—twin spirit blades forged from refined sky-metal, their pommel stones glowing with a fierce, vibrant emerald light that signaled high-grade wind-elemental synchronization.
Unlike the crude, overconfident Meng, Ye boasted a cultivation base at the formidable Seventh Level of Spirit Refining. Furthermore, he was widely celebrated within the Fifth Outer House for his terrifying, lightning-fast sword techniques and erratic movement arts.
Ye did not enter the ring with boisterous laughter or arrogant taunts. His sharp, calculating eyes locked immediately onto Railin's relaxed posture, quickly registering the complete absence of a visible sheath, armor, or defensive artifacts.
"I stood in the crowd and analyzed your previous match against Meng," Ye spoke, his voice cool and steady, cutting through the roaring wind as he drew both short blades in a swift, synchronized motion. CLACK! The twin emerald blades hummed softly, releasing sharp, visible currents of wind spirit qi that sliced tiny lines into the stone floor near his boots. "You possess monstrous physical strength and a mysterious, high-tier footwork technique that creates spatial afterimages. But raw strength without speed is completely useless against my Wind-Severing Blades."
Railin stopped roughly seven paces away, his arms remaining folded loosely inside his long, wide sleeves. He did not bother adopting a traditional martial stance, nor did he offer any verbal response to Ye's tactical assessment. He simply stared back with a pair of cold, hollow black eyes—an unreadable, predatory gaze that caused Ye's fingers to tighten around his sword hilts with an involuntary surge of discomfort.
The referee raised his hand high, looking between the quiet youth in navy blue and the silver-armored swordmaster.
"Match Thirty-Four... Begin!" the referee bellowed, bringing his hand down sharply.
SWISH!
The moment the declaration echoed across the ring, Disciple Ye vanished entirely from his standing position.
A violent, pressurized gale of green wind exploded across the stone tiles as Ye executed his signature movement art—the high-grade Gale-Walking Stance. In the twinkling of an eye, Ye's physical form split into three distinct, emerald-glowing speed blurs that began circling Railin at a blinding velocity. The intense wind pressure generated by his movement kicked up a swirling mini-tornado of dust and sharp air blades, scoring deep, jagged gashes across the solid granite floor of the ring.
"The Three Wind Phantoms!" a spectator from the Fifth House shouted excitedly from the wooden spectator stands. "Senior Brother Ye mastered the phantom image technique last month! ThatLin kid won't even be able to tell which blade is real before his throat is opened!"
High up on the grand elevated seating platform, Senior Disciple Feng leaned slightly forward in his carved stone chair, his hawk-like eyes narrowing as he focused entirely on Combat Ring Four. He wanted to observe how this mysterious, dark-horse "Disciple Lin" would handle the relentless pressure of a Seventh Level speed specialist.
Within the swirling, hurricane-like vortex of green wind spirit qi, the three emerald blurs of Disciple Ye attacked simultaneously from three completely different vectors—one thrusting directly toward Railin's heart from the left, one slashing horizontally toward his neck from the right, and the third descending like a falling star directly from above!
"Wind-Blade Tri-Sever!" Ye's amplified voice echoed from all directions at once, completely masking his true location.
Six brilliant rays of emerald sword light crisscrossed through the air, converging with lethal, pinpoint accuracy on Railin's vital points!
Railin did not flinch, nor did his expression change by a fraction of a degree.
SWISH.
With a subtle, precise execution of The Seven Void-Severing Steps, Railin's physical presence seemed to fold into the very shadows of the arena floor. He did not merely step backward or sidestep; he manipulated the micro-spatial displacement of his movement art, leaving behind a dense, dark, static afterimage precisely at the intersection point of the incoming sword rays.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
All six emerald sword rays sliced violently through the dark, stationary figure, striking nothing but empty air and a wispy cloud of lingering dark energy. The sheer kinetic force of Ye's blades clashed against one another, producing a loud metallic ring and sending a shower of green sparks cascading across the stage.
"What?!" Ye's true body materialized five feet behind the afterimage, his eyes widening in utter, unadulterated shock as he felt his deadly strike hit absolute nothingness. "His movement... it wasn't a physical dodge! He completely detached his presence from the spatial plane!"
"Your observations are correct," Railin's smooth, icy voice whispered directly against the back of Ye's right ear. "But your reaction time is far too slow."
Disciple Ye's soul shrieked with an overwhelming sense of mortal danger. His skin broke out into cold sweat, and driven purely by frantic survival instincts, he abandoned all thoughts of turning around to face his attacker. Instead, he forced every single drop of his Seventh Level wind spirit qi outward through his spine, unleashing an explosive, spinning wall of pressurized gale-force energy directly behind him to blow Railin away!
Railin did not step back, nor did he attempt to parry the raging storm of pressurized wind.
He simply thrust his bare right arm straight into the center of the spinning gale.
His open palm, enveloped in a thick, swirling vortex of dark Ashen Devouring Qi, cut through the high-density wind defense as effortlessly as a red-hot iron needle passing through soft grease. Railin's pale, slender fingers clamped down onto Ye's upper shoulder blade with the crushing, inescapable force of a mountain vice.
"Devour."
BZZZZZZZZT!
The dark, predatory Qi erupted with violent intensity, forcing its way through Ye's silver armor and plunging directly into his main meridian channels.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Disciple Ye let out a strangled, blood-curdling scream of pure agony that resonated across the entire arena sector. The brilliant emerald light emanating from his twin sky-metal swords flickered wildly before dying out completely. His Seventh Level wind spirit qi was violently torn from his dantian, dragged down his arm channels in thick, turbulent streams, and greedily swallowed by the spinning dark vortex residing within Railin's core.
Railin maintained absolute, precise control over the absorption process. Within three agonizing seconds, he systematically drained Ye's cultivation base down to the meager Third Level, deliberately shattering his primary energy channels while leaving his vital heart functions intact.
BANG!
Without a second glance, Railin delivered a casual, lightning-fast front kick to the center of Ye's chest plate.
The heavy impact dented the silver chainmail, sending the famed genius of the Fifth House flying backward across the arena stage like a thrown stone. Ye crashed violently onto the grassy dirt beyond the ring perimeter, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood as his prized twin short swords clattered uselessly against the stone steps.
A heavy, breathless silence once again swept over the thousands of spectators surrounding Ring Four. The referee stood frozen in place, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at Railin, who was standing casually near the center of the ring, smoothing the wrinkles of his navy-blue sleeves without a single strand of hair out of place.
"W-Winner... Disciple Lin!" the referee finally announced, his voice carrying a noticeable tremor of fear and confusion.
Railin did not linger on the stage to accept the bewildered stares of the crowd. He turned on his heel and stepped smoothly off the platform, his dark, calm gaze drifting subtly upward toward the high seating platform.
Up on the elevated dais, Senior Disciple Feng had stood up completely from his carved stone throne. His stern face was dark as a thundercloud, his knuckles turning white as his grip crushed the stone armrest of his chair into fine grey powder. Behind Feng, four high-ranking, purple-robed disciples of the Outer Enforcement Hall were already moving down the grand wooden staircase, their hands resting firmly on the pommels of their heavy spirit blades.
The predator has finally taken the bait, Railin thought, a cold, dark smile touching the corners of his lips as he turned away and walked calmly toward the quiet, shadowed stone corridor leading away from the noisy arena pits.
The stage had been set, the harvest was ripening rapidly, and the grand hunt was about to begin.
See you in next chapter....