The arena's atmosphere shifted like a storm about to break. Class A's top ten disciples smirked from their elevated positions—arrogance dripping from every move. They wore ornate uniforms blessed by spirit blacksmiths, each step exuding refined cultivation.
Xuan Mu removed his cloak, revealing his lean frame wrapped in lightning inscriptions etched by Han Li himself.
The announcer hesitated, unsure. "First match… Class A's Jiang Tong versus… Xuan Mu of Class D."
Cheers erupted. Jiang Tong stepped forward, the ground cracking beneath his fire-infused boots. "You? I'll end it in one move."
Xuan Mu simply smiled. "Then don't miss."
The gong rang.
Jiang Tong exploded forward like a meteor, palm engulfed in blazing phoenix fire. The crowd roared.
But Xuan Mu's body flickered—he was already gone.
CRACK!
A bolt of lightning struck from above, not from Xuan Mu's hand—but from the sky itself. Jiang Tong screamed as the lightning struck his chest, burning his robes and knocking him into the barrier wall.
Silence.
Han Li didn't blink. "Lesson one: predict arrogance."
Xuan Mu walked back, not even breathing hard. "Next."
The second challenger came—wind cultivator, twin sabers, fast as a shadow. But Xuan Mu moved like a ghost now, adapting.
By the fifth match, even the nobles in the audience leaned forward.
Bai Wei whispered, "He's improving mid-battle…"
Shen Yu added, "He's doing what Han Li taught us… learning while fighting."
The crowd no longer cheered for Class A. They watched in stunned silence as a student from the so-called "Rejected Class" dismantled elites.
When the tenth opponent fell, the stands trembled—not from battle, but from the realization.
The academy had made a mistake. A terrifying one.
And Han Li… was smiling.