A new, sharper energy crackled through the trial ground. The intellectual curiosity of the Qi absorption test was gone, replaced by the raw, primal thrill of impending violence. The air grew thick with bloodlust and anticipation. Disciples leaned forward in their seats, eyes gleaming. This was the round that truly separated the wheat from the chaff—where theory met the brutal reality of combat.
Elder Zhao presided over the pairings, his voice echoing as names were drawn from a jade bowl. Matches were announced. Some were swift and one-sided, a stronger disciple effortlessly dispatching a weaker one with a single, concuss blow. Others were brutal, drawn-out exchanges of sect techniques, filling the arena with flashes of light and the crackle of colliding Qi. The elders on the dais watched with detached interest, occasionally offering a curt nod of approval for a well-executed move.
But a undercurrent of restless expectation ran through the crowd. They were waiting for one name. The whispers were no longer about if Li Tian would fight, but who would be the one to put him back in his place.
Their prayers were answered.
"Next pairing," Elder Zhao's voice boomed, cutting through the noise after a junior disciple was helped from the arena, clutching a broken arm. "Li Tian… versus Zhang Fan!"
The arena erupted.
A roar of approval and vicious excitement shook the stands. It was the match everyone had been waiting for. The public humiliation at the hut would now be settled with blood and bone. Disciples stamped their feet, chanting Zhang Fan's name. They were eager to see the natural order restored, to see the upstart servant crushed into the obsidian floor.
Zhang Fan leaped gracefully into the combat ring, a cruel smile plastered on his face. He gestured mockingly for Li Tian to join him. "Come on, trash! The audience is waiting for the main event! Don't keep them waiting for your failure!"
Li Tian walked forward, his steps measured and calm. The jeers and insults were a wall of sound, but he built a wall of quiet resolve within himself. This was it. The Heaven Swallowing Art had allowed him to absorb Qi, but could it be used in the heat of battle? Could it keep him standing against the full, furious might of a Qi Condensation cultivator?
"I'm going to break every bone you just strengthened," Zhang Fan spat, his voice low enough that only Li Tian could hear. "I'll make you wish you'd stayed on your knees scrubbing floors."
Li Tian said nothing. He simply settled into a basic defensive stance, his entire being focused inward, ready to cycle the art at a moment's notice.
Elder Zhao's hand chopped down. "Begin!"
Zhang Fan exploded into motion. There was no more teasing, no casual slap. He was a whirlwind of fury. White Qi flared around him as he executed a classic sect technique, the [Flowing Cloud Strike]. His movements were fluid and deceptively fast, his palm striking not head-on, but from unpredictable angles, each strike carrying the force to shatter rock.
The gap in their realms was immediately apparent. Zhang Fan was faster, his movements more refined. The first strike glanced off Li Tian's raised forearm, and the impact sent a jolt of numbing pain up to his shoulder. The second, a sweeping kick, Li Tian barely avoided by leaping backward, feeling the wind of it tear at his robes.
Li Tian didn't try to match the technique. He couldn't. Instead, as Zhang Fan closed in for a third strike, a powerful thrust aimed at his core, Li Tian planted his feet and did the unthinkable. He didn't block with pure force. He opened himself.
The Heaven Swallowing Art roared to life.
As Zhang Fan's palm, blazing with white energy, slammed towards his chest, Li Tian focused on devouring. A small, frantic vortex formed at the point of impact. He wasn't just taking the hit; he was trying to consume the Qi behind it.
BOOM!
The sound was different this time—deeper, more resonant. Li Tian was thrown back several feet, skidding across the smooth stone. His chest felt like it had been hit by a battering ram, and his lungs burned for air. He had not absorbed all the force, not even close. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
But he was still standing.
And Zhang Fan was staring at his own hand in confusion. The strike had connected, yet the feedback felt… wrong. It was as if a part of his energy had been siphoned away, swallowed by the void where Li Tian's dantian should be.
The crowd, which had been cheering for a quick knockout, fell into a stunned hush. Then, the whispers began, frantic and disbelieving.
"He… he took a full Flowing Cloud Strike!"
"He's bleeding, but he's not down!"
"What kind of defense is that? It's not a sect technique!"
"The trash is actually fighting back!"
Zhang Fan's face contorted with rage. The confusion gave way to pure, unadulterated fury. This servant was not only defying him but using some bizarre, unorthodox method to do it. It was an insult to the sect, to his family, and to him personally.
"Enough of these tricks!" he roared, his Qi flaring brighter, intensifying until the air around him shimmered with heat. He dropped into a lower, more lethal stance. The playful Flowing Cloud Strike was forgotten. This was something heavier, more destructive. A killing intent, sharp and cold, radiated from him. "I'll end this now! Let's see you swallow this! [Mountain-Crushing Fist]!"
His entire right arm glowed with a concentrated, terrifying white light. The Qi condensed around his fist until it looked like a small, solid sun. It was a technique meant to overwhelm, to obliterate. It was no longer a sparring move; it was a execution.
Zhang Fan launched forward, becoming a blur of motion aimed directly at Li Tian's heart.
The killing blow was airborne, and Li Tian had nowhere left to run.