The sun had barely risen over the Plains of Vaerion, casting a golden glow across the vast arena. Banners snapped sharply in the morning breeze, each carrying the emblem of sects from every corner of the southern Xunwei continent. The air thrummed with anticipation; whispers flowed like rivers among the spectators. Today, the Southern Conclave would crown champions, and at the center of it all stood two figures whose reputations had preceded them: Yan Mei of the Black Dragon faction and the prodigy of the Azure Sky Pavilion, a cultivator at the Martial King stage of the War Blood realm.
Lu Mao stood a short distance away, Moonveil dagger in hand, his golden-black qi swirling subtly around him. He exhaled slowly, scanning the crowd and then his opponent, who was already warming up, every movement measured and powerful. Though the prodigy was of a high-tier 2 sect, Lu Mao's War Blood cultivation, still in its infancy, had allowed him to push boundaries that most would not have imagined.
Li Xian stood beside him, arms crossed, observing the duel with a quiet intensity. "You know this isn't just about winning," she said softly. "It's about leaving a mark. Don't hold back too much, but also… don't overreach."
Lu Mao smirked faintly. "Leave a mark? I've been doing that my whole life."
Even as he spoke, his mind was already calculating. Martial King stage, raw strength, well-honed techniques… fast and precise, but predictable in patterns. Exploit openings, force overcommitment, and create pressure from angles he won't expect. His phantom doubles shimmered subtly, each one a hint of chaos waiting to be unleashed.
The arena fell silent as the signal was given. The Azure Sky Pavilion prodigy stepped forward, qi radiating in thick, palpable waves. Lu Mao's eyes narrowed. Time to dance with fate.
The first clash was instantaneous. Qi erupted like lightning meeting steel as Lu Mao's Moonveil dagger struck in a spinning crescent, the energy slicing through the morning air. The prodigy parried with a defensive burst of martial energy, his gauntlets glowing faintly as they absorbed and redirected part of the strike.
"You've got speed," the prodigy said, voice calm but edged with restrained force, "but raw speed won't overcome experience."
"Experience doesn't kill," Lu Mao replied, stepping lightly to the side. "Only mistakes do."
Lu Mao's phantom doubles struck simultaneously, creating a flurry of attacks that forced the Azure Sky Pavilion cultivator to retreat backward. He countered with a spinning Martial King Strike, sending a ripple of qi through the arena that cracked stones and sent sand flying. Lu Mao twisted midair, the Moonveil dagger slicing arcs of silver light, deflecting the attack, while his phantom doubles provided pressure from the flanks.
From the stands, faction elders, spectators, and even rival sect members watched with bated breath. A low-tier sect cultivator—still in early War Blood cultivation—actually holding his own against a Martial King prodigy? whispers spread like wildfire. The Slayer… he truly lives up to his name.
Yan Mei's eyes flickered as she watched. Though she could not intervene directly, her presence was an anchor. Her gaze measured every movement, calculating, preparing for any sudden threat. He's taking risks, pushing beyond his limits. But he's also controlling the battlefield in ways few could predict. That's the Slayer.
The duel escalated. Lu Mao's movements became a blur—phantoms striking, Moonveil arcs tearing the air, Wind Fist shockwaves pushing his opponent to react rather than initiate. Every strike and feint was designed to test, probe, and destabilize.
"You're strong," the prodigy admitted, backing up slightly, his breaths uneven. "Stronger than I expected… for your stage."
"And you're fast," Lu Mao replied, voice calm, "but can you react to everything?"
The next series of exchanges shattered the arena floor. Moonveil dagger clashed with martial gauntlets; qi collided in sparks that illuminated the crowd's astonished faces. Lu Mao forced the prodigy to overextend with a perfectly timed feint, striking the exposed side with a glancing blow that sent his opponent stumbling.
A hush fell. The spectators realized something impossible: the low-tier sect cultivator wasn't just surviving; he was dictating the pace of a Martial King stage duel.
"Not bad, Slayer," the prodigy said, recovering quickly, smirking despite the strain. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But skill and cultivation levels… that's where the match tilts."
Lu Mao's thoughts ran in rapid calculation. He's stabilizing… focusing on defense. If I push harder, I risk overexertion. But I need to leave a mark. A single, unforgettable moment.
He lunged with the Moonveil dagger, spinning it into a Crescent Silver Eclipse strike. The prodigy blocked, but the sheer velocity and unpredictability of the attack forced him to retreat again. Every step, every counter, Lu Mao pressed without recklessness.
Even Li Xian leaned forward, whispering to herself, "He's… shaping the battle. Even if he loses, he will be remembered."
Minutes stretched like hours. The crowd could scarcely breathe as the duel tore through space, qi and wind swirling in violent arcs. Lu Mao's phantom doubles blurred into near invisibility, forcing the Azure Sky Pavilion prodigy to rely on instinct rather than prediction. Every strike from Lu Mao was precise, deliberate, and calculated to probe, not just injure.
Yet the final outcome was inevitable. The gap in cultivation was real. With a final burst of controlled, overwhelming Martial King energy, the prodigy managed to exploit a minor lapse in Lu Mao's balance. A sweeping kick sent Lu Mao sprawling, Moonveil dagger barely held as he rolled away, qi stabilizing his internal flow.
He had lost the match—but the crowd didn't cheer the winner alone. Whispers ran like wildfire, eyes wide with awe. The Slayer… he fought a Martial King War Blood and gave him hell. Even defeated, he left his mark.
Lu Mao slowly rose, dagger still in hand, qi stabilizing, golden-black veins faintly pulsing as he exhaled. His eyes scanned the crowd, noting the flickers of fear, admiration, and grudging respect. This is only the beginning, he thought. They'll remember the Slayer. They'll remember the Black Dragon.
Yan Mei, having watched the entirety from her Spirit Accession perspective, felt pride swell in her chest. Even early in his War Blood cultivation, he didn't just survive… he dominated in spirit, in strategy, and in courage.
The prodigy, though victorious, could not hide the respect begrudgingly forming. This kid… he's dangerous. And he's only beginning. A seed of rivalry had been planted, one that would grow far beyond the Plains of Vaerion.
As Lu Mao exited the dueling stage, the murmurs spread faster than wildfire. The Slayer had survived, fought, and defied expectations. Rumors and tales would echo through taverns, sect scrolls, and even enemy halls: The Black Dragon's War Blood cultivator… the Slayer… even the Martial King stage couldn't crush him.
Li Xian approached him, eyes gleaming with quiet pride. "You fought well," she said softly, voice carrying across the wind-swept arena. "Better than anyone expected."
Lu Mao offered a faint smile, catching his breath, the Moonveil dagger resting lightly against his shoulder. "Better than expected is just the start. Let them remember… the Slayer is only warming up."
Yan Mei's gaze met his, unspoken understanding passing between them. Their faction, the Black Dragon, had planted its flag firmly in the memory of the Southern Conclave.
Even from afar, rival sect members whispered nervously, digesting what they had seen. If he's only starting in War Blood… what happens when he grows stronger?
The plains seemed to hum with the aftermath, as if the earth itself recognized the emergence of a force that would shape the continent for decades. And Lu Mao, golden-black qi thrumming faintly, already felt the pulse of the future ahead.
The Southern Conclave would remember the Slayer. The Black Dragon faction would rise. And for Lu Mao, this defeat was nothing but fuel for the inferno yet to come.