The Grand Tournament of Xylos was a spectacle unlike any other in the Lower Realm. Held within the sprawling, meticulously maintained grounds of the Imperial City, it drew cultivators from every corner of the continent. The main arena, a vast circular platform of polished white jade, shimmered under the mid-morning sun, surrounded by tiered seating packed with eager spectators, noble families, and the elders of the most powerful sects. The air crackled with anticipation, a vibrant hum of spiritual energy and human ambition.
Lord Alaric, seated in the Valerius family's designated, somewhat humble, section, fidgeted nervously. Lady Seraphina offered quiet words of encouragement. Ren, standing at the edge of the arena, felt the familiar thrill of the crowd, a sensation that resonated with centuries of past battles and triumphs. This was a stage, and he was about to perform.
His first opponent was announced: "From the esteemed Blackwood House, scion of the Swift Blade, Blackwood Jaron! And from the venerable House of Valerius, Valerius Ren!"
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. Blackwood Jaron was a known prodigy, a sixteen-year-old already at the Peak of Qi Condensation, renowned for his lightning-fast swordplay. The Blackwood House cultivated speed above all else, their techniques designed for overwhelming offense. Ren, a mere twelve-year-old, was seen as an underdog, albeit one with a surprising performance at the Azure Cloud Sect.
Jaron, a lean youth with sharp, confident eyes, stepped onto the jade platform, a gleaming, narrow-bladed sword strapped to his back. He gave Ren a dismissive glance. "A Valerius? I heard you had a fluke at Azure Cloud. Don't waste my time, boy."
Ren's expression remained calm, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "We shall see."
The referee, a stern-faced elder from the Imperial Academy, raised his hand. "Begin!"
Jaron moved instantly, a blur of motion. His sword, drawn with practiced ease, became a silver streak, aimed at Ren's chest. It was the 'Swift Serpent Strike,' a signature Blackwood technique, designed to overwhelm with sheer speed.
Ren didn't dodge conventionally. He shifted, not away, but into the strike, his body swaying with a fluid grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Jaron's blade, instead of piercing him, grazed harmlessly past his side. It was a minimal movement, a subtle redirection of force, a principle far beyond Jaron's understanding of brute speed.
Jaron's eyes widened fractionally. He recovered instantly, his sword flashing again, a whirlwind of strikes. He unleashed the 'Blackwood Gale,' a rapid succession of slashes and thrusts, each one imbued with the sharp qi of a Peak Qi Condensation cultivator. The air around him shimmered with the force of his attacks.
Ren moved like a shadow. He didn't block with his hands, nor did he carry a weapon. His defense was pure evasion, a dance of subtle shifts, pivots, and weaves. He seemed to anticipate every strike, his body flowing around Jaron's blade as if he were made of mist. The crowd gasped, mesmerized by the almost impossible agility of the young Valerius.
"He's just dodging!" Jaron snarled, frustrated. "Fight me, coward!"
"Why waste energy on what can be avoided?" Ren calmly replied, his voice clear amidst the clash of qi.
Jaron, enraged, poured more qi into his blade. "Then let's see you avoid this! Blackwood's Roaring Tiger!" He gathered his spiritual energy, and his sword glowed with a fierce blue light. He lunged, a single, powerful thrust aimed directly at Ren's dantian, faster and stronger than anything before.
This was the moment. Ren's eyes narrowed. He could not simply evade this. The force was too great. He felt the familiar hum of the Shadow Orb, nestled in his robes, a silent partner in his deception.
As Jaron's blade screamed towards him, Ren didn't move. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer rippled around his form. It was not a visible illusion, but a subtle distortion of light and perception, a nascent application of the Shadow Orb's power. For a fraction of a second, Jaron's eyes registered two Rens, then three, then none, then one again, but his targeting was thrown off.
Jaron's blade, instead of hitting Ren's dantian, sliced through the air barely an inch to his left. The force of the blow still buffeted Ren, but he remained unharmed. And in that same infinitesimal moment, as Jaron's momentum carried him slightly past, Ren struck.
His hand shot out, not with a powerful punch, but with a precise, almost gentle tap. His fingers, channeling a concentrated burst of his Foundation Establishment qi, struck a series of pressure points along Jaron's arm – the elbow, the wrist, and a crucial nerve in the shoulder. It was a technique from his past life, designed to disrupt qi flow and paralyze limbs without visible injury.
Jaron's eyes widened in shock. A jolt of agonizing pain shot through his arm, and his sword, suddenly feeling like a dead weight, clattered from his numb fingers onto the jade platform. His arm hung uselessly at his side, completely unresponsive.
The crowd erupted in a roar of disbelief and confusion. Jaron, the prodigy of the Blackwood House, disarmed and incapacitated by a single, seemingly innocuous touch from a twelve-year-old Valerius.
"What... what did you do?!" Jaron gasped, clutching his limp arm, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and utter bewilderment.
Ren stepped back, his expression calm. "Your qi flow was disrupted. A basic oversight in your 'Swift Serpent' technique. You leave your vital points exposed at the peak of your momentum." He spoke with the clinical detachment of a master dissecting a novice's flaw.
The referee, after a moment of stunned silence, cleared his throat. He approached Jaron, examining his arm. There was no visible injury, yet the limb was clearly paralyzed. He looked at Ren, a deep frown on his face. He couldn't understand the technique, but the result was undeniable.
"Blackwood Jaron is unable to continue!" the referee finally announced, his voice echoing across the arena. "Valerius Ren is the victor!"
Lord Alaric sprang to his feet, a triumphant roar escaping his lips. "He did it! He truly did it! The Valerius name lives!" Lady Seraphina, though still confused by the suddenness of the victory, embraced her son with tears in her eyes.
As Ren left the arena, the whispers intensified. "Did you see that? He barely touched him!" "What kind of technique was that?" "The Valerius family... are they truly rising again?"
Ren felt the subtle hum of the Shadow Orb within his robes. It was pleased. The minor illusion, the precise qi strike – it had been a perfect demonstration of controlled power, enough to impress, but not enough to reveal the true depths of his abilities. He had shown them a glimpse of the shadow, a hint of the abyss.
But as he walked, a new thought, cold and unsettling, wormed its way into his mind. The Shadow Orb had responded to his will, enhancing his abilities. But what if, in its ancient consciousness, it had its own agenda? What if the "It remembers" whisper was not just a chronicle, but a subtle influence, guiding him towards a destiny not entirely his own? The victory felt good, but the lingering question, a dark echo from the Abyssal Heart, left him with a chilling curiosity. What other secrets did the Orb hold, and what price would he pay for unlocking them? The Grand Tournament was just beginning, but a far grander, and more dangerous, game was already underway.