The arena held its breath.
Dust swirled across the broken ring like a storm of ghosts. Every heart, every whisper, every exhale froze within that golden haze. The clang of the last impact still echoed faintly off the high stone walls.
No one could see who stood victorious.
From the generals' stand, murmurs began low, assured, arrogant.
"It's over," said one of them, crossing his arms. "The prodigy cannot fall."
"Shenlu Feng has won," said another. "It was decided the moment he used his Zin."
Only a few, somewhere deep within the crowd, dared to hope otherwise. The wild boy, the fool, the one who smiled in the face of fire, could he have done it? Could Jin, by some miracle or madness, have stood through the impossible?
Lord Bi'an said nothing. His face was still, but his hands had curled into fists beneath his robes. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. He didn't know what to expect ,could Jin, the one who had done the impossible do it again?, or could Shenlu Feng actually have gotten his awakening?.
And at the highest seat, the Clan Leader sat unmoving. His expression unreadable. Only his eyes,the calm old eyes of a mountain tracked the dust as it thinned, searching, waiting.
Then the haze began to part.
The sight that emerged stunned the world silent.
In the center of the ring, two figures stood.
Both unmoving.
Both locked in the final echoes of their strike.
Jin's leg pressed hard against Shenlu Feng's ribcage, frozen mid-kick, the mark of his Fifth Form clear and devastating.
Shenlu Feng's fist, burning faintly with the remnants of white Zin, was buried deep in Jin's chest.
They were statues in that instant...two warriors who had given everything their mortal shells could hold.
Then like puppets cut free, both fell backwards.
Shenlu hit the ground first, his body landing with a heavy thud that cracked the stone beneath him. Jin followed, his body folding, collapsing but just as his back neared the ground, one trembling hand caught the weight, pressed against the ring's shattered floor, holding him suspended by sheer instinct and muscle memory. His arm shook violently but did not break.
Gasps rippled through the arena.
"He's… he's not fully down," someone whispered.
The silence after was deafening. The announcer, hands trembling, looked between the two. The rule was ancient and absolute: A warrior is defeated when his entire body touches the ground.
And so, with a voice that cracked through the air like fate itself, the announcer declared:
"By the law of the ring… the victor....
is Jin!"
No cheers. Not yet. Only silence, disbelief. Then, slowly, the crowd began to rise. Hands clapped, softly at first, then louder, until the arena thundered with applause. It wasn't a celebration of victory, it was reverence. What they had witnessed transcended victory. It was a battle that touched the spirit itself.
Ruan pressed her hands over her mouth. Her eyes, filled with tears, finally let them fall. Relief washed through her body so fierce it nearly made her faint. Jin had won. Against all odds, he had won.
But the moment the victory was spoken into being Jin's arm gave out. His body finally slumped back, lifeless, falling onto the shattered stone.
The crowd's cheers softened, pitying now, respectful.
From his seat, the Clan Leader remained composed. No smile, no nod. Just a gaze ancient, dissecting.
Lord Bi'an glanced at him, uncertain. "Are you… disappointed?" he asked quietly.
The Clan Leader's reply was slow, detached. "I am thinking."
Two warriors, one blood of his line, the other an outsider whose existence whispered of danger. What was this battle truly about?
Both fighters were lifted from the ring, bodies limp, bloodied, yet glowing faintly with the residual heat of their power.
Then, as the medics moved them, a murmur spread.
Shenlu Feng's hand twitched.
Then his eyes opened.
The crowd gasped again.
The prodigy rose. Slowly. Shakily. But he rose.
He walked...no, stumbled toward Jin's unconscious body. And in the silence of thousands, Shenlu raised his hand and slapped Jin hard across the face.
"Wake up!" he shouted, voice raw and furious. "Wake up, damn you! You don't get to faint and ruin this ending!"
The audience froze, unsure whether to laugh or fear him.
Then, from beneath bruised eyelids, Jin's eyes flickered open. He blinked once, twice then chuckled.
"Did… did I win?" he croaked.
"Barely," Shenlu said, his tone somewhere between irritation and admiration. He pulled Jin upright, slinging the fool's arm over his shoulder. The two stood together, swaying. The crowd erupted once more, this time with cheers that shook the heavens.
Shenlu lifted Jin's hand high.
"This man—" he said, his voice carrying across the ring "—is your victor. A fool, a madman… but a warrior worthy of every breath he took today. Give him the honor he deserves."
The Crowd understood his roar, Jin surely deserved the respect .
Then Shenlu turned to his father,the Clan Leader and his expression changed. "Father," he called out, voice steady despite the exhaustion, "forgive Jin for anything he has done. He has earned my respect. But if you cannot…"
He took a breath, his gaze hardening. "…then let the next bout be the last. Let you face him. For such is the way of the clan a challenge must always end in completion."
The entire arena fell silent.
The Clan Leader rose slowly, his robes whispering against the stone. "Very well," he said coldly. "If that is how it must be."
Shenlu bowed faintly. Then, before leaving, he bent close to Jin and whispered something only he could hear:
"You were holding back," Shenlu murmured. "Don't deny it. I saw it. The restraint, the hesitation, it wasn't fear. You were containing something. I don't know what, but next time… I want to see it. I want to face that Jin."
He straightened, smiled faintly, and turned away.
Jin, half-delirious, smirked. "Next time, you bring the drinks."
Then his knees gave out, and he fell face-first onto the arena floor.
"Damn it!" he hissed, voice muffled in the dirt. His internal scream followed, Everything hurts! My ribs, my face, my pride.....and my hair!!! He groaned aloud, clutching his scalp. "My beautiful hair… ruined."
The medics dragged him off amid laughter and murmurs of admiration.
-----
Later, within the high halls of the Clan Palace, Lord Bi'an and the Clan Leader stood together, the echoes of the arena still ringing faintly through the open air.
The Clan Leader spoke first.
"Tonight," he said calmly, "I will have dinner with Jin."
Lord Bi'an blinked, stunned. "Dinner? Why?"
"I have my reasons," said the Clan Leader. "And you will be there."
Bi'an frowned. "What is there to discuss? You saw it, his power, his fighting, his chaos. You think that was an act?"
The Clan Leader turned, his voice lowering. "Of course it was. Every movement, every flicker of killing intent. That aura, it wasn't real."
Bi'an's eyes widened. "Impossible. You cannot fake a killing aura. No one below the rank of Master can even generate one convincingly, much less disguise it!"
The Clan Leader's gaze hardened. "Exactly."
The silence stretched. Then Bi'an felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine.
"You mean…" he whispered.
"Yes," said the Clan Leader. "Someone above the Master rank could. Someone who knows how to mimic fear, rage, life, and death itself. Someone who's been at the edge of both."
He looked out the window toward the fading sun.
"That Jin… he's not who we think he is. His stupidity, his humor...it's not innocence. It's armor. Beneath it, I see a shadow that even my son's flame cannot burn away."
Bi'an turned pale. "Then what is he?"
The Clan Leader exhaled, the faintest trace of unease in his tone.
"A man," he said, "who might not even know himself."