They didn’t approach. They just stared. There were glares and squints aplenty, but most sized him up in silence. Their looks asked unspoken questions—is this so-called Hero a threat?

And, more importantly—can I take him in a fight?

By the sneers on their faces, most of them had come to the same conclusion.

Easily! He doesn’t look like much at all!

Dorian let their judgments flow right on over him, a wry grin on his face. He was well aware how he seemed. A runty, unknown Profound-Realm upstart who’d somehow swindled his way into Heilong circles with a light show and a myth.

Luckily for him, he was at a stage where being looked down on by children had absolutely zero material effect on him. So he could safely not give a shit.

The only thing was, most of these Young Masters had egos to them. He suspected a good handful had their suspicions. They wanted to see if he was the real deal. Eh. He smirked. Let them try.

Fighters from most every noble family were crammed in here. Dorian saw some familiar emblems from the bidding war: the Fangs, the Ouyangs, the Shun, the Cai, stitched neatly on tight-fitting battle garb. There were dozens of others— including the Heilongs, huddled near the cavern’s center.

Who were also all glaring at him. Including the youth at their head—Young Master Heilong Yu, who looked positively venomous. And they were supposed to be on his side!

You know, it would be nice—just one time—to be welcomed when I go somewhere. Dorian sighed. Why must bad things happen to bad people?

He scratched his chin.

Hmm. While I’ve got their attention, maybe now’s a good chance to scout out the competition.

“So,” he said with a grin. “Are we just going keep staring at each other, or will one of you introduce yourself?”

A Young Master at peak of Profound leapt up, his chest puffed out so far it popped a button on his tunic. “Look here, savage! I am Young Master Cai Shenlong, heir to the noble—“

“No, no, no! Not you,” snapped Dorian.

“Huh?!”

“I meant someone of consequence,” said Dorian impatiently. “You know. A heavy hitter, a threat. Someone I should care about.”

As the boy choked on his own spit, Dorian was already turning away, scanning the crowd. Aha! “Like… you! You there.” He pointed, grinning. “You were at a practice at Heilong Manor a few days ago, weren’t you? What’s your name?”

The man in question was perhaps the biggest human Dorian had seen in this life. Big, bald, and shirtless. His body was strange: doughy yet weirdly solid, like he was made out of some weird alloy halfway between fat and muscle.

Appearances often deceived. His size wasn’t why Dorian picked him out Dorian knew the aura of an expert when he saw one, and this man had it in spades. That cool, quiet confidence which one can only have with utter certainty in one’s abilities.

Also, he was at least mid Earth-Realm. That alone made him dangerous.

His gaze was utterly placid. Like a cow chewing contentedly on a cud.

“Greetings, Hero,” rumbled the man. “This one is called Ma, and I am of the Yun family. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He clasps his hands, bowing to the waist.

“I’m Io,” said Dorian. “It’s my pleasure! Say, how strong are you? Among everyone here, where do you rank? Give me a number, if you please.”

A few gasps from the other fighters. Especially those of the Yun family.

“Impudent savage! How dare you address Young Master Yun in such a cavalier manner?” cried the boy behind Ma Yun.

“It is alright,” said Ma Yun, putting up one big hand. He gave the boy a dreamy, happy look, as though he was on the verge of falling asleep. “I have not been harmed.”

Then his brow furrowed. He thought for a few seconds.

“How strong I am… it is not for me to say,” he murmured. He shrugged. “I am seeded number two. Is this answer satisfactory?”

“Very.”

“Good,” said the big man. That peaceful-cow-look reemerged on his face. Huh. This Ma Yun genuinely did seem a simple, happy sort. Why couldn’t the rest of them be this agreeable?

“And I am seeded third,” said a breathy voice.

A freakishly tall, pale man stepped up. He reminded Dorian of a giant scarecrow: all gaunt and skinny, with thin, rangy limbs. This man kept his Spirit Weapon out for the world to see. It was a whip wrapped around the middle of his torso, binding his waist and stomach.

Dorian’s first impression was that for most fighters, dealing with him him could be a nightmare. If you get past that whip, you still had those sharp, spidery limbs to contend with.

“My name is Ren, Io Rust! I hold the position of Young Master in the noble Fang family.” The man licked his lips. “You’ve asked me my standing, and I have offered it to you freely. Courtesy dictates that you tell me yours in turn, does it not? How strong are you, so-called Hero of the Heilong?”

“Why, of course!” said Dorian. “I’m nothing if not courteous. In terms of cultivation I’m sadly lacking. In terms of skill… hmm. I’m probably the best in this world. I can probably beat all of you, and most of you with ease. But we’ll have to see, won’t we?” .

Behind them there was a chorus of indignant cries.

“I see,” murmured Young Master Fang. Then he broke out into a ravenous smile. “Very good, young Io. The most dangerous quality a fighter can have is delusional self-confidence. Oh, I deeply hope I shall have the chance test yours on the battlefield.”

“If we meet, I’ll be happy to oblige!” said Dorian with a grin. Uh…why is he looking at me like he wants to eat me?

“Ooh! Me next!” piped a squeaky voice. “Hi! Remember me?”

A boy scrambled up to him, peering out beneath a shaggy mop of hair. Dorian blinked. It was Pebble, the kid from that Rat gang in the Outskirts. The one who’d first guided Dorian and Kaya to their dwelling.

Also the kid who Dorian had seen unscrew a man’s head like a light bulb! Even for an immortal Godking, one didn’t see that kind of thing very often.

“Of course! Pebble, right?” Dorian smiled at him.

Pebble clapped in delight. “It is most excellent to meet you again, Io Rust! I was afraid you’d been eaten by a passing vordor, or something! But here you are, shiny as ever. ”

“Well, I try. Say—what seed are you?”

“Fifth!” beamed Pebble. He wrinkled his nose. “But between you and me,” he whispered leaning in, “I think they’ve got me a tad high.”

“I see.” Dorian rubbed his chin. “Where am I seeded?”

Pebble grinned. “Oh, you aren’t! You’re far too weak.”

One of Dorian’s cheeks twitched. “I, ah, see. Well, in any case—it seems we’ve got most of the top five! May as well finish off the rest, eh? Who’s four?”

“That would be Princess Eudora of Azcan,” said Ma Yun.

Dorian blinked. “Uh. Who?”

But before the giant could answer, a door at the far side of the cavern croaked open.

The room was instantly flooded with noise. That tunnel must lead into the arena—for in streamed the booming chants of the crowd: “MEATBALL YUN! MEATBALL YUN! MEATBALL YUN!”

A referee poked his head through the door. “Fighters Ma Yun and Tu Ouyang! You’re up!”

Young Master Yun bowed again. “My apologies, fellow Io. I must go. I am most happy to make your acquaintance. May we meet again, Fate willing.”

Then he waddled toward the entrance, leaving a trail of deep footprints on the ground. Dorian watched him go with a quirked brow. The man’s body must be denser than steel! His opponent, a spindly little thing, gulped and hurried after him. The door sealed back up behind them, and the rest of them were left in quiet again.

“That,” sniffed Young Master Fang, “is a timely reminder that we Fangs should return to strategizing for our battles. I will be watching, Io Rust. Let us hope your skills match your boasts, yes?”

He gave Dorian a sharklike grin, then stalked back to his family’s huddle. Dorian shrugged. Weird dude.

Young Master Fang’s exit seemed to mark a turning point; the rest of the families had gotten their fill of Dorian too. Curiosity sated, most began turning back to their battle preps, though a few fighters here and there snuck glances at him over their shoulders. The chattering of the crowd filled the space once more.

“Erm, ‘scuse me?” said Pebble, tugging at Dorian’s arm. “You were asking about Princess Eudora? Would you like me to point her out to you?”

“Hm? Oh, you’re still here?” Dorian looked down into the boy’s big round eyes. “Yes, that’d be quite helpful! Would you kindly?”

“Yup!” beamed Pebble. He pointed. “That over there—that’s her!”

“I see.” Dorian squinted. “Uh. Hold on…”

Were his eyes were deceiving him, or did that girl seemed awfully familiar? She was strikingly pretty in her flowing white silks, like a statue of a goddess come to life. She was surrounded by a swirl of handmaidens who all looked like lesser clones of her.

Except the last time Dorian had seen her—if it was the same girl—she was dirty, in rags, in an oyster restaurant! He’d booted her in the back to win Tan’s friendship!

He squinted. Yup. There was no mistaking it. This was her.

Then the name reverberated in his mind, a nasty echo.

“Wait. Princess, you said?!”

“Yeah, of course!” Pebble looked confused. “You didn’t know? She’s the daughter of the Oasis Lord!”

Oh, Saint’s sake! Of course she is.

Dorian could feel a headache coming on. As though that little stint with the auction hadn’t offended the Oasis Lord enough…

As though sensing Dorian’s gaze, the girl’s head snapped around to face them. Their eyes met. She turned up her nose at him, a haughty, nasty smile creeping up her face.

Uh-oh. Dorian tried to give her a placating smile—a smile that he hoped said something like ‘Sorry for booting you in the back! It was nothing personal, I swear! Can we settle this over some tea?”

Her smile widened. It, meanwhile, said something like ‘I will tear your heart from your body and feed it to your corpse, motherfucker!’

Dorian sighed. Add another to his long list of enemies! He’d deal with it later, he resolved. He’d go home, consolidate his gains, maybe chug a few cultivation potions and get a solid handle on his Spirit Weapon. If he met this Princess Eudora, it’d be a real headache—he could tell already. Right now he had no clue how strong he really was. Could be anywhere from a lower-tier Earth Realm expert to somewhere in in the upper echelons. He’d broken through so fast so many times it was hard to say.

The lower end of that range probably wouldn’t be enough.

But he asked anyways, just to be sure. “How strong is she?”

“Oh, she’s real strong,” said Pebble happily. “Stronger than me! And I’m pretty heckin’ good—not to brag. She could probably be considered just below the true elites of the Earth Realm.”

Fuck.

If he was to win this thing and snag whatever relics of the Old Gods was the prize—and she was a top four seed—there was a darned good chance he’d face her.

At least there were three days between rounds! Three days for him to make one more small leap and to solidify his newfound skills. Maybe it’d be enough.

“Erm,” said Pebble again, hesitant. “If you didn’t know that… err, I have some more bad news for you.”

Dorian got a sudden, sinking feeling. The boy didn’t even need to say it.

“You’re fighting her in the first match. She’s been bragging all day about how she’s going to squish you to bits! I’m surprised you haven’t heard, honestly!”

FUCK!