Chapter 17: End of the Competition
Elton slowly stepped off the stage, his bloodied hands clenched tightly around the hilt of his broken sword. His breath was heavy, yet steady, and the cold air felt sharper against the shallow cuts across his skin. He could still feel the remnants of the white starlight dancing faintly across his meridians, the echoes of the —White Star Speed Transformation— flickering inside him like fading lightning.
Disciples murmured in awe and speculation, casting glances between Elton and the stage. But the competition was not yet over.
Several more disciples took their turns after Elton. They were eager, but clearly outmatched. One after another, they stepped up to face the peak Gold-Tier elder's —Wind Javelin—. Each had their own approach—earth walls, Ki shields, blade techniques, and magical barriers. Some managed to barely stand their ground, while others were tossed violently across the plaza floor like scattered leaves. None were particularly memorable, but their struggles served as a reminder of how brutal and exacting this competition had become.
When the dust settled from the last unnamed disciple's attempt, only two competitors remained.
The first was the beast-like disciple whose presence had loomed silently among the top performers. Now, he stepped forward with heavy, deliberate steps that echoed through the plaza. His dark, roughened skin shimmered faintly in the light, his broad shoulders flexing beneath a simple training robe.
A few murmurs rose from the gathered crowd.
"That's the one from the ten-stage talisman trial, right?"
"He didn't even flinch under the pressure formation… what's his name again?"
"Najher. A demi-human. Sandskin race."
"Sandskin? Like the ones that can mold earth and sand into armor?"
"Exactly. They're desert-bred and naturally in tune with sand and soft earth Ki."
Najher lowered himself into a defensive stance, his eyes calm but sharp. As the elder summoned another —Wind Javelin—, a powerful sandy aura exploded from Najher's body, circling him like a mini sandstorm. The grains of sand twisted around his limbs before condensing tightly into a protective armor, leaving only his glowing amber eyes exposed.
With a rumbling exhale, Najher punched forward with both hands, gathering the sand into a massive, compacted gauntlet around his right fist.
—Iron Sand Fist—
The —Wind Javelin— streaked through the air, howling with pressure and slicing gales. Najher met it head-on. His sand-wrapped fist collided with the force of the magic construct, a shockwave erupting from the impact. The sandy armor cracked, pressure rolling across the stage, and Najher was pushed back several steps. But he didn't fall. With a grunt, he stabilized himself, his feet dragging deep grooves into the plaza floor.
A hush fell over the crowd, broken only by astonished gasps.
The elder nodded in approval. "Well done," he muttered under his breath.
Now, only one remained.
Hunter Helmsley.
The prince stepped forward with regal poise, his white and gold robe flowing gently in the wind. His long hair was tied back, and his expression was calm but serious. The elder's gaze landed on him with interest.
"Truly, this generation has exceeded my expectations," the elder said aloud, allowing a small grin to stretch across his face.
He summoned his final —Wind Javelin—, the air around it warping from the condensed magical pressure. With a flick of his hand, the deadly projectile was launched.
In that instant, Hunter's energy erupted. A blinding white aura flared to life, then shifted into a deep red-orange as his Magical Ki Essence surged. He drew a long, slightly curved sword from a scabbard strapped across his back—its dark steel was etched with ancient Helmsley markings.
Whispers spread through the crowd again.
"That sword… isn't that the Royal Blade of the Helmsley line?"
"They say it was forged four generations ago by a master smith who was paid with a vault of gemstones."
Hunter raised the sword high, the blade catching the light.
—Royal Cutting Flame Rend—
A pillar of flame burst upward around him, then concentrated into his blade as he struck.
The sword carved through the air with precision and force, a blazing arc slashing outward. It met the —Wind Javelin— mid-flight, and for a moment, the two attacks clashed in a roaring explosion of fire and wind. Then—
The —Wind Javelin— split cleanly down the middle.
The plaza fell silent.
Hunter stood, unmoved, his sword lowered. Twin halves of the shattered magical spear crashed to the ground behind him.
The elder laughed, truly delighted. "Come stand by my side," he said, gesturing Hunter forward.
Elton, still nursing his wounds, watched in disbelief.
Zoro narrowed his eyes and grunted, his arms crossed.
Najher raised one brow but said nothing.
Some disciples gasped, others clapped, and a few clenched their fists in silent determination. Christy offered a nod of approval from her place beside the elder, though her expression was difficult to read.
The competition had finally come to an end.
Of the original near-500 disciples, only 25 had passed the full gauntlet of trials and tests. These 25 were now officially chosen to partake in the mission from the Bright Brilliant Blade Sect.
But the biggest announcement came shortly after.
"Two individuals have been deemed worthy of immediate recruitment into the main sect," the elder proclaimed. "Hunter Helmsley and Christy Hucklebare."
A wave of stunned murmurs washed through the crowd.
The remaining disciples, whether elated or bitter, bowed in respect to the decision. Pride and disappointment mingled across the plaza.
The elder finally spoke again.
"You all have five days to prepare. Pack, rest, and be ready. The real journey begins soon."
As the plaza began to empty, Elton remained seated at the edge, deep in thought.
His hand subconsciously touched the meridian in his chest that had awakened under pressure.
Inside his mind, the inner voice cackled with satisfaction.
"Now that was a show… but we're just getting started."
Elton exhaled slowly, feeling exhaustion and determination.