The plains of Vaerion had grown hotter under the midday sun, yet the air hummed with far more than heat. It vibrated with anticipation, the kind that made even seasoned cultivators' hearts drum faster. Hundreds of sects had converged, their banners snapping in the wind like a living sea of color. Each sect brought its pride, its prodigies, and the weight of countless generations' expectations. The Southern Conclave was underway, and the quarter-finals were about to begin.
Lu Mao's eyes scanned the arena from his vantage point, the Moonveil dagger gleaming faintly at his side. Beside him, Li Xian's expression was calm, but the subtle tightening of her jaw betrayed the anticipation simmering beneath the surface. Behind them, Yan Mei, Chen Yuan, and Bao Fu had completed their seclusion exercises, their cultivation enhanced by Potent Foundation pills, their qi stabilized into flowing spirals of power. Bao Fu, still recovering from narrowly missing the preliminaries, observed with quiet determination, his eyes tracing every movement, every whisper of energy in the arena.
"This is it," Chen Yuan said softly, rubbing his hands together. "Quarter-finals. One-on-one duels. No hiding."
Yan Mei's whip-like blade hummed faintly as she shifted her stance, her eyes flickering with calm focus. "Remember, fight smart. Spirit Accession does not allow recklessness. Precision, patience."
Bao Fu's gaze darkened slightly. "And I'll prove that falling short once doesn't define me. I'll catch up."
Lu Mao exhaled, his thoughts quiet but razor-sharp. Quarter-finals, War Blood division. Keep my strength hidden, strike only when needed. But I won't hold back where it matters. He adjusted his grip on the Moonveil dagger, feeling the familiar pulse of qi through the blade. The phantom doubles shimmered faintly, reflections of his intention and strategy ready to move in perfect synchronization with his own attacks.
From the far side of the arena, the first Spirit Accession duel was called. Yan Mei stepped forward, her whip coiling like a shadowy serpent around her arm. Her opponent was a lithe figure from the Crimson Fang Clan, known for unpredictable, beast-based techniques and aggressive movements. The audience leaned forward, sensing the subtle clash of anticipation and raw energy.
Yan Mei's thoughts were calm, analytical. Eyes of Hawk… note the patterns. Phantom veil… use distance. Shadow steps… keep myself hidden. She moved like wind through the arena, her whip a blur of silver and shadow. The Crimson Fang prodigy lunged, teeth bared, claws extended—not literally, but in the exaggerated style of his beast-style techniques. Yan Mei sidestepped, letting the whip coil around his arm, a precise snap sending him tumbling to the ground, the momentum leaving him exposed to her swift, controlled strike against his leg.
He scrambled to rise, blood flecking the dust, and she whispered under her breath, Never direct, always precise. Another coil lashed out, this time against his midsection, forcing him backward. When he launched another strike, Yan Mei's Shadow Steps allowed her to vanish for a heartbeat, leaving only the aftermath of her strikes and a staggered opponent before the judges.
Meanwhile, Chen Yuan faced a disciplined opponent from the Silver Crane Sect, whose swordplay was graceful, measured, and lethal. Chen Yuan's fists moved in arcs and flows, his body a river adapting to every motion, reading openings and exploiting them with sharp precision. The crowd gasped as his opponent's strikes were met with a combination of parries, redirections, and controlled counters. By the end of the duel, Chen Yuan's foe collapsed to the ground, defeated, his aura dissipating with a faint crackle of spiritual energy.
Bao Fu's turn came soon after. He was matched against a cunning practitioner from the Shadow Whisperers, whose stealth-based skills were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Bao Fu struggled at first, his movements hesitant, but he adjusted, sensing the patterns of his opponent's shadow manipulations. A misstep, a shadow out of place, and the opponent exploited it, scoring points, but Bao Fu fought valiantly, refusing to yield. Though he lost narrowly, his performance impressed observers and cemented his position as a rising star, even in defeat.
⸻
The quarter-finals of the War Blood division were next. Lu Mao stepped into the arena, his eyes scanning his two opponents: seasoned cultivators from the Azure Serpent Sect and Iron Palm Clan, both of whom had defeated their preliminaries with efficiency. The crowd fell silent as he moved, a figure calm and controlled, yet radiating the barely contained energy of a War Blood cultivator at peak threshold.
Li Xian, beside him, nodded subtly. "Remember, shadows and feints," she whispered, eyes tracking the positions of the judges and spectators alike.
The duel began with a flurry. Lu Mao's Moonveil dagger shimmered, arcs of silver light cutting through the space between him and his opponents. Phantom doubles appeared, striking at angles neither opponent could predict. With each movement, Lu Mao's Wind Fist technique amplified his strikes, sending ripples of qi through the air that forced the Azure Serpent and Iron Palm cultivators to adjust, leaving openings for precision cuts and disorienting blows.
One opponent lunged, bringing a long spear forward with a spinning thrust. Lu Mao's phantom double mirrored him from behind, creating an illusion of strikes coming from multiple directions. The spear grazed the phantom double, leaving it shattered, but Lu Mao was already moving, dodging, and slicing with his Moonveil dagger, cutting across the opponent's guard.
Li Xian's own movements complemented his, her strikes precise and deadly. The crowd watched in awe as the two of them moved like synchronized shadows, one a storm of aggressive power, the other a lightning-strike precision.
A sharp cry came from the Iron Palm cultivator as Lu Mao's Silver Eclipse Strike carved a crescent through the air, narrowly missing Li Xian's angle of approach but forcing the opponent to stumble backward. Another Phantom double appeared, striking at the Azure Serpent Sect cultivator's weak side, creating a perfect opening. Lu Mao's Moonveil dagger gleamed as he executed a Luminance Edge strike, cutting through defenses, and the first opponent fell.
The remaining cultivator hesitated, eyes flicking between Lu Mao and Li Xian. He had not anticipated the coordination, the unpredictability. Yet he moved with the calm of experience, retaliating with a surge of qi aimed at Lu Mao's chest. Lu Mao's Shadowglass Pendant activated instinctively, swapping his position with his shadow for a heartbeat, letting the attack pass harmlessly.
"Not bad," Lu Mao muttered under his breath, smirking as he prepared for the final approach. His phantom doubles coiled around his position, striking again in perfect synchronization. The Azure Serpent cultivator collapsed, the arena erupting in cheers. Lu Mao's Moonveil glowed faintly, qi swirling visibly as he took a controlled breath, the surge of War Blood energy in him harmonized after the fight.
Wei Quing, observing from the sidelines, allowed himself a rare nod. He's truly become the Slayer. Faster, sharper, and more cunning than I expected. I'll have to bring everything against him in Spirit Accession.
⸻
By the end of the day, the quarter-finals concluded with a display of calculated skill and overwhelming power. Yan Mei and Chen Yuan advanced smoothly, Bao Fu's absence a quiet note of tension, and Lu Mao and Li Xian solidified their presence as War Blood frontrunners.
Whispers spread across the plains: "Slayer and Lightning Maiden in quarter-finals—Black Dragon and Golden Sparrow? Who could have predicted this?" "Low-tier sects, and yet… they dominate." The Southern Conclave was now alive with tales, and the Black Dragon faction's reputation had grown exponentially.
In the shadows, a few higher-tier representatives narrowed their eyes. One in particular, a high-tier 2 sect prodigy from the Azure Sky Pavilion, observed Lu Mao with barely restrained irritation. His lips curled in a tight smile. So the stories are true. A War Blood cultivator from a low-tier sect has risen before us. This is… interesting.
Lu Mao, walking back to the faction quarters, allowed himself a faint smirk. "Interesting indeed," he murmured. But I haven't even started the main event.
Li Xian followed, her own expression calm, though a spark of anticipation danced in her eyes. "You're still holding back."
"I always do," Lu Mao replied, sliding the Moonveil dagger into its sheath. "The moment I stop holding back… that's when the Conclave will truly remember us."
The sun dipped low over Vaerion, bathing the arena in a golden glow. Banners fluttered, chants rose and fell, and the air thrummed with the unspent energy of the next round. The Black Dragon faction had made its mark, and the Southern Conclave would not soon forget the Slayer—or the storm that followed in his wake.
As night fell, Lu Mao's inner thoughts were quiet but precise, the strategies of upcoming duels taking shape in his mind. Shadow doubles, phantom strikes, Moonveil angles, and the subtle weave of qi—every possible permutation calculated in preparation for the battles yet to come.
Somewhere across the plains, new rivalries had already taken root. One high-tier prodigy had made a silent vow: he would not be outshone by the low-tier Slayer. And in the quiet of the Black Dragon quarters, the whispers of war, strategy, and conquest only began to stir, promising a Conclave that would mark the history of Xunwei for generations.