The journey to the Inter-Sect Tournament was made via a massive spiritual vessel, a carved wooden ark that floated on clouds, its sails shimmering with captured wind Qi. For Wang Chen and his companions, it was their first true glimpse of the world beyond Silon Mountain.
They flew over sprawling, emerald-green forests, vast plains where spirit beasts roamed in herds like living rivers, and saw other sects perched on jagged peaks or hidden in mist-shrouded valleys, each radiating its own unique and powerful aura.
Their destination was the Crimson Phoenix Arena, a colossal structure built in a dormant volcano crater. The arena itself was a masterpiece of red stone and gold filigree, but the true marvel was the environment. The air thrummed with the combined power of thousands of cultivators. Stalls selling potent elixirs, rare materials, and even spiritual beasts lined the crater's rim. It was a dizzying, overwhelming spectacle of the cultivation world's grandeur.
This was no longer the secluded training ground of the Muay Thai Sect. This was the major league.
Their arrival was met with a mix of curiosity and open disdain. As they disembarked, following Elder Guo, whispers followed them.
"The Muay Thai Sect... who are they?"
"That big one looks solid. The one with the fans seems... slippery."
"And the girl... her aura is sharp enough to cut."
"But the one in the middle... I can't get a read on him. His Qi feels... strange. Insubstantial."
Wang Chen ignored the whispers, his Spirit Sense passively absorbing the staggering variety of Qi signatures around him. He felt powerful auras that burned like fire, others that were deep and cold like abyssal water, and some that were sharp and clinical, like Jian's, but even more refined.
They were assigned a spacious but spartan quarters. The message was clear: comfort was secondary to preparation.
The first round of the tournament was a brutal elimination event: The Path of a Hundred Steps. It wasn't a staircase, but a massive, enchanted formation that created a shifting landscape of spiritual pressure, illusory enemies, and environmental hazards. Only the first hundred cultivators to reach the end would advance.
As the Muay Thai Sect team prepared at the starting line, surrounded by hundreds of other young geniuses, Wang Chen's senses screamed a warning. He caught a glimpse of Zhang Wei, not with their team, but speaking quietly with a disciple from the Soaring Sword Sect, a young man whose entire body seemed to be a sheathed sword. Zhang Wei nodded subtly in Wang Chen's direction.
The trap was set.