Present
As Rand entered the stadium, he was met with almost the same scene as seven years ago. Just yesterday it was an empty space where the novices trained together in the martial arts. Today, in its place stood an impressive-sized arena, surrounded by high stands. The only thing that distinguished the current scene from the one in his memory was the absence of the protective dome over the stands, which had previously obscured the view of those sitting there. Today, it was possible to see the small crowd gathered there without any obstructions.
There were over a hundred people, many adepts, disciples, a few deacons, and four elders, some of whom were long-time acquaintances of Rand.
"Hmm, as he promised, Byron came, and he even brought his daughter, Moraine. It's almost funny, as if the family came to cheer for me... And, of course, the elder of the outer sect, Edard is also here. That was expected, as he is obligated to attend such events. He was the one that should have been at the square testing new novices back then but for some unknown reason he was replaced by Byron. As for the other two, I don't recognize them, but surely one of them is Lucius's father, Elder Royden. This place is far too lively for such a minor and insignificant event as the first competition of the novices. I don't think this is a regular occurrence; it's too uninteresting for an experienced cultivator to watch the struggles of young practitioners. Most would call such a pastime a waste of time. So, either my peers have a lot of relatives who came to see their successes, or there's some other meaning to this. But at the moment, it probably doesn't change anything for me," Rand pondered. He then scanned the area once more and saw another familiar face, unchanged over the years, at the foot of the stands. "And that unperceptive deacon, I think his name was Fargus, is still the chief observer. I'm surprised that Elder Edard didn't send him far away after that incident. But I doubt he will be able to neglect his duties this time under the watchful eyes of so many spectators and especially the elders."
Immersed in memories and thoughts, Rand continued walking with the other novices under deacon Gerhard's leadership for a few more dozen meters, stopping halfway to the arena, where they were met by deacon Fargus.
"I entrust them to your care. But remember, Fargus, if any of them dies, I will personally hold you accountable," Gerhard declared with a stony face, literally boring his opponent with his eyes.
"You're always so kind, friend Gerhard. No greeting, no asking how I'm doing... Still holding a grudge about that incident? But never mind, let's not make a scene in front of our young juniors. Don't worry, nothing will happen to your dear novices if they follow the rules. Especially this time."
Stunned by such an exchange, the disciples stood rooted to the spot. It was clear that these two couldn't stand each other, and it even seemed that deacon Gerhard very much wanted to hit him but was restraining himself with all his might. Most of the novices remained silent, not wanting to attract the deacons' attention, who were clearly not in the mood, but one less sensitive disciple asked his neighbor extremely quietly:
"Can one die in the competition? I thought that in the last moment before a fatal blow, the formation in the arena would protect us."
But for the deacons, such whispering was indistinguishable from shouting, and Gerhard who was already preparing to leave, decided to answer:
"Rarely, but deaths do happen. Often, the formations find it difficult to independently assess whether a particular strike will be fatal for a specific disciple or novices. There are too many factors to consider, so human intervention is frequently required. The chief observer monitors such matters, among other things, and he is the one who decides in the final moment whether to use the formation's power to save a student or not. But I advise against letting it come to that, surrender in time, because he can make mistakes, overlook, or even intentionally be late, allowing someone to die," Gerhard said, not taking his eyes off Fargus, expecting to see some kind of reaction to his words.
And he saw it. It was clear that Fargus didn't like such a response, discrediting him as the chief observer in front of so many people, his face twisted into a grimace, but for some reason, he didn't argue back in any way.
"Tch, coward and scum," Gerhard muttered, barely audible to mortal ears, upon seeing that Fargus didn't respond to him, practically provoking a conflict. But hearing no reply, he didn't delay any further and left for the stands.
After his departure, deacon Fargus took a deep breath, and within a second, all the displeasure vanished from his face. He even regained his smile before he finally addressed the novices, who were still in shock from the scene that had just played out. One deacon publicly humiliated and insulted another, and the latter didn't react at all. On an ordinary day, such a situation would have delighted the novices, becoming a great topic for conversations and gossip. But today, this humiliated deacon would be responsible for ensuring they didn't accidentally kill each other. If he took out his grudge against their teacher on his students, they might not survive it. So no one found it amusing.
"Greetings, children. As you've already guessed, my name is Fargus. I'm a deacon and the chief observer at the novices' competition, and I apologize for that scene. My relationship with your teacher isn't the best, but don't worry, it won't affect my judging. But enough about that. First, I'll explain what's ahead. This is a standard competition consisting of simple one-on-one duels. Victory is awarded when one of the participants surrenders or loses consciousness. Also, if I decide that one of you is no longer able to fight, I will stop the match. The draw for the first round has already been conducted; you needn't worry about its fairness, as it was completely random. There are fifty-one of you, so someone might get lucky in the early rounds and not have to fight. If after all the rounds you are unhappy with your placement, each of you, starting from the second place and below, can challenge someone ranked higher than you once, but no more than ten positions higher. If you win, you will take the loser's rank. Any questions about the rules?"
Immediately, Lin, a boy with blue eyes, raised his hand, asking for permission to speak, and after Fargus nodded, he asked:
"What if the opponent doesn't want to surrender, but you don't end the fight? Did I understand correctly that we can finish them off?"
"Correct. If your opponent doesn't want to surrender, you can deliver a fatal blow. Don't worry, I'll stop it at the last moment. Any other questions about the rules?"
This time, Melissa, a girl with the Ice Body and also Rand's sister's namesake, raised her hand.
"So, for example, if I take first place, can everyone from second to eleventh challenge me to a fight once? Does that mean I would have to fight an additional ten times? Will there be time to rest?"
"What an interesting stream of questions, girl, you hit right at the core. Endurance is one of the most important qualities of the strongest. There's little value in someone who is strong for only a few minutes and then turns into a weakling. But it's rare for all ten to try to take the first place, the competition is too fierce, and defeated due to the fatigue "champions" usually hold grudges... Usually, three to four people, at most, compete for the top spot. And you are allowed to rest for five minutes between rounds. Does anyone else have a question?"
This time, no one raised their hand.
"Excellent, then follow me, someone wants to give you a short speech. And yes, when we approach the stands, don't forget to greet the elders present, or they might take offense," said the deacon, after which he led the novices to a small platform in front of the stands. Upon arrival, everyone almost synchronously bowed to the figures sitting in the stands, one of whom immediately stood up and addressed the gathered young men and women.
"Good, good, what a splendid addition to our sect. Young, but already exuding power, as befits young dragons. But I'm getting a bit ahead again, I need to introduce myself first. My name is Edard, and I am an elder and the head of the outer sect. Beside me are elders Byron, Royden, and Melkor. Today, we have gathered here so you can show us, and more importantly yourselves, what you are capable of in real combat. Some of you have trained in martial arts for many years, while others have barely done so for a pathetic seven days. Some of you have parents or masters helping with your cultivation, while others are orphans without a teacher. Some of you are eighteen years old and your bodies are full of strength, while some have just recently turned ten and are far from reaching their full potential. If you think the very concept of a competition between people with such differences is unfair, you would be absolutely right. In this regard, there is nothing fair about this competition, but we hold it anyway because there is never anything fair in real combat. Through this, we want you to learn to adapt, plan, use your heads, and most importantly, fight to the end no matter how tough it gets. Only when you learn this — when, not if, because I believe in you — will you be able to unlock your hidden potential. After this, you will be able to fight any opponent with dignity, no matter what advantages they have or how strong they are. In my humble opinion, this, and not just cultivation as many believe, is one of the main traits of a strong practitioner. But we understand that you are still young, know little, and find it hard to understand why you need to learn all this, so we have introduced rewards to motivate you to achieve great things. But these rewards are kind to the strong and merciless to the weak… Alright, I won't beat around the bush, I know why you came here, and it's not for an old man's speech. Look at what the sect has prepared for you," concluded the elder. He then clapped his hands, and from the ground, a solid stone wall emerged before the astonished novices, engraved with the following words:
For first place: 500 spirit stones, a high-quality magical artifact of choice, ten Qi accumulation pills, and a black order for obtaining a technique.
For second place: 300 spirit stones, a medium-quality magical artifact of choice, five Qi accumulation pills, and a black order for obtaining a technique.
For third place: 200 spirit stones, three Qi accumulation pills, a low-quality magical artifact of choice, and a black order for obtaining a technique.
For fourth to tenth places: 100 spirit stones, one Qi accumulation pill, and a white order for obtaining a technique.
For eleventh to twentieth places: 50 spirit stones and a white order for obtaining a technique.
From twenty-first to fortieth place: twenty-five spirit stones and a white order for obtaining a technique.
From forty-first to fiftieth place: ten spirit stones and a white order for obtaining a technique.
The last place will receive nothing.
The elder gave the novices about a minute to read and contemplate what was written before announcing, "I've given you enough time to decide which place you are ready to fight for. So, let's begin. Fargus, get to your duties."
"Of course, elder," the deacon responded, then called out the names of the novices whose turn was first, "Lin, Joel, you're up first, step onto the arena."
Two young men immediately stepped forward and headed towards the arena. Joel was twelve years old, quite tall and muscular for his age, and skilled in martial arts. It was evident that he had been trained since childhood. He was also one of those who had reached the Qi Condensation stage within seven days, though he had no special gift. Lin was older, thirteen, but due to his slim build and short stature, he seemed much younger. He, too, had reached the first stage. Although Lin did not show any outstanding abilities in martial arts, he possessed the Eyes of Blue Flame, which more than leveled the playing field.
The two young men silently ascended the steps to the arena, which was immediately enveloped in some sort of protective barrier, isolating it from the outside world. They stood about ten meters apart, one tall and strong, the other short and weak, creating an impression that the outcome was already decided.
"Begin," the deacon's voice rang out. Joel immediately started to close the distance with a run, while Lin remained in place, watching his approaching opponent without even bothering to assume a fighting stance. As Joel neared Lin, he sensed something was wrong and tried to slow down, but it was too late for such a maneuver. Lin's eyes suddenly glowed with bright blue flames, which burst out like two fiery avalanches. The only thing that saved Joel from being completely engulfed by the fire was its relatively slow movement. At the last moment, he managed to leap to the side, but his left arm and leg were still caught by the flames. And that was enough to seal his fate.
"Aaahhh, it hurts, it hurts, I'm burning. Aaaah," Joel screamed, rolling on the ground in an attempt to extinguish the flames on his limbs, from which the skin was already peeling off, exposing the muscles beneath. Despite his efforts, the fire refused to go out, spreading as if Joel's body was perfect fuel for it.
Lin watched the scene serenely, making no effort to prevent Joel extinguish himself, displaying confidence that Joel would not succeed. After a few seconds, Joel could not endure the excruciating pain any longer and shouted the magic word:
"Stop it, I surrender, I surrender, just stop it, aaah…"
Immediately after his shout, he was enveloped in a silvery light, and the fire that had resisted all his attempts to extinguish it was instantly snuffed out. Joel disappeared from the arena in a flash of silver light and reappeared lying at Deacon Fargus's feet.
"Take this pill, it will ease the pain," said the deacon, handing a moaning Joel a pill. With a trembling right hand, Joel took it and swallowed it, and within a few seconds, his moaning began to subside and then stopped altogether, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Winner: Lin, you may leave the arena. Next up: Oberin and Cairus," deacon Fargus announced.
The young men obeyed and ascended to the arena. Cairus was a fifteen-year-old with rare light hair for the empire. He was one of the first to reach the Qi Condensation stage, accomplishing it within the first four days after receiving the method. He probably surpassed Rand, who spent almost all his time studying the technique, in terms of the amount of Qi in his body, even though he was still quite far from the second level.
"Well then, let's see how good the Bronze Body technique really is," thought Rand, eyeing his opponent. Like Joel before him, Cairus immediately began to close the distance between them once the fight was announced. Rand, much like Lin earlier, stood calmly, doing nothing. Seeing this, Cairus abruptly stopped halfway, evidently fearing that something similar to the previous match would occur. But after waiting a few seconds and noticing nothing unusual except for the slightly altered color of Rand's skin from the day before, he cautiously resumed his approach.
When Cairus was within striking distance, he wasted no time and swung his right fist at Rand's face. Cairus was prepared for anything: a dodge, a block, or even a sudden counterattack. However, what happened next was beyond his expectations. Rand remained still, even as his opponent's fist closed in on his face. In those brief moments, Cairus thought, "He won't have time to dodge anymore. He must have underestimated me. I'll put all my strength into this punch, knock him down so he won't get up, and end the fight instantly."
Boom! To Cairus, it felt like he had punched a steel armor instead of a human being. The fact that he had hit with all his newly acquired strength from the Mythical Blood cultivation method only made things worse. His fist, upon impact, turned into a grotesque mess, resembling a poorly made mince with bones sticking out at odd angles.
"AAAH, how is this possible, it hurts, it hurts so much..."
Rand, meanwhile, gently rubbed the spot where Cairus's fist had landed and casually remarked, "Could you hit me a few more times, please? I can't quite tell if I felt anything or not."