The arena roared like a living beast, the stands packed so tightly that the scent of sweat and incense clung to the air. Above, the banners of the Academy of Crowns fluttered in the afternoon breeze, their gold embroidery catching the light. The finals had drawn more than just students and faculty—nobles in silken robes leaned forward from their private balconies, sect elders watched with hooded eyes, and in the shadowed edges of the highest tier, figures in black cloaks whispered among themselves.
Edran stood in the center ring, hands loose at his sides, his expression unreadable. The midday sun carved sharp shadows across his face, but his breathing was steady—measured.
Across from him, his opponent strode forward with the quiet confidence of a man who had never tasted defeat. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long black hair bound in a warrior's tail. The crowd chanted his name like the beat of a drum.
Kael Varin. Peak Qi Condensation. The prodigy of the Iron Fang Division.
Kael's fame was not only for his raw talent, but for his signature technique: Iron Fang Tyrant Fist—a brutal, bone-crushing style known for ending matches in a single decisive blow. Few in the academy had survived more than three exchanges with him.
"Edran Valerie," Kael's voice carried over the noise. "I've been waiting for this."
Edran's lips curved faintly, but he didn't answer.
The referee—a stern-faced elder with silver hair—stepped between them, raising his hand. "This is the final match of the Crown Tournament. The victor will be crowned champion and earn the right to represent the Academy in the Imperial Exchange. Prepare yourselves."
The elder's hand cut down. "Begin!"
Kael moved first, his footwork blurring as he closed the distance in an instant. His right fist came forward, wrapped in a sheath of dense, metallic Qi.
Iron Fang Tyrant Fist – Opening Fang!
The ground shuddered beneath the strike, dust leaping from the ring floor. Edran's body tilted back, his left palm flashing up in a circular motion—redirecting the force rather than meeting it head-on. His movements flowed like water, guided by the Azure Dragon Breathing Art's natural adaptability.
The redirected force split the air to Edran's right, cracking the stone floor. The crowd gasped.
Kael didn't pause. His second strike came from the left, a low hook aimed at Edran's ribs. Edran stepped in, letting the blow pass behind him, and lashed out with a quick palm strike toward Kael's sternum.
Kael caught the palm on his forearm, sparks of Qi bursting from the collision.
"You're faster than I expected," Kael said through clenched teeth.
Edran's gaze was calm. "And you hit exactly as I expected."
The two broke apart, circling.
Kael's Qi surged again—thicker this time. The metallic sheen around his fists spread up his arms, his aura sharp and oppressive. He lunged in with a flurry of heavy blows, each one aimed to crush bone.
Edran gave ground but never panicked. His footwork carried him just outside each strike's killing range, his counters sharp but measured—palms, elbows, and sweeping kicks, all infused with precise bursts of Qi.
For ten exchanges they traded like this, Kael pressing forward with raw power, Edran flowing around him like a serpent in tall grass. The crowd roared with every near hit, every deflected strike.
Then Kael's movements slowed for a fraction of a heartbeat—just long enough for Edran to step in and deliver a sharp knee to his opponent's midsection. The blow made Kael grunt, but his answering smile was… unsettling.
"Good," Kael murmured. "Push me further."
Without warning, Kael dropped into a low stance. His Qi spiked, swirling around him like a storm. The metallic sheen of his Iron Fang Tyrant Fist deepened to a dark, molten silver. The arena's barrier flared faintly in response.
Edran felt it before he saw it—the oppressive pull of Qi condensing and compacting in Kael's core, the pressure of a cultivation bottleneck being torn apart.
Kael's aura expanded violently.
He's… breaking through mid-fight.
The crowd sensed it too. Murmurs rose to shouts, shouts to frenzied cheering. Breaking through into Foundation Establishment was rare enough—but doing it in the middle of a battle was almost unheard of.
Kael's body trembled as raw power coursed through him. Cracks of light—pure, condensed Qi—flashed along his skin like lightning. The air thickened, pressing down on everyone in the ring.
Edran's fingers twitched involuntarily. His breathing slowed, Azure Dragon Breathing Art adjusting without conscious thought.
Kael's eyes snapped open—sharper, colder, more dangerous. "Now," he said, his voice resonant, "let's see if you can still stand."
The referee hesitated, glancing toward the elders in the stands, but no one moved to stop the match.
Edran shifted his stance, eyes narrowing.
Kael's first step forward cracked the stone beneath him. His next brought him directly into Edran's guard, his fist already surging toward Edran's chest—faster and heavier than before.
The sound of the blow hitting Edran's block rang like metal on metal.
Edran skidded back three full steps, the bones in his forearm humming from the impact.
Kael advanced, relentless, each strike heavier than the last.
Edran knew—this was no longer the same opponent he'd faced moments ago.
And as Kael's next blow came screaming toward him, a strange, deep thrum began to pulse in Edran's core…