The arena buzzed with tension as Aaryan stepped into the duelling ring, his expression unreadable. Dust stirred under his boots, kicked up by the footsteps of the Cloud Pillar Sect disciple approaching from the other side.

Their eyes locked—no words exchanged, no pleasantries traded. The other disciple stood taller, broader, his uniform pressed and spotless, his aura sharp with the fifth stage of Anima Realm. Two full stages above Aaryan. He walked like that alone was enough to seal the match.

From the stands, someone muttered, "Mismatch."

The Cloud Pillar disciple didn't wait. He lunged forward, fist cocked back and spiritual force pulsing around his knuckles. His form was clean. Controlled. He was used to overwhelming his opponents early, cutting fights short.

Aaryan didn't move.

The blow shot forward, aimed for the face. Still, Aaryan didn't flinch. The disciple grinned mid-swing—he had mistaken it for fear.

Big mistake.

At the last instant, Aaryan shifted—just half a step, smooth as smoke. The fist grazed past his shoulder.

Crack.

His counter came fast. Elbow tucked, fist low, it slammed into the side of the disciple's ribcage. Bone gave way with a wet snap, the sound louder than it had any right to be.

The Cloud Pillar disciple collapsed sideways with a grunt, clutching his ribs.

Silence. For a beat, no one reacted.

Then Dharun smiled. Just a little.

The stands erupted.

"He's improved again—!"

"Wasn't he nearly dead last time?!"

"Did he fake that back then?"

"Fool! He was almost beaten to death that time."

Some of the outer disciples who had seen Aaryan on the Resource Distribution Day were the first to recover from the shock. They started cheering, half in disbelief, half in excitement. Back then, Aaryan had fought against multiple fifth-stage cultivators, barely standing by the end. Now he'd dropped one with a single hit.

A few inner disciples narrowed their eyes.

At the edge of the spectator stands, the elder from the Cloud Pillar Sect let out a low chuckle. He turned to Dharun, who stood calm amid the noise.

"No wonder you personally nominated him," the elder said, voice carrying a subtle undertone of respect. "Seems you have a great deal of confidence in him."

Dharun inclined his head slightly. "Confidence is earned, not given."

The Cloud Sect elder hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back to Aaryan with newfound interest.

Nearby, Rudra leaned forward, eyebrows raised. He whistled under his breath. "Where did that brat come from?" he muttered, not hiding his amusement. "That was clean. Very clean."

And Yashan—Yashan was simply staring. His arms, once folded over his chest in bored indifference, dropped to his sides. For the first time, a real spark lit up behind his calm face. He tilted his head slightly, watching Aaryan with a new, sharper kind of focus.

"Hmph. Interesting," he said under his breath.

Meanwhile, Aaryan turned, stepping back from the fallen disciple, calm as ever.

No showboating. No reaction.

This wasn't luck.

This wasn't desperation.

This—

—was control.

The score was 2–4. Cloud Pillar still led.

A new figure dropped into the ring with a dull thud.

This one moved differently. Confident, but coiled. His steps were tight and precise, his body lean, muscles twitching like they couldn't wait to be used. As he landed, he popped a pill into his mouth with an almost casual motion. A faint glimmer ran across his skin. His speed stirred the dust before he even moved.

"Lucky brat," the disciple sneered at Aaryan. "That last idiot got cocky. I won't make such an elementary mistake."

Aaryan said nothing.

From the Cloud Pillar Sect viewing stand, the elder chuckled, eyes twinkling with dry amusement. "That's Jinhai. Fastest among our outer disciples," he said to Dharun, folding his arms. "With that diluted Windpulse Draught, even faster now. Your boy put on a good show last round, I'll admit—but this? He's about to learn the difference between tricks and true cultivation."

Dharun didn't respond.

The bell rang.

Jinhai vanished.

A blur ripped through the ring, and a gust of wind followed a split-second later. Aaryan twisted sideways, barely avoiding the blow—but not with grace. It was a desperate dodge, and everyone could see it.

Before Aaryan could respond, Jinhai was gone again.

Another flash—this time behind him.

Aaryan spun, swinging low. But Jinhai skipped back, boots skimming the arena floor. Untouched. Unbothered.

Another swing. Another miss.

Aaryan's brows furrowed. Just slightly. His breathing shifted.

Then he stopped trying.

He straightened.

Lowered his guard.

And stood there. One hand loose at his side, the other hanging open. Calm. Relaxed.

The crowd murmured in confusion.

"What's he doing?" one of the Evernight disciples whispered.

"Did he give up?" another asked.

From the Cloud Pillar side, laughter broke out.

"He's done!"

"Guess the first win went to his head!"

Rudra leaned forward again, this time not smiling. "The hell is he playing at now?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Yashan tilted his head, brows drawn low. "No," he said softly. "He's thinking."

The Cloud Sect elder barked a laugh. "Or he's scared stiff. Your genius disciple seems to be broken, Dharun."

Dharun remained silent, eyes fixed on Aaryan.

In the ring, Jinhai circled. He didn't rush in—not yet. His instincts still tugged at him. But the longer Aaryan stood there, doing nothing, the more confidence flooded his face.

"Pathetic," Jinhai spat. "Then die."

He lunged.

This time, Aaryan didn't dodge.

The punch slammed into his chest.

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But Jinhai's eyes went wide.

Because Aaryan's arm had already snapped up and latched around his wrist.

It was tight. Snake-tight.

Coiling Serpent Bind.

Aaryan's other hand drew back, and then it shot forward with everything he had.

Crack.

Jinhai reeled from the first blow. A second slammed into his abdomen. Then a third—this time an elbow straight into his jaw. The momentum broke the bind and launched Jinhai backwards.

But Aaryan didn't let up.

He was already there—feet kicking up stone, inside Jinhai's guard before the pill could help him react.

A kick swept out and caught the side of Jinhai's knee.

Snap.

He dropped to one leg.

Aaryan stepped in again.

One clean uppercut.

Jinhai's body lifted off the ground and crashed down like a felled tree.

He didn't move.

Silence crashed over the arena again.

Then it broke.

First into shouts.

Then into roars.

"He did it again!"

"WHAT WAS THAT MOVE?!"

"He let himself get hit just to bind him!"

"He baited that!"

The Cloud Pillar side went quiet. Even the mocking disciples had lost their words.

The elder blinked once. Twice. Then gave a slow exhale, lips tight.

In the ring, Aaryan exhaled slowly, dust swirling at his feet. His voice was calm, but it carried clearly across the stunned arena.

"No matter how fast you are," he said, gazing down at Jinhai's fallen form, "you still have to come at me to win. And all I needed was that one moment."

The Cloud Pillar elder gave a gruff chuckle, half in admiration, half in reluctant respect.

"Indeed. A simple plan... but executing it under pressure is another matter entirely."

Rudra threw his head back laughing. "Mad bastard let the punch land on purpose! Who the hell taught him that?!"

Yashan said nothing—but he didn't look away. His arms had returned to their folded posture, but now, one finger tapped silently against his elbow.

He was paying attention.

And Dharun?

Dharun smiled.

No one saw it. Just a faint pull at the corner of his mouth.

The score was 3–4.

Evernight Pavilion clawed their way back from the edge — barely. But now, Aaryan had no one left behind him. One more win meant a final shot. One loss, and it was over.

Another disciple stepped into the ring. Taller. Older. The embroidered trim on his robe fluttered with spiritual pressure. He didn't say anything — just nodded once to Yashan, then locked eyes with Aaryan.

Sixth stage of Anima Realm.

He wasn't cocky. Wasn't fast like Jinhai, or flashy. He stood like a boulder. Arms loose, stance wide, the picture of composure.

Dharun let out a breath through his nose. "This one's not going to rush in. Bad matchup for him."

The bell rang.

Aaryan moved first. Low dash, shoulder dipped — trying to create pressure.

The Cloud Pillar disciple shifted sideways, blocking with forearms, parrying Aaryan's blows with small, precise movements. He didn't even try to counterattack. Just waited. Let Aaryan burn energy.

Ten seconds in, and Aaryan had barely touched him.

A jab came in return — sharp, quick. Aaryan dodged. But barely. That one would've rung his skull.

The crowd grew quieter, more focused.

From the stands, Rudra murmured, "That one's fighting like a cultivator. No wasted motion."

Aaryan knew it too. This wasn't a hot-headed opponent he could lure. This was a wall.

No obvious gaps.

But a wall still had one weakness.

It didn't move.

So Aaryan stopped trying to make it.

He changed angles. Started circling. Footwork tighter. Movements unpredictable.

Now he didn't attack — he tested.

A punch thrown to the shoulder. Another to the knee. A feint high, a shift low. Constant changes. Not to land damage, but to force tiny reactions. Measuring how fast he blocked. How wide his stance stayed. How much give was in his hips.

Each time, he learned.

Each time, the picture became clearer.

Dharun's eyes narrowed just a fraction.

Then — Aaryan made his move.

He dove low, fist drawn back — a strike to the ribs. Telegraphed on purpose.

The disciple blocked. Arms dropped. Weight adjusted.

But Aaryan had already twisted — it was a feint built on data — and his real attack wasn't a punch.

It was a kick to the inside ankle.

The disciple faltered just half a step — and in that half-step, Aaryan surged in. His arms snapped up, Coiling Serpent Bind flashing forward. It didn't catch a strike. It caught a balance point — the shoulder as the disciple tried to stabilize.

Then Aaryan pulled.

Hard.

The Cloud Pillar disciple twisted, trying to counter, but he was off-balance — and Aaryan's knee slammed up into his gut, knocking the wind out of him.

A second bind — this time on the arm — twisted the disciple into the ground with a sharp thud.

The crowd burst into gasps. The Cloud Pillar side shouted.

Win.

Aaryan let go, panting lightly, a single bruise rising on his cheek.

Rudra stood, lips parted. "He mapped his movement patterns mid-fight…"

Yashan's hand froze mid-tap. "He learned his body like it was a formation."

The Cloud Pillar elder leaned back, exhaling. "He broke the frame instead of the stone. Clever boy."

And Dharun?

Dharun didn't smile.

But he folded his arms.

The

score was tied.

4-4.

Aaryan rolled his shoulders, feeling the growing drag in his muscles.

Nothing serious yet. But it was there.

It's getting harder.

The first fight had been clean. Fast.

The second had cost him a rib-rattling hit just to land his bind.

This one — it took every inch of focus just to find the right moment.

His fingers flexed at his sides, the ache in his forearms stubborn, dull.

They're stronger. Higher realm. I can't match them head-on.

One mistake, and it's over.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, clearing the buzzing in his head.

Still…

The ring was warm beneath his feet. The noise of the crowd faded to a background hum.

All that mattered was the next breath.

The next move.

It's fine.

I only need one moment. Just one.

Across the ring, the final opponent stepped forward, and even the air seemed to weigh heavier.

The score was 4–4.

Yashan's jaw tightened. His fingers no longer tapped — They clenched hard around his arms.

"This shouldn't have happened," he muttered. "It wasn't supposed to come to the last match."

His final disciple stepped forward.

Taller than the last. Shoulders broad. Movements crisp, without wasted energy. Peak sixth stage Anima — his spiritual pressure hit like a hammer just by walking.

He didn't glance at Aaryan. He looked only to Yashan, bowed once, then entered the ring.

Aaryan inhaled. His ribs ached. His arms were slower than they'd been minutes ago. The skin above his brow felt split.

He didn't wait for the bell.

He couldn't afford to.

Aaryan struck first — and met a wall.

The opponent didn't dodge. He absorbed the hit, then slammed his elbow into Aaryan's sternum, sending him skidding backwards. Before Aaryan could catch breath, another blow crashed into his shoulder — the force nearly dislocated it.

A roar swept the Cloud Pillar side.

Yashan exhaled slowly, smirking now. "He's done playing around."

Another strike — this one to Aaryan's thigh. His leg buckled.

Aaryan gritted his teeth, forced himself up — only to eat a spinning kick to the ribs. His body whipped sideways, tumbling across the stone.

The Evernight Pavilion was silent.

The disciple popped a pill into his mouth, and a faint shimmer bloomed across his skin, as if the very air around him thickened with newfound strength. His aura surged — a wave of pressure crashing over the arena as his next strike smashed into the earth beneath Aaryan, leaving a crack on the ground.

The Cloud Pillar elder chuckled. "Strength. In the end, that's what always decides things. Tricks are fine for crowd play — but this is cultivation."

He looked toward Dharun, whose face remained unreadable.

"Your disciple gave us a good show. But he's done. Want to admit defeat now?"

Dharun didn't blink. "No."

Then he turned, voice even: "Let's bet instead."

The Cloud Pillar elder snorted. "You serious?"

Dharun gestured toward the fight. "You said strength wins. Let's see how confident you really are."

There was something unsettling about Dharun's calmness.

The elder's brow furrowed. He looked back to the ring.

Aaryan was on his knees now, blood on his lip. Breathing ragged. His guard was slow. His body swayed with every blow.

The Cloud Pillar elder almost laughed—then caught himself. Dharun wasn't mocking. He was waiting.

"…Fine," he said finally. "I'll wager that Coldspire Lotus you've been chasing."

Dharun nodded. "Accepted."

In the ring, Aaryan wiped blood from his eye. His legs screamed at him. His ribs felt broken — one, maybe two. His vision flickered for a moment, then returned. Dimmer.

Each breath felt like a blade twisting in his chest, his limbs slowing with each passing second. His vision blurred, the weight of his body dragging him down. But through the fog of pain, something sparked. Focus. He couldn't afford to give in yet. Not now. He had to win, or everything would have been for nothing.

The next strike drove him into the ground again.

Pain. Sharp, white-hot. But even sharper — clarity.

I'm not faster. I'm not stronger. He's breaking me apart.

But he had to attack. Coiling Serpent Bind could only catch. It could not create.

He couldn't bait. Couldn't circle. Couldn't test.

Then don't.

Let him hit.

Let him think he's already won.

Aaryan rose again. Unsteady. He made no move to guard.

The Cloud Pillar disciple charged.

One hit — to the ribs.

A second — to the face.

A third — down on the collarbone.

And Aaryan didn't stop him.

Didn't even resist.

He staggered, coughing blood — but his hand moved in that instant, fingertips brushing the disciple's belt loop.

A shift.

A turn.

Anchor point.

The disciple didn't even realize he'd been touched — until his feet slid mid-stride. The bind pulled through the cloth itself, not a limb.

His opponent twisted to strike again — but he was off-step. Off-rhythm.

And that's when Aaryan exploded.

One elbow jammed into the side of his knee.

A heel stomped into the top of his foot.

A sudden, violent shoulder slam cracked against his nose.

The bind tightened — now caught on his hip.

The disciple tried to grab Aaryan's arm — but the second bind looped under his own wrist.

A tangle.

And Aaryan used the bind's own force to swing his body weight up — into a spinning, close-range headbutt that snapped the man's nose and sent him reeling backwards.

Aaryan didn't let go.

He fell with him.

Wrapped him in mid-air.

Twisted his body like a constrictor — knees, elbows, hands all anchoring.

They crashed together.

Hard.

A final slam echoed through the ring. Dust exploded.

No one moved.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

Only Aaryan rose. Shaking. Bloody. Eyes unfocused.

But standing.

The sixth-stage cultivator lay still, completely bound, unmoving.

Silence.

Then — uproar.

A few disciples from Cloud Pillar shot glares at their fallen comrade, their expressions darkening. Meanwhile, Evernight Pavilion's side erupted into disbelief, with one disciple muttering under his breath, 'Did he really just...'

"HE WON?!"

"He—he flipped him mid-air?!"

"He used the bind to fall—!"

"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

One Inner disciple. "That's not a move, that's madness!"

Yashan didn't speak. Didn't blink.

The Cloud Pillar elder stared, eyes wide.

Then turned slowly to Dharun, lips parting. "…You—"

Dharun raised a single brow.

Held out his hand.

The elder snarled — and tossed him the Coldspire Lotus, jaw tight.

Aaryan wobbled off the ring, his legs shaky, each step a battle to stay upright. Under his breath, he cursed, "This better be worth it. All this pain for a couple of lousy pills and a smug elder? Next time, someone else can deal with this nonsense…"

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