The elders erected ten distinct platforms, each separated by intricate formations. A hundred aspirants, divided into groups, advanced and ascended their respective stages, each accompanied by ten prodigies.
Though a battle royale might not be the ideal measure of one's abilities, in the cultivation world, facing multiple adversaries is often an inescapable reality. Whether it's vying for a coveted treasure or venturing into a mysterious realm, it's a solitary battle against the world—a truth universally acknowledged.
All participants hailed from the Foundation Realm, which meant the duels were brisk, seldom exceeding twenty minutes. Limited to rudimentary spells like the flying sword and basic enhancement techniques, the combatants showcased their burgeoning prowess.
Yet, even with such constraints, they wielded power a hundredfold greater than that of mortals, their might bordering on the divine.
Among the ten victors, only a select few radiated brilliance, as the allure of low-tier combat failed to captivate the masses. The subsequent echelons mirrored this trend, ascending from the nascent stages of the Foundation Realm to its zenith.
Despite numbering over six hundred, these prodigies of the Foundation Realm were but fledgling stars in a vast cosmos.
In stark contrast, the final quartet of groups boasted a solitary faction of Nascent Soul connoisseurs, masters of the ethereal arts.
The adepts of the Golden Core Realm wielded an innate supremacy, channeling their qi with unparalleled alacrity and harboring reservoirs of spiritual energy within their dantians.
With martial prowess, they could crystallize their qi into formidable techniques, their vigor echoing through the battle cries of 'Divine Bull Punch' or 'Golden Sword of Silence.' Far from mere cacophony, these incantations served as vital conduits in the infancy of technique cultivation, forging a vivid tableau in the mind's eye, aiding the practitioner in the embodiment of their art.
Yet, for all the spectacle of their qi-crafted visages, these manifestations bore no true essence, mere phantoms of the profound depths yet to be explored.
Twang!
The resonant thrum of a zither rippled through the air, a sound so profound that it didn't just reverberate across the stage—it sent a shockwave through the very essence of the place. The ten combatants, locked in a display of martial prowess, found their qi-manifestations fracturing, splintering like delicate glass sculptures caught in an unseen storm.
A hush fell, a silence so complete it bordered on the sacred. Even the Sect leaders, those venerable figures of authority, and the Overseer, an entity of inscrutable power, were intrigued by this. The stillness was palpable, a testament to the unexpected turn of events.
All gazes converged on a single figure: a girl, poised in the serenity of the Lotus position, her eyes closed in tranquil defiance. The zither lay before her, the instrument of disruption, now silent in the aftermath of its own resonance.
Though taken aback, the middle-aged man proclaimed the cessation of the duels for the Golden realm cultivators. His voice, firm yet tinged with disbelief, cut through the charged atmosphere, signaling an end that seemed almost premature. The audience, their eyes still wide with astonishment, murmured among themselves. The abrupt conclusion of the spectacle left many questions hanging in the air, questions that buzzed like bees in the hushed whispers of the crowd.
His gaze lifted to the upper echelons of the arena, where the air shimmered with a veil of seclusion. From within that isolated space, silent instructions were conveyed, invisible threads of command that only he could perceive.
With a measured nod, he turned back to the sea of expectant faces and declared the commencement of the final round for the Nascent Soul Realm experts. "We shall resume after an hour's reprieve," he announced, his voice echoing with an authority that brooked no dissent.
The crowd, still reeling from the day's earlier surprises, now buzzed with a renewed sense of anticipation.
Beneath the veil's secretive embrace, a select few were arrayed in a solemn line. Sect leaders and supreme elders from both factions sat with an air of austere contemplation, the Overseer presiding at the center like the calm eye of a storm.
"She's Xianyu Lian from Mystic Valley," Lianxi Mei, the Sect Leader of the Black Lotus Sect, remarked with a note of admiration that was rare for her. "It appears she has attained some mastery in the art of zither intent. That's quite impressive," she conceded, her voice carrying the subtle undercurrents of her sect's enigmatic reputation.
Her counterparts from the opposing faction nodded in agreement, their expressions a mix of surprise and acknowledgment.
" Too bad," the Overseer sighed, the sound laced with a despondency that immediately drew the attention of the inner circle.
His gaze settled on Xianyu Lian, and in that moment, she felt an inexplicable stirring within her soul. "Such a promising seed," he mused aloud, "how could it remain hidden from those uninvited guests?" A faint twitch of regret played upon his lips, betraying a sense of loss for what might have been an oversight of great potential.
' Those people ' they were all aware of those *guests* and could only shake their heads resonating their feelings with the Overseer.
The assembly within the veil, a gathering of the realm's most esteemed, shared a collective awareness of the guests—those enigmatic figures whose influence was felt but seldom seen. As the Overseer's sigh echoed softly among them, heads bowed in a silent chorus of agreement.
Each nod conveyed a resonance of sentiment with the Overseer, a tacit acknowledgment of the situation's gravity and the potential that lay within Xianyu Lian.