The Great Sky-Plaza of the Azure Cloud Sect was carved from a single slab of white marble floating at the center of the outer peaks. Banners of silk snapped in the fierce high-altitude wind, while hundreds of outer disciples packed the rising stone bleachers, their voices merging into a tense, buzzing roar.
At the highest tier of the plaza sat the sect hierarchy. Elder Lu reclined on a carved jade throne, his sharp eyes scanning the crowds below with cold detachment. Beside him, seated among the inner-sect observers, was Lin Xiu. Her expression was serene as mountain snow, her fingers resting lightly on her icy blade.
In the staging area below, Ren stood near the back, his arms crossed inside his baggy, faded sleeves. He kept his head down, maintaining the posture of a cowed, insignificant laborer.
"Look at him," a nearby disciple muttered, nudging his friend. "The Null-Vein actually registered for the tournament. He must want to die."
"Song Chen offered ten low-grade spirit stones to whoever breaks his legs in the first round," another laughed. "He won't make it to the main bracket."
Ren ignored them. Inside his core, the microscopic singularity spun slowly, feeding on the ambient noise, the vibrations of hundreds of heavy footsteps, and the atmospheric pressure of the high plaza. Every bit of kinetic energy around him was just fuel.
A gong echoed across the marble plaza, cutting through the noise.
"The preliminary trials begin!" an officiant shouted, his voice reinforced with Qi. "Ring Number Four: Ren versus Chen Bao!"
A tall, broad-shouldered disciple leaped onto the stone platform with a cocky grin, drawing a heavy, double-edged iron broadsword. His muscles bulged, humming with a faint, yellowish Earth-Element Qi.
Ren walked up the wooden steps slowly, dragging his feet as if he barely had the strength to carry himself.
" You've got three seconds to forfeit, trash," Chen Bao sneered, swinging his broadsword in a wide circle, the heavy metal whistling through the air. "Or I'll use your skull to sweep the ring."
"Begin!" the referee barked.
Chen Bao lunged forward, his broadsword glowing with dense Earth Qi as he brought it down in a vertical, skull-cleaving arc—The Mountain-Splitter Strike.
Ren didn't dodge. He didn't draw a weapon.
Just as the edge of the blade was an inch from his forehead, Ren shifted his local mass. He activated his Dense Realm Art across a microscopic field spanning his brow and shoulders.
CLANG!
The heavy broadsword struck Ren’s head with a deafening ring that echoed across the entire plaza. Sparks showered the marble.
The blade didn't cut. It shattered into a dozen flying shrapnel pieces.
Chen Bao stared in absolute horror at his broken hilt, his hands bleeding from the violent recoil. Before he could speak, Ren stepped forward, reducing his body weight to zero to instantly close the distance, then shifting his fist to maximum density as he delivered a light tap to Chen Bao's chest.
THUMP.
Chen Bao was launched backward off the platform like a cannonball, crashing into the stone bleachers fifty yards away, completely unconscious.
The entire Fourth Ring area went dead silent.
On the high seats, Lin Xiu’s eyes narrowed slightly. "No element Qi," she murmured. "Absolute body compression."
Elder Lu leaned forward on his jade throne, his fingers tightening on the armrest, his gaze locking onto Ren like a hawk tracking prey.
At the edge of the main stage, Song Chen stared at Ren, his injured wrist throbbing beneath its bandages. His face turned pale, then twisted into a mask of pure, murderous rage.
Ren wiped a specks of iron dust from his forehead, looking up toward the high seats with an unreadable, dark expression. He had survived the preliminaries. Now, the entire sect was watching.