79 – The Combat Tournament Begins

The fifth day arrived, and the true core of the Young Dragon and Phoenix Tournament finally began. A proper combat tournament, distinct from the practical examinations of the previous four days. As before, mortals filled every available spectator seat. This time, the matches were even being broadcast throughout the entire city, something that had never occurred in previous tournaments. The decision drew fresh grumbling from the more traditional sects watching from their private towers.

Various sects and noble families that had colluded during the final stage of the examination now eyed one another with open calculation. Previously, their cooperation had been aimed at elevating participants of more “civilized” backgrounds over commoners. Now it had become a free-for-all. This was the stage where true talent would be revealed through direct conflict. Iron sharpened iron, and one person sharpened another, yet only one could ultimately stand at the top.

All of them also kept a careful watch on the five representatives of the Tianhe Sect. The same underlying concern circulated among the watching factions was that the Tianhe sect was here to claim talents. Such a thing had rarely, if ever, happened before. There was also the traditional formality that the sect which had recruited the fewest talents in previous tournaments would be given priority in selecting new disciples. Since the Tianhe Sect had never actively recruited in the past, that formality might, in theory, require the other sects to acquiesce most of the outstanding participants to them. “Might” was the key word. None of them intended to surrender promising disciples easily. So what if they never actively recruit talents, that was of course Tianhe sect’s own fault to begin with.

Thump

The footsteps laced with killing intent silenced the entire venue like before. The Master of Ceremonies came into sight, standing on the central tower.

Footsteps laced with killing intent once again silenced the entire venue. The Master of Ceremonies came into view, standing upon the central tower.

In a calm, resonant voice that carried across the entire platform and into every viewing tower, the Xuan spoke:

“Participants of the one hundred and eleventh Young Dragon and Phoenix Tournament, the examination phase is concluded. From this moment forward, only strength and skill will decide your ranking. The combat tournament now begins.”

—

“Of course, to prevent the matches from becoming too ordinary after the previous phase, the arena will be randomized into different terrains,” I added.

It had been a short discussion earlier that morning. The examiners had correctly pointed out that if every match took place on a flat, empty platform, the fights would grow stale very quickly. Certain techniques performed better or worse depending on the environment, and a completely open arena would heavily favor those who relied on direct, overwhelming power while disadvantageous to anyone who needed preparation or other specialized niches.

“Very well. First match participants, enter the arena,” I announced before sitting down at the table I had prepared, a fresh cup of coffee already waiting. Different from the previous phase, the participants already picked their lots for the tournament since the very beginning.

Two young boys, both looking around fifteen, stepped onto the platform. They introduced themselves and waited for the signal. With a snap of my fingers, a giant twenty-sided die appeared in the sky and rolled, landing on the number nine. The arena began shifting just as it had during the examination phase. This time the terrain transformed into a highland filled with rolling hills and numerous tall, pillar-like mountains.

“Begin,” I announced.

‘I just need to make a few comments at the end and step in if a fight gets too rough, correct?’ I asked Huiran and Wendao through Voice Transmission one last time.

‘Yes. This is the third time you have asked,’ Huiran replied.

‘Just making sure,’ I answered.

Which was excellent news. It meant I could largely relax. Previously I had been required to grade every participant; now I only needed to intervene if someone went too far and parrot whatever commentary Huiran and Wendao fed me. With the veil covering my head, I doubted anyone would even notice if I dozed off.

Still, I decided to watch the battles. I needed a more accurate sense of the power levels at this stage. My own experiences had been anything but standard.  I doubt I have a good one since I am suddenly elevated to Foundation Establishment, then thrown to a most dangerous and difficult mission, being judged and told to die right after, and the five shitheads and their Golden Core elders ambush me at the end. I need something to ground my experience.

But then among the mortal and lower-ranked cultivator spectators, a lean middle-aged man in plain but well-kept scholarly robes leaned forward with sharp interest. His hair was tied neatly, and a small folding fan rested in one hand. Though only a late-stage Qi Refining loose cultivator, he had watched dozens of tournaments over the years and prided himself on his eye for technique.

“The boy on the left practices the Flowing Cloud Sword Art,” he began explaining to those nearby in a clear, confident voice. “Notice how his footwork never fully settles, he is constantly using the uneven highland terrain to create angles. His opponent relies on the Iron Mountain Fist, a straightforward body-tempering style that favors direct confrontation. Clever of the sword cultivator to keep kiting around the pillar mountains.”

As the fight progressed, the scholarly man continued his running commentary. “There! The sword cultivator just used Cloud Step to reverse direction mid-air. The fist cultivator’s Crushing Boulder Strike missed completely and cracked one of the stone pillars instead. Now the sword cultivator is chaining Three Mist Thrusts. The fist cultivator is forced onto the defensive… and that is the finishing move, Falling Cloud Sever. A clean strike to the shoulder. The match is over.”

I leaned over from my seat to see who’s running the commentary. The bastard was taking my job! No wait, this is good, I don’t need to do anything.

The loser was helped off the platform while the winner cupped his hands in respect. The scholarly commentator closed his fan with a satisfied snap. “A solid performance. The sword cultivator understood the terrain advantage immediately, while the fist cultivator relied too heavily on raw power. In an open arena the result might have been different.”

Before the next pair of participants had even fully stepped onto the platform, the man was already speaking again. “Ah, interesting. The girl on the right is from a minor branch of the Nangong family. She uses a dual-blade style derived from the Twilight Swallow Sword. Fast, deceptive, and excellent at close-range entanglement. Her opponent appears to be a pure Qi-projection specialist, most likely a derivative of the Azure Wave Palm. He will want distance and space to build momentum.”

He opened his fan once more and gestured lightly toward the still-shifting arena. “If the terrain becomes water-aspected or open plains, the palm cultivator gains the edge. If it turns into dense forest or broken ground, the dual-blade girl will dominate. Let us see what the dice decide.”

“Hey, you!” I called out loud toward the man, my voice carrying easily across the venue. Every gaze immediately snapped toward me. “Can you…”

Quick. What’s the polite way to say ‘shut the fuck up’?

“…shut up?” I finished in the most polite tone I could manage.

The entire place went still. The scholarly man’s face flushed a deep red. Whether from shame, anger, or both was difficult to tell.

“My apologies if that came out too strongly,” I quickly amended. “But I prefer to be surprised rather than spoiled. I would not mind if you offer commentary during the fight itself. Just not before it begins.”

I made the source of my annoyance clear. It was one thing for him to take over my job. It was another thing entirely to act like the loudmouth who ruins a movie by explaining the entire plot before it even starts.

The middle-aged scholar stood frozen for a long moment, fan still half-open in his hand. The red in his face deepened, then slowly drained as the weight of the situation settled on him. Being publicly corrected by the Master of Ceremonies in front of every major sect and noble family present was no small matter.

He snapped his fan shut with a sharp click, then cupped his hands and bowed deeply toward the central tower.

“This junior spoke out of turn,” he said, voice carefully controlled though a faint tremor of embarrassment remained. “I meant only to share my observations for the benefit of the audience. I will refrain from commenting before the matches begin and will limit myself to analysis during the battles, if the Master of Ceremonies permits.”

He held the bow a moment longer than strictly necessary, clearly hoping the matter would end there without further public humiliation. A few nearby spectators shifted uncomfortably, while others looked on with poorly concealed amusement at the know-it-all’s sudden change in fortune.

Alright, that had come out too strongly whether I intended it or not. Being publicly rebuked in a venue of this size was bound to carry repercussions, and I would not have wanted the same done to me. I needed to compensate him for it. Fortunately, I already had something in mind.

“That will be best,” I nodded toward him. He returned the bow.

“However, it is clear that you are more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am. As an apology for my own indiscretion, would you care to join me here and provide your commentary properly?” I offered at once.

The scholarly man’s eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise. For a brief moment he seemed unable to believe what he had just heard, a public reprimand followed immediately by an invitation to sit beside the Master of Ceremonies himself. He quickly recovered, however, and bowed once more, this time even deeper than before. “This junior is deeply honored by the Master of Ceremonies’ generosity,” he said, voice steady despite the residual flush still coloring his cheeks. “If my humble observations can be of service, I will gladly accept and endeavor not to disappoint.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“This humble scholar's name is Liu.” He quickly answered.

“Well then, Scholar Liu, come up here.” I invited him with a slight wave of my hand.

Scholar Liu bowed once more, then made his way toward the central tower with carefully measured steps, clearly still processing the sudden turn of events. By the time he reached the top, a group of servants had already prepared an additional seat and set out fresh beverages beside the table. He sat down with practiced composure, though a faint residual flush still lingered on his face.

‘Sorry for the earlier outburst,’ I sent to Huiran and Wendao through Voice Transmission. ‘That came out stronger than I intended.’

‘Hah!’ Huiran’s short laugh came back almost immediately. ‘Masterfully done, young master.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, genuinely confused.

‘It seems the young master is a natural,’ Wendao added dryly.

‘A natural at what?’ I asked again.

Neither of them answered.

As the tournament continued, Scholar Liu and the Xuan observed each match closely, exchanging quiet analysis and occasional commentary on the participants’ techniques and use of terrain. The discussion flows naturally even as the latter parrot points that Huiran and Wendao give which elevate the discussion. To the point of giving the winning and losing participants some pointers in between.

To the various sects and noble families watching from their towers, however, the Xuan’s earlier “mistake” appeared to be nothing more than a calculated publicity stunt. A deliberate way to elevate a knowledgeable loose cultivator while displaying both authority and magnanimity. Elder Yinyue even clapped lightly in open approval and pride at the performance, though the Xuan himself remained completely oblivious to this interpretation. To him, it had simply been a genuine slip of the tongue and annoyance.

—

Within the City Lord’s manor, far from the noise and merriment of the tournament, two men sat in a quiet pavilion. Xuehai sipped the coffee in his cup. The Xuan had claimed the beverage helped keep people awake. As a cultivator, Xuehai would of course receive none of that supposed benefit, yet he found himself surprisingly receptive to the idea. A drink like this would no doubt prove popular among scholarly circles. Heaven knew how many sleepless nights he had endured whenever his liege decided to pursue some new scheme.

Xuehai set the cup back on the table and looked across at the young man seated opposite him.

“You want me to review how you employed the Demon Hunting Heaven and Earth Net?” he asked. Zhaoge sat before him, both nervous and serious at once.

“That is correct,” Zhaoge nodded.

“And why would I do that?” Xuehai chuckled. “So you can attempt to kill the Xuan once more? Besides, what makes you think an accountant could be of any help with such a matter?” He ended the question with a cheerful laugh.

Sweat beaded on Zhaoge’s forehead as he carefully considered his next words.

“No,” he said at last. “I hold no grudge against the Xuan. I am only on it for the prestige.” He swallowed once before continuing. “And… I asked because I wish to learn.”

Zhaoge paused, then committed to the words he had been holding back.

“I have seen you before. In the royal palace.”

“Hmmm.” Xuehai’s cheerful façade vanished at once. “You must have been around five years old at the time. I did not expect you to remember.”

“I have always looked up to you.” Zhaoge lowered himself into a formal kowtow. “I would not dare ask to become your disciple. I only ask that you enlighten me this once.”

Xuehai regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well,” he accepted without further deliberation. 

“It would be boring until then anyway.”

~ Valarion