Chapter 4: The Duel of the Defiant
The grand arena of the Ling Clan was a spectacle of polished stone and ancient banners, and today, it was packed to capacity. The air buzzed with anticipation, skepticism, and outright mockery. Clansmen whispered amongst themselves, their gazes fixed on the two figures standing opposite each other in the center of the vast, circular stage. On one side stood Zhao Wei, his face a mask of supreme confidence. He was the epitome of a prodigal son—dressed in fine silks, his hands resting on the hilt of a gleaming saber. He had been cultivating for years and was known for his mastery of the Blazing Sun Saber Art.
On the other side was Ling Tian, a quiet enigma. To the crowd, he was still the "sleeping dog," a boy who had been in a coma for three years and had inexplicably transformed into a handsome youth. They saw him as nothing more than a fool who had accepted a duel he couldn't possibly win. Their snickers and condescending remarks did not reach Ling Tian's ears. His focus was absolute. His mind was a tranquil lake, reflecting only the image of Lin Yue, who stood at the edge of the arena, her hands clasped together in silent prayer.
A tall, austere elder from the Ling Clan's council stepped forward, his voice a low rumble. "The duel is set. The terms are simple. It is a battle of honor. The victor shall be decided when one is no longer able to fight. No lethal blows are permitted. Begin!"
Zhao Wei's smug expression widened. "I'll go easy on you, sleeping dog," he taunted, drawing his saber with a flourish. The blade hummed with spiritual energy, a vibrant orange glow radiating from its edge. "Perhaps a quick, clean cut will be enough to wake you up to reality."
Ling Tian did not respond with words. Instead, he simply closed his eyes for a brief moment. He felt the spiritual energy of the entire arena, the energy coursing through the stone beneath his feet, and the energy swirling in the very air around them. He called upon the Cosmic Origin Formation and drew upon this vast, unseen ocean of power. It was like breathing—natural, effortless, and instantaneous. A faint, almost imperceptible golden aura enveloped his body, a sign of the raw, refined spiritual energy now at his command.
"Hmph. All show and no substance," Zhao Wei scoffed. He lunged forward, a streak of blazing orange light following his saber. His Blazing Sun Saber Art was a formidable technique, a series of rapid, powerful strikes meant to overwhelm an opponent with sheer force. His blade descended with the speed of a falling meteor, aimed directly at Ling Tian's head.
The crowd gasped, some turning away, expecting the duel to end as quickly as it had begun. But then, an impossible thing happened.
Ling Tian moved.
It wasn't a block or a dodge. It was a blur, a disappearing act. One moment he was there, a still, unmoving target. The next, he was behind Zhao Wei, a mere shadow. He had used the Celestial Serpent Step, a movement technique that transcended mere speed. He moved not just through space but with a rhythm that defied conventional understanding. He was the wind, the shadow, the ripple in a calm pond.
Zhao Wei's strike hit nothing but air. He spun around, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion. He saw Ling Tian standing several feet away, his arms folded, a look of calm indifference on his face. The golden aura around him had not even flickered.
"How…?" Zhao Wei stammered, his confidence cracking.
Ling Tian's voice was low but clear, carrying to every corner of the arena. "Your movements are predictable. Your spiritual energy is loud and unrefined. You strike with brute force, but you have no grace."
The crowd, who had been expecting a swift victory for Zhao Wei, was now murmuring in disbelief. The Ling Clan elders exchanged surprised glances, their aged eyes glinting with newfound interest.
Zhao Wei roared in frustration. He poured more spiritual energy into his saber, the orange light now a blinding blaze. He launched a barrage of attacks, a whirlwind of strikes that filled the arena with a cacophony of whistling air and clanging energy. He was no longer fighting with skill; he was lashing out in anger.
Ling Tian, however, remained a ghost. He weaved through every strike, his movements so fluid and precise that he never seemed to be in danger. He moved a single step to avoid a downward chop, a half-turn to evade a horizontal slash. He was a master of evasion, a dancer in a field of blades. Every time Zhao Wei's saber came close, Ling Tian's golden aura would subtly deflect the attack without him even raising a hand.
Finally, Ling Tian decided to end it. He saw an opening—a brief, careless overextension in Zhao Wei's attack. He moved in a flash, his body becoming a blur of motion. He didn't use a saber or a sword. He didn't need to. He raised his right hand and gathered the raw spiritual energy of the universe into his palm, a swirling vortex of golden light. This was a direct manifestation of the Dragon's Roar Palm.
With a speed that defied the eye, he struck Zhao Wei in the solar plexus. There was no loud explosion, no spectacular display of power. Just a quiet, thudding impact.
BOOM!
Zhao Wei was launched backward, not by the force of the hit, but by the sheer, unbridled power that had been channeled into his body. He flew through the air and slammed into the arena wall, a deep crater forming where he hit. His body slid to the ground, his eyes wide and vacant, his saber clattering uselessly on the stone floor. He had not been physically harmed; there were no broken bones or external wounds. But the spiritual energy in his dantian had been completely scattered, leaving him temporarily unable to use his cultivation. He was defeated.
A hush fell over the arena. It was the silence of utter shock. Then, a single, thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd, led by Lin Yue, her face alight with pride and relief. The Ling Clan elders rose to their feet, their expressions a mix of astonishment and respect. The "sleeping dog" had not only won but had done so with a grace and power that had left their prodigy looking like a bumbling fool.
Ling Tian walked to the center of the arena, the golden glow around him fading. He looked at Zhao Wei, who was being helped up by two of his family members. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a deep, cold shock. Ling Tian's words were not of gloating, but of a quiet, cutting truth.
"Your pride was your greatest weakness, Zhao Wei. You never looked beyond what you already knew. The world is a much larger place than you imagine. Today, you are defeated. Honor demands you leave and never return."
Zhao Wei didn't speak. He simply turned and walked away, his head bowed, the weight of his defeat heavier than any physical blow. As he disappeared from the arena, Ling Tian felt a strange sense of resolve. He knew this wasn't the end for Zhao Wei. The humiliated look in his rival's eyes wasn't just a sign of defeat—it was the birth of a new determination.
Ling Tian walked off the stage, his gaze finding Lin Yue. He smiled, and in that smile, Lin Yue saw not just victory, but a promise. The promise of a future where he would be her protector, her strength, and her one and only. The lonely boy was truly gone. In his place was Ling Tian, the destined emperor, who had just taken his first step on a path to true power.