"Next, welcome the pride of the Jade Lotus Sect—Patriarch Luo Shen, accompanied by their head disciple, the illustrious Yuanggai!"
A wave of cheers and murmurs spread through the coliseum as the Jade Lotus Sect made their entrance. Unlike the delicate elegance of the Blossom Sect, the Jade Lotus Sect exuded power and refinement, a stark contrast that immediately commanded attention.
Yuanggai led the disciples with measured, unwavering steps, his presence alone demanding respect. He was a young man just under twenty, tall and broad-shouldered, his emerald-green robes flowing effortlessly around him, embroidered with golden lotuses that seemed to shimmer as he walked. His jet-black hair was neatly tied back, revealing a face sculpted with sharp, aristocratic features—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and eyes that held a calm yet imposing intensity.
His aura was one of absolute confidence, not the kind that boasted, but the kind that made it clear—he was a man who never entertained the thought of losing.
The disciples behind him walked in perfect unison, their discipline evident, each carrying an air of silent strength.
Above, on the second level, Rui's fists clenched as he watched Yuanggai pass below.
"So that's Yuanggai, huh?" Yiren mused, tapping her chin.
"He's everything the rumors say he is," Saya remarked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Strong, composed, and unshaken by the noise of the crowd."
Down in the first level, Lina crossed her arms, biting her lip as she stared at Yuanggai's back.
"I bet a hundred spirit stones that he wins," someone whispered in the crowd.
"You're crazy! The odds are one to one in his favor!" another responded.
"And for good reason! He's already at the Peak of the Body Tempering Realm!"
Pao Pao, watching from above, smirked as he sipped his tea. "That kid's got presence, I'll give him that."
Arhatam, the alchemist sitting below, scoffed. "Tch, everyone loves a golden boy. Let's see how he fares when things stop going his way."
"And now, let us welcome the force of the Northern Peaks! From the Ironhide Sect—Patriarch Toghon, accompanied by their head disciple, the indomitable Batu!"
A thunderous cheer erupted as the Ironhide Sect entered, their presence imposing and unshakable.
Batu led his fellow disciples like a warlord marching onto the battlefield. A head taller than most, his physique was a fortress of muscle, his broad frame making even the armored elders seem small beside him. His dark bronze skin bore scars, not from recklessness but from a lifetime of grueling battles.
Dressed in a simple but durable robe reinforced with iron-threaded embroidery, Batu carried no weapon—for his body was his blade. His fists, wrapped in thick leather bindings, clenched and unclenched with barely contained power.
His short, cropped black hair and stern, heavy brows made his glare even more intimidating. When his cold gray eyes met Yuanggai's and Mei Rong's, they gleamed with unspoken challenge.
Yuanggai smirked slightly, but Mei Rong's expression remained unreadable.
"Damn, look at the size of him!" someone in the crowd exclaimed.
"They say Batu's body is as tough as steel! Blades barely scratch him!"
"He doesn't need a weapon—he'll just crush his opponent with his bare hands!"
"I heard he fought an Earth-Titan Boar with nothing but his fists and won!"
High above, Pao Pao let out a low whistle. "Heh, now that's a terrifying kid. Are they sure he is not on the pill?"
The alchemist scoffed, crossing his arms. "Tch, brute force alone won't win the Scale Dalgona. He's impressive, sure, but strength without strategy is nothing but wasted potential."
Yiren leaned forward, intrigued. "Batu, huh? A monster in human skin."
Saya, however, was unfazed. "Strength isn't everything. Let's see if his mind is as sharp as his fists."
With Batu and the Ironhide Sect taking their place, the coliseum buzzed with even greater excitement.
Three prodigies had arrived. Three forces, each different but equally dangerous.
And yet, there were still more to come.
"Now, from the Silent Moon Sect, we present the ever-enigmatic Matriarch Yueling and her head disciple, the Phantom Wraith—Xie Lian!"
A wave of hushed whispers swept through the crowd as Xie Lian stepped forward, his presence exuding an icy stillness. Unlike the vibrant entrances before him, there was no flourish, no ostentatious display. Instead, there was an eerie silence—a void that seemed to swallow sound itself.
His robes were a deep shade of moonlit silver, lined with midnight black. They barely fluttered as he moved, his steps so controlled that it was as if he were a shadow given form. His face was pale, sharp, and unreadable, his ashen-gray eyes scanning the coliseum with neither arrogance nor humility—just an unsettling indifference.
"That's Xie Lian?" one disciple murmured. "He doesn't even look real…"
"I heard he once fought an elder in a duel and the man didn't even realize he'd been cut until he tried to move," another whispered.
From the second level, Pao Pao grinned while rubbing his chin. "Interesting… So the Silent Moon Sect has sent their little ghost this year."
Meanwhile, Yuanggai, arms crossed, gave a slow nod. "Cold bastard," he muttered. "But strong."
Xie Lian said nothing. He merely took his place among the other prodigies, hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight yet relaxed, as if this was nothing more than a minor formality.
"And now, from the Serpent River Sect, we welcome Matriarch Huo Qing and her head disciple, the Serpent Fang—Jin Shui!"
A wave of cheers erupted from a particular section of the crowd, where supporters of the Serpent River Sect hollered with unrestrained enthusiasm. Unlike the eerie silence that followed Xie Lian's entrance, Jin Shui's arrival was loud, bold, and commanding.
Draped in emerald and obsidian robes embroidered with golden serpentine patterns, Jin Shui walked with an unmistakable air of dominance. His long, jet-black hair was tied in a high ponytail, emphasizing his sharp, confident features. Golden eyes, like those of a predator, gleamed beneath the sunlight, their piercing gaze scanning the coliseum with a smirk that promised trouble.
"Heh, finally, some real competition," Jin Shui remarked as his eyes landed on Yuanggai, Mei Rong, and Xie Lian. "Was starting to think this would be boring."
"That arrogant snake," someone from the audience grumbled.
"A snake he may be, but he's deadly," another responded. "Didn't you hear? He crippled an entire squad of rogue cultivators alone last month. They called him Serpent Fang for a reason."
From the second level, Matriarch Huo Qing observed her disciple with a pleased expression, her arms folded across her chest. "He'll make a fine champion," she mused.
Meanwhile, Yuanggai scoffed. "Still running your mouth, Jin Shui?"
Jin Shui grinned. "And still winning, Yuanggai."
With a cocky chuckle, Jin Shui took his place among the prodigies, standing with a relaxed posture, arms behind his head as if he was here just to enjoy the show.
"And finally, from the Rising Stone Sect, we welcome Patriarch Weh and the Star of the Sect—Salma!"
A crescendo of applause erupted, but it was mixed—some cheering with admiration, others with murmured skepticism. Salma entered the arena, her poised steps radiating confidence, her head held high. Clad in a form-fitting crimson and black robe, the Rising Stone Sect's emblem gleamed on her back. Her long auburn hair was bound in a high ponytail, accentuating her piercing hazel eyes that seemed to glimmer with both determination and calculation.
She was undeniably striking, a warrior who carried both grace and lethality.
Somewhere amidst the sea of spectators, a hushed voice muttered, "Bitch."
Yiren's ears twitched, and she turned her head sharply toward the source. A cloaked figure stood nearby, their posture stiff, their presence almost too well-hidden among the crowd.
(Was I imagining it?) Yiren frowned, scanning the mysterious figure, but before she could dwell on it, the crowd surged with excitement once more.
On the second level, Weh smiled broadly, shaking hands with the other patriarchs and matriarchs. His greetings to the Jade Lotus Sect patriarch were particularly warm, exchanging pleasantries and subtle affirmations regarding the arranged marriage between their respective head disciples.
"Hah, this will strengthen both of our sects," Weh said with a satisfied nod.
The Jade Lotus Sect's patriarch merely offered a neutral smile, but the intent was clear—this was a political move, and they both knew it.
The coliseum trembled under the weight of roaring cheers. The air was thick with excitement, the sheer anticipation palpable as countless voices chanted the names of their favorites. Among the crowd, bets were placed, rivalries were stoked, and loyalties were reaffirmed.
Meanwhile, on the second level, where the true elites resided, the three sponsors were indulging in their own discussion.
Wurong leaned forward, his sharp eyes sweeping across the promising talents below. "Which one is your favorite?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
Nobu, ever the swordsman, tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sheathed blade, as if weighing the strengths of each contender. "It's either Xie Lian or Jin Shui, the Serpent Fang," he finally said. "They have the most refined techniques among the lot. And you?"
"Yuanggai and Salma," Wurong admitted. "But if I had to pick between them… I'd say Yuanggai. His control over his energy is remarkable, and he's ruthless when he needs to be."
Both men then turned to the last of their trio.
"And what about you, Old Pao?" Nobu asked.
Pao Pao, who had been leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin, finally straightened. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he rested his chin on his knuckles.
"Mine?" He smirked, pausing just long enough to build suspense. Then, with a grin that held an almost knowing amusement, he said, "He's about to enter."
"Huh?" Both Nobu and Wurong furrowed their brows, sharing a glance before turning their attention back to the arena.
Weh got a flicker of confusion passed over his face. He furrowed his brows as he counted the chairs prepared for the heads of the sects.
Each patriarch and matriarch had their assigned place, the seating meticulously arranged. Yet… there was one extra seat.
A single vacant chair, positioned as if it had been reserved for someone important.
(Who is supposed to sit there…?) Weh narrowed his eyes, but before he could dwell on it, the announcer's voice rang once more.
And then—
"AND NOW—OUR FINAL PARTICIPANT!" the announcer's voice boomed, amplified by energy, cutting through the coliseum like thunder.
The entire crowd turned toward the entryway, a sudden wave of curiosity and speculation sweeping through the stands. Who was this last entrant that even Pao Pao seemed so confident about?
A hush fell over the arena.
Silence.
For the first time since the tournament's opening, the entire coliseum fell into an unnatural stillness. It was as if the world itself had taken a breath—only to forget to exhale.
Weh's eyes, once calm and calculating, shrank into tiny dots. His fingers dug into the armrests of his seat as a name, half-spoken, half-breathed, slipped past his lips.
"Noel...!"
As if drawn by an invisible thread, his gaze snapped to the side, where sure enough—a ghost from his past had seated himself, the man's presence as overwhelming as ever.
Noel.
Draped in the very attire his father once wore, his every movement carried the weight of legacy and defiance. His sharp features were set into an immaculate smile, one that neither greeted nor acknowledged the other patriarchs, as if they were beneath his notice.
Instead, he simply took his seat—as if it had always belonged to him.
And by some cruel twist of fate, it was right beside Weh.
The Rising Stone Patriarch stiffened. His fingers curled tighter, his breath caught in his throat.
He hadn't seen Noel since the 'hampers', and yet here he was—uninvited, unannounced, and seated beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Because the moment Noel sat down, all heads turned toward the entrance gate.
The head disciples, who had held themselves with unwavering confidence, stilled.
Yuanggai froze. Salma's lips parted, unable to contain her shock.
And then—he stepped forward.
Kazel.
Draped in the Immortal Sect's head disciple robe, his attire was nearly untouched by tradition—except for one addition. A half shoulder cape, pure and white, flowing like a banner of defiance.
He was regal and mighty, effortless and commanding. His stance—not arrogant, but certain. His every step deliberate, as if he were walking to claim something already his.
And his eyes.
Brilliant blue. Sharp, unyielding. They welcomed every single gaze that fell upon him.
He did not shrink from their stares—he basked in them.
He let them see him.
The audience gasped. Murmurs exploded like wildfire across the stands.
From the second level, Yiren was momentarily taken aback. But as her surprise melted, it was replaced with a smirk.
"Heh. Show-off."
Beside her, Saya didn't uncrossed her arms—she crossed her legs instead.
"Looks like I'm not leaving."
"Ah he looks so handsome!" said the cloaked figure.
Yiren tilted her head over to the cloak figure with furrowed brows.
In the first level, Rui and Lina snapped their heads toward each other, eyes wide.
"It's him!" they said in unison.
And at that moment—Kazel stood there, above them all, drinking in their disbelief, their awe, their silent recognition.
Because whether they liked it or not—
"This feels like home."