The long-awaited day had arrived.
From the depths of the sect courtyards to the bustling mortal streets of Storm Jade Country, tension buzzed through the air like a drawn blade waiting to strike. In the distance, massive spirit beasts let out guttural howls, as if echoing the anticipation of countless hearts. The Phase Two of the competition had finally begun.
Dozens of officials clad in deep blue robes, their insignias glowing faintly with the sigils of the World Domain, also more commonly known as the world lord's domain, guided teams from their waiting quarters to the rear of the grand coliseum. The ground rumbled faintly with every step. A vortex of qi surged above the arena as excitement stirred the very heavens.
They moved like rivers of authority, ushering each team through the grand jade passageways carved with scenes of ancient heroes, divine beasts, and ancient battle.
Each team bore their sect's colors proudly, the air around them trembling with youthful ambition and hidden intent. Some looked calm and refined, others nervous or jittery—whispers passed among teammates, tactics reviewed one last time.
Except for one group.
The Twin Soul Sect's team walked near the back, but not due to fear or anxiety. Instead, they walked with ease—casual in demeanor, even slightly aloof. The confident smirk on Tang Jiyan's lips didn't fade as they passed through a corridor etched with golden lightning inscriptions. His white-and-black robes shimmered faintly as he adjusted the blade at his hip.
To his left, Shi Meixiu gave a brief glance behind them. Her gaze narrowed. "He's not here."
"No surprise," murmured Xiang Xiaoli, flipping a strand of silver hair behind her shoulder. Her tone was cold, but not impatient. "Knowing him, he'll show up the moment when it's either his turn or the situation becomes deadly."
Guo Bohai, always the anxious one, scratched his head. "What if he doesn't, though? Steward Yan might disqualify—"
"He'll come," Tang Jiyan said again, this time more firmly. "Don't mistake his indifference for carelessness. Shen Yuan never misses a stage that matters. Especially if it's related to his revenge and the challenge he promised to the Sword God Sect. There's still three more days for the time to end."
That single sentence silenced the group.
Even now, their bond with Shen Yuan was hard to define. They followed him, feared him, admired him, used him like he used them. But none of them truly understood him. Perhaps it was because no one really could.
And yet, even in his absence… his presence loomed like a shadow over them all.
Meanwhile, beyond the inner corridors, the arena erupted into a storm of sound.
Tens of thousands of spectators had arrived hours earlier, some even the night before, just to secure a seat. And yet, the massive stands still overflowed. Spiritual mirrors floated in the air to project different parts of the arena. Dozens of noble carriages floated above the outer rings of the colosseum, held aloft by formation arrays, their occupants peering down from private booths.
Wealthy merchants and influential families sat in lavish balcony seats. Loose cultivators filled the central seats, rowdy and loud. Further above them, glowing sigils hovered—symbols of the great sects and clans currently competing.
Even ordinary mortals stood on tiptoe near the entrance gates, some watching through crystal windows, others relying on narrated projections from spirit talismans. So dense was the crowd that people stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the gate entrances, peering in through spiritual mirrors just for a glimpse of what was to come.
"Who do you think will win?"
"I heard the Sword God Sect brought their Snow Fairy—Rong Xiulan! She's terrifying!"
"Forget her—did you see the Heaven Beast Clan? That core disciple, Yun Tian, crushed a grade 7 Earth-shattering Kong all by himself!"
"I heard one of the Twin Soul Sect's disciples haven't even shown up yet, probably he is scared—"
The air was thick with conversation, the rising tension like the beating of war drums. But in the very center of it all, cutting through the noise like a blade, stood a single figure.
Steward Yan.
He stood tall in a robe of storm-gray and deep silver, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes were closed—not in slumber, but in deliberate focus. It was as if he were meditating amidst the clamor of the world, untouched by mortal sound or worries.
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Slowly.… he opened his eyes.
The instant his gaze rose, the entire arena hushed.
There was no mystical technique. No spiritual suppression. Only the silent authority in his eyes—the kind that could make Nirvana realm cultivators drop to their knees in reverence. Even children in the audience stopped tugging at their parents' sleeves, silenced by a pressure they couldn't comprehend.
Steward Yan's gaze swept across the colosseum, then slowly softened. A small smile crept onto his lips. When he finally spoke, his voice echoed through the space like a divine proclamation—wise, unshakable, and calm.
"Esteemed guests, cultivators, nobles and commoners alike," he began, his voice echoing clearly throughout the colosseum—amplified not by spiritual sound arrays, but by sheer aura. "I know what you came for. I know what you seek. Blood and blade. Strategy and deceit. Talent and madness. Ideals and Destiny."
"Here," Steward Yan continued, "you shall see what makes a cultivator worthy of legend. Whether through honor, deception, ruthlessness, or resolve—only one thing will remain true in the end, those who stand victorious will carve their names into the heavens themselves."
He paused.
"Let us not delay what you all have come to see."
He raised a hand.
All around the arena—embedded under the massive stands—ten enormous stone gates began to glow. A surge of energy trembled through the arena floor. Then—creeeeeak—one by one, the gates slowly opened.
From them emerged the teams.
Ten in total with sex members each, each one a representation of their sect's power and philosophy. The ground trembled with their collective aura as they stepped into the light, and the crowd burst into renewed cheering, shouting the names of sects, disciples, or favored bets.
All ten teams… except one.
The Twin Soul Sect appeared with only five members. The absence of their final member, no… their team leader, Shen Yuan—did not go unnoticed.
Speculation resumed like wildfire.
"Where is he?"
"Coward."
"Maybe he's injured… or maybe he just couldn't handle the pressure."
But the five stood tall, undisturbed. Tang Jiyan even allowed himself a small, amused smirk.
High above them, suspended above the crowd like gods observing mortals, the ten sect leaders began to arrive.
Each appeared with a flash of light or elemental surge—fire, ice, wind, shadow. Each exuded power that bent the surrounding qi to their will. Even from a distance, their auras pressed on the crowd like invisible mountains.
From the seat representing the Twin Soul Sect, only one figure appeared: Sect Master Xue Linghun, his expression as cold and unreadable as always.
Tang Jiyan looked up and narrowed his eyes. No sign of the enigmatic Wu Daozhen.
"Makes sense," he thought. "One must stay back to guard the foundation of the sect."
The sect masters all stood beside their floating thrones, not sitting, their gazes lifted toward the skies. As if awaiting the arrival of something—or someone—beyond even their station.
And then, the clouds cracked like glass.
A bolt of golden thunder, thick as a pillar, descended from the storm-cloaked sky. Within that light stood a lone figure, his robe fluttering with an ethereal wind, long hair untouched by rain or gravity.
Han Bolin, the World Lord, had arrived.
As one, the sect leaders bowed, cupping their hands with the utmost reverence.
Even from afar, one could sense the gulf of power between them and the man seated at the center. Han Bolin was not merely a ruler—he was an existence that defined dominion.
"Welcome," Han Bolin's voice boomed, calm but filled with authority that could silence lands. "To those who have come from near and far, I thank you. Today, we bear witness not to the whims of fate—but the will of those who would defy it."
With a faint nod, he sat on his throne of clouds. The air stilled. And then—
"The Phase Two of the Sacred Sect Rankings… begins."
The audience erupted in deafening cheers, shaking the colosseum to its foundation.
Steward Yan smiled slightly, then turned back toward the arena. "As tradition demands, the first half of Phase Two shall be single combat duels, matches of individual strength, wit, and pride."
He raised his hand.
"The first match is between the Sword God Sect and the Heaven Beast Clan."
The rest of the teams stepped aside, returning to their respective platforms besides the gate they came from, leaving the two chosen teams to face each other in the massive circular arena.
The audience stirred with anticipation. Excited murmurs and chants began to ripple through the stands like a tide.
"Did you hear? It's that icy goddess—Rong Xiulan!"
"The Snow Fairy Sword! I saw her slice a flaming ape in half with a single stroke!"
"Hah! No chance! Senior Brother Yun Tian will flatten her. He's part spiritual beast bloodline!"
"He's undefeated in his region! The Sword God Sect's just flashy technique!"
The cheers intensified as the two teams stepped forward from their corner platforms.
The Sword God Sect disciples moved as one—precise, elegant, and restrained. They wore sleek white and silver robes, with sword emblems sewn into their sashes. Their faces showed calm pride, like noble swords that never needed to shout their sharpness.
Yi An spoke with a smirk, "The audience wants you to fight, junior sister."
Then from within their ranks, one figure gracefully stepped forward.
She walked with fluid poise, her every movement seemingly in harmony with the world. Her presence was serene, but distant—like a moon suspended in a snow-laced sky.
Rong Xiulan.
Her pale robes were lined with frost-blue embroidery, her long black hair tied with silver string. A slender sword hung at her waist, sheathed in a scabbard of mirrored ice-crystal. Her skin seemed to glow faintly under the light of the arena's spiritual lanterns, like the surface of a frozen lake at dawn.
As she stepped into the center of the arena, the air around her grew colder, a thin frost trailing her boots. It wasn't intentional. It was simply her nature—cold, refined, untouchable.
Some spectators couldn't help but be enthralled.
"She really is a fairy…"
"Too bad she's as cold as she is pretty."
"I'd let her stab me."
But Rong Xiulan paid them no heed. Her eyes remained fixed forward, tranquil yet piercing.
From the other end of the arena came a very different energy—wild, untamed, fierce.
The Heaven Beast Clan disciples strode in with the confidence of apex predators. Their tribal-style robes bore beast markings, each one unique to their ancestral lines. Some had faint horns, others elongated canines or slit-pupiled eyes, all revealing hints of beast-blood integration.
Then—a broad-shouldered man stepped forward, a grin already on his face.
Yun Tian.
His skin was sun-kissed bronze, muscles carved like stone, and two claw-like tattoos marked both his arms, glowing faintly with qi. His eyes were amber and predatory, like a lion stalking prey. Unlike the calm grace of Rong Xiulan, Yun Tian radiated brute strength and boundless self-assurance.
The Heaven Beast Clan disciples hollered behind him:
"Go, Senior Brother!"
"Show her what a real core disciple looks like!"
"She's all looks—don't fall for that sword fairy act!"
Yun Tian chuckled, clearly enjoying the attention. He cracked his knuckles and called out across the arena.
"Rong Xiulan, was it? You're beautiful, I'll admit that. But this isn't a place for pretty flowers."
The crowd gave a mixture of laughter and gasps.
Rong Xiulan didn't react.
Yun Tian stepped further onto the stage, his qi flaring. "I don't hit women, so why don't you admit defeat? Save yourself a beating, and I'll even make you my first wife."
The laughter from the Heaven Beast Clan side grew louder.
But then—
Rong Xiulan smirked. Just a small curl of her lip, but sharp as a dagger. Her eyes narrowed slightly—not with anger, but amusement.
"Ah… You misunderstand something, Yun Tian."
Her voice was soft and crisp, like frost brushing over glass.
"I'm not here to win with beauty."
She unsheathed her sword in a single, elegant motion. Its balde was curved and short, it seemed like the shape of a crescent moon. A quiet hum echoed across the arena as cold mist curled around the blade's edge.
"I'm here to cut down arrogance."
That single line sent a ripple through the crowd. Whispers spread, and even some of Yun Tian's teammates frowned slightly.
Yun Tian's smirk faltered—but only slightly. He laughed and shook his head.
"You've got spirit, I'll give you that. Fine then. Let's see if your sword's as sharp as your tongue. I like feisty women who fight back."
High above, the sect masters watched with interest.
From the Sword God Sect's seat, Sect Leader Jian Weihuang stroked his beard, nodding. "She's focused today… Good."
Across from him, Beast Chief Weng Tu of the Heaven Beast Clan snorted, arms crossed. "Bah. Snowy girls break when you push 'em. Just you watch."
But even some other sect leaders leaned forward slightly. A few even exchanged thoughtful glances.
One of them murmured, "This might be more than a warm-up…"
Back in the arena, Steward Yan raised a hand, and his eyes flicked between the two combatants.
"Disciples," he said calmly, "you stand now not as mere students, but as representatives of your sects and the path you follow."
"Do not bring shame to your lineage."
The crowd hushed. The tension was now palpable.
"Begin the match."