Next to the amalgamated arena were the finalists for the Qi Refinement Tournament — each of their eyes locked onto the two disciples battling fiercely upon the large stage.

Out of the initial top 10 contestants that were tasked with defending their ranking from the start of the Tournament, only one had been replaced by this time.

“Alright, alright! Stop waving that thing! I concede!”

A male disciple stumbled backwards out of the range of the vicious currents of air seeking to entrap him in a perilous grip. Dozens of fine cuts could be found marring many portions of his body from the blade like wind gusts, ruining his Outer Sect robe.

Fortunately for him, none of the small wounds seemed deep enough to leave lasting damage, as only the winners were given the gratuitous privilege of the rejuvenation of their physical conditions. The losers either had to take care of themselves, or front the Merit Points for emergency treatment.

Blood dripped with each step as he dolefully left the arena, the sound of cheers and boos following his backside relentlessly on his way towards the exit.

Although uninjured, the winner of the elimination match didn’t look too much better.

Her breathing began to even out with every second she showered underneath the prismatic light raining down from Elder Griselda’s five sets of hands, however, her skin still continued to maintain an unhealthy pale tint, in spite of the revitalizing rays.

Michail seemed unfazed but Victor, on the other hand, shook his head.

Underneath the audience’s ruckus, Victor spoke to Michail, “A bit excessive to be using a Mystic Artifact so liberally, don’t you think?”

Michail kept silent, his focus uninterrupted.

“Sure, she won,” Victor continued uncaringly, “but her Soul Force is nearly spent. She looks like she’s struggling to stand.”

Giving up, Michail exhaled agitatedly and gave Victor a side eye. “Are you criticizing her methods? Or are you jealous because you can’t afford one yourself?”

Mystic Artifacts were not in short supply within the Sect, but they were incredibly expensive, much more so than Black Tier Martial Techniques. Possessing a Low Grade Mystic Artifact was the equivalent of having the prowess of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, albeit a very limited one. It was even possible for a practitioner to utilize elemental abilities reserved for Earth Tier and above Martial Techniques.

However, as they were impermanent apparatuses and the Soul Force exhaustion after each use was considerable for the average practitioner, it was rare for an Outer Sect Disciple under the Foundation Establishment realm to put aside their cultivation necessities in order to purchase something so expensive and fleeting.

Victor coughed softly before defending himself. “Neither! I’m just making conversation. Look, she’s made it to the Finals, so clearly it's worked out for her so far.” Leaning closer to Michail, his voice lowered to a whisper as the winning disciple they were discussing stepped off the arena towards where they were standing. “All I’m saying is, I’m glad that she’s tapped herself out before having to fight us. Dealing with a Mystic Artifact is such a pain in the ass.”

A large part of him was ecstatic that the sole Mystic Artifact user was more or less debilitated. And the smaller part was hoping that none of the others were hiding something similarly frustrating up their sleeves.

If not, he had a genuine shot of ranking within the final four! The Semifinals!

He glanced at Michail and shook his head, he didn’t want to think about his chances of defeating him. It would be safer if they didn’t have to fight until later.

‘Other than him…’ Victor thought as his gaze slid along the other competitors, stopping for a moment on one especially tall youth that he had no confidence in facing.

But right when he was secretly praying not to get prematurely matched with either of those two, the multiple voices of Elder Griselda crushed Victor’s spirits and sent Michail into a fit of slightly sympathetic, but mostly amused laughter.

“Contestants Cathal and Victor Byrne, please come to the arena.”

…

The second level of the Stadium.

Glancing at the stage, Auslen snacked on a slice of melon and sat back in his seat with Vincent sitting to his left. To his right, Liliane was fanning herself while continuing her speech with a comforting tone.

“Don’t be too upset. It’s not all bad, being disallowed from leaving the Sect. Your parents know what’s best for you. If they forbid you both from leaving the Sect, then I’m sure it’s purely because they wish to ensure your well-being.”

‘At the same time…’ Liliane thought as she raised her lace fan — subtly glancing at the posse of armored cultivators guarding their perimeter in the stands. ‘I’m not sure how much danger these two could possibly get themselves into with such an exaggerated bubble of protection. If Irene was serious when she hinted before leaving that each of these guards were Foundation Establishment cultivators, then they could probably fend off at least a few Lesser Demons with such a party.’

“I know, Senior Sister,” Auslen said as his golden eyes fell slightly with a moping sigh. Though, his downcast expression was nothing in comparison to Nathaniel’s, whose whole bottom lip was jutted out in a dramatic pout as he watched the arena in depressive silence.

As soon as they found their seats, Auslen had wasted no time telling the others that neither he nor Nathaniel were able to tag along on the “field trip.” Not that he felt that he needed a reason for his unwillingness, but having a good excuse allowed him to retain his compliant character while extracting himself from uncomfortable and bothersome situations like this one.

Furthermore, he didn’t know what Aiden was thinking, or why he felt the need to privately converse with Irene. But Auslen had enough experience to understand when a brat was contemplating things they shouldn’t, which was why Auslen wasted no time voicing his refusal.

After pausing momentarily for effect, Auslen blinked twice and averted his eyes further. “I just feel bad, like we’re letting Senior Sister Irene down, or something...”

Liliane’s heart trembled and melted once she took in the sadness tainting Auslen’s beautiful features. “Don’t be! Trust me, your Senior Sister Irene is quite popular. As long as she puts the word out, half the Refining Assistants at the Elixir Refinement Hall would literally trip over themselves to accompany her…”

Listening to Liliane persisting to console him, Auslen’s lips curled into a smile that masked his indifference as he glanced towards the stage, where Victor was being suppressed by his opponent’s unorthodox movements. Even with the lethality of his Crimson Blade Martial Technique, none of Victor’s devastating swings meant anything as he continuously failed to touch Cathal’s robes.

The coppery-haired youth’s combat style intrigued Auslen slightly. His movements were sometimes as slippery as a snake, and at other times, fierce as a savage ape.

Considering that this was one of the first matches that lasted more than a handful of moves, Auslen had finally felt that his horizons were being broadened somewhat.

Good things, however, rarely last. Auslen estimated that their match wouldn’t continue for any longer than thirty seconds.

Sure enough, after only a few more brief confrontations, Victor lost all of his energy and their movements ceased. His sparking greatsword fell from his grasp and clanged loudly against the arena. Face dark with frustration, his left hand clutched his muscular right arm tightly, which was visibly trembling.

The moment he conceded his defeat, the audience went wild.

…

Bruised and battered, Victor was in a state of profound bitterness and reproach as he stumbled down the steps of the second level of stands, struggling to accept the result. Even the usual supportive cheers laced with zealous energy were unable to assuage his depression.

‘That was straight-up bullying! Why did I get matched with such a monster before I could make it to the top four? Where the hell did he come from anyway?‘

‘My Earth Tier Martial Technique… My D-Grade alloy greatsword!’ Victor cried in his heart, anguishing over the rewards he had just barely lost the opportunity to receive.

From beginning to end, he hadn’t been able to land a proper strike. Maybe he could have accepted his loss, if he had managed to just singe that bastard's robes…

‘Fuck… I didn’t even get an Inner Sect sponsorship! Don’t those guys up there have eyes?’

From a few steps down, a petite hand waved, pulling his attention away from his consternation.

“Congratulations on placing within the top ten, Victor. Just a few more wins and you could have even made it to the Semifinals!” Liliane’s praise was pleasant, but for Victor, her delicate tone sounded almost mocking in his ears.

“Come off it, Liliane,” Victor said, provoking amused giggles from the girl. He waved dismissively at her playful felicitations and sat down in the empty seat to her right — his motions suddenly interrupted the moment he noticed the over half-dozen silver-armored guards conspicuously seated around the area.

“Yeah! You were so cool, Senior Brother!” Nathaniel yelled from further down. Tarek and Mia also threw in some similar praises.

Guards forgotten for the time being, Victor laughed heartily and flashed a cocksure smirk down the row, though the bruises on his face somewhat lessened the effect he was going for.

“Thanks, Juniors. I was a little cool, wasn’t I?” He laughingly replied, ignoring the pain wrenching with each movement of his cheeks.

He glanced at the only two kids who hadn’t said a single thing since his arrival.

Auslen, who was leisurely eating away at the platter of fruit slices in his lap, had his eyes pointed towards the match ongoing down in the arena, looking to be the most relaxed individual in the stands by far. And his servant was determinedly focused on fanning Auslen with an oversized silk hand fan, not paying Victor any attention.

Then, his gaze scanned the guard that Nathaniel was casually using to elevate his board game.

After his smirk jerked painfully from the extravagant exhibition being rubbed in his face, Victor took a few seconds to recompose himself, refusing to give up on his original objective.

“What about you, Auslen? How’d you think my matches went?”

“They were okay,” Auslen replied, eyes not averting from the arena.

His dismissive attitude towards Victor was really evident!

Auslen paid no regard to the young man’s antics and re-placed his full attention back on the arena.

…

The results of the next several matches that took place over the course of about thirty minutes were as to be expected.

Michail and Cathal advanced smoothly, so smoothly that their fights looked to be mere formalities.

Auslen found a few of the other bouts interesting to watch, as they were much more turbulent than the ones before. However, he could have done without the horrendous looking wounds being dealt.

The competition was becoming drastically more intense, along with the injuries, as few of the finalists were willing to give up if they could help it.

…

Swiping aside the strands of hair being blown into his face, Auslen glanced up at the sky to see the sun had disappeared from view, casting a shadowy blanket within the Outer Sect Stadium. And at some point, countless crystals that were scattered generously throughout the venue had lit up, providing copious orbs of bright white illumination that extended from the fifth level all the way to the arena..

Now, there were only three competitors remaining.

“Contestants Michail Nikolaou and Beatrice Hildrow, please come to the arena.”

Auslen watched as Michail marched up onto the stage, along with the young woman who looked deathly pale. She seemed to be barely standing as she hobbled onto the arena.

“I won’t persuade you to surrender,” Michail said with a small frown. “I understand your perseverance, since you were able to walk onto this stage despite your heavy Soul Force strain. However, I have to remind you that if you continue to use that Mystic Artifact, your injuries will not be something that can be dealt with so simply.”

Eyes drooping and breath shaky, Beatrice was so exhausted that she couldn’t even build up the energy to reply. Her right hand trembled slightly, and the silver fan fell open. Flickering light danced along its surface.

“Up to you then.” Michail stopped trying to warn her. His sword and shield appeared in his grasp a moment later, already sufficiently prepared for dealing with her methods. He lacked a Mystic Artifact himself, so he could only work a little harder to end things before she suffered irrevocable damage to her soul.

Suddenly, a gentle voice rang from above.

“Please, stay your hand, Junior Disciple.”

Michail subconsciously glanced up to see a yellow-robed figure falling from the sky.

It was a slim young woman that looked to be within her mid twenties. She was holding onto a black and yellow paper umbrella, intricate patterns and glyphs shining across its smooth surface.

The hand not holding onto the umbrella’s silver handle grabbed her flapping layered robes, riding the wind until she gracefully landed next to the arena.

Neither Elder Griselda, nor the referee Elder commented on her abrupt appearance. Cathal, who was the only other person within the arena grounds, didn’t show much of a reaction to the Inner Sect Disciple’s arrival.

Her temperament was delicate as her beautiful face revealed a grateful smile towards Michail before turning to Beatrice, who was gaping at her in stunned awe.

“Beatrice, how do you feel about the Shifting Wind—”

“Yes,” Beatrice’s croaked whisper was out of her shivering lips before the Inner Sect Disciple could finish.

“Yes,” She spoke again, more energetically this time, knowing exactly what was being asked of her. Tears welled up in her sagging eyes, and in her relief, her consciousness slipped from her with a quickness, sending her collapsing face first.

The Inner Sect Disciple from the Shifting Wind Peak shook her head with amused exasperation, and her body blurred into motion, catching Beatrice before she could make contact with the metal floor.

Standing with Beatrice in her left arm, the woman turned to the Elder and respectfully said, “Beatrice will be conceding this match.”

With the refereeing Elder’s nod, the Inner Sect Disciple raised her umbrella once more. Light bloomed from its open canopy before she was lifted off the ground. Her ascent was swift as wind revolved around her and Beatrice’s figures. Before long, their figures had disappeared from the Outer Sect Stadium.

“Contestants Michail Nikolaou and Cathal, please come to the arena for the final match of the Qi Refinement Tournament.”