The applause did not fade quickly.
It did not crash like thunder and disappear.
It receded slowly—layer by layer—until only a low murmur remained, settling back into the stone terraces like dust after rain.
The ranking announcement still hung in the air, but it no longer felt important. The stadium had already accepted the outcome long before it was spoken.
The elder's voice carried clearly.
"Semi–Final Match One."
"Shaurya of the Sanatan Flame Sect."
"Versus."
"Yu Wenxin, Prince of the Ink–Moon Kingdom."
The words did not ignite excitement.
They clarified stakes.
Yu Wenxin moved first.
He did not rush.
He did not hesitate.
His steps were measured, elegant, carrying the quiet authority of someone raised among records, laws, and responsibility.
His pale ink-gray robes flowed softly, brush and scroll still at his waist—not as ornaments, but as extensions of habit.
When he reached his position, he bowed.
Not deeply.
Not arrogantly.
Perfectly balanced.
