Li Xiuwen walked directly to the registration center for the Underground Tournament, located in the heart of the city. The building was not as luxurious as he had imagined, but a massive structure built from rough iron ore mixed with colossal, unpolished rock faces. The entrance was a large iron gate that was constantly ajar, allowing people passing by to clearly see the atmosphere inside.
Inside, the building was filled with formidable-looking fighters. The smell of sweat, blood, and metal hung heavy in the air. Everyone glared at each other with eyes full of ambition and a thirst for battle. Some wore rough armor with dents and scratches, a testament to their extensive fighting experience. Others held their weapons in their hands, displaying their strength.
Li Xiuwen paid no mind to the tense atmosphere. He walked straight to the registration counter in the center of the hall. A daunting-looking, burly man sat there. His face was covered in scars, like a map chronicling his past battles. A terrifying iron dragon tattoo adorned his right arm.
"Here to register?" the large man said in a low, gruff voice. His eyes looked at Li Xiuwen with contempt, scanning him from head to toe. "Go find something better to bring. This is no place for someone like you."
"I want to register," Li Xiuwen replied in a steady voice, unfazed by the condescending remarks. "I will use this stone for registration."
Li Xiuwen handed the dark iron ore he had acquired to the large man. The man glanced at the stone in Li Xiuwen's hand before bursting into a loud, mocking laugh, which drew the attention of those nearby.
"Hahaha, young man, do you really think you can register with a worthless piece of rock like this? Do you think I'm blind?" He threw the stone on the table with a loud clatter. "The rule for this tournament is to use an ore that still has some Qi remaining. How can you bring me an empty stone?"
Li Xiuwen remained still, his face showing no signs of anger or embarrassment.
"It used to be dark iron ore," Li Xiuwen replied in a calm voice, but with a hint of confidence that wiped the smile from the large man's face. "And even though its Qi has been completely drained, it is still a valid symbol according to the rules of this tournament."
"How dare you…" the large man said in a threatening voice. He was about to reach out and grab Li Xiuwen by the throat, but he paused when he saw the deep, cold glint in the young man's eyes.
He bent down to carefully inspect the stone in his hand again. He found that it indeed had the traces of dark iron ore, something that few people could easily see. He took the stone and placed it on a small altar made of solid black stone.
Poof!
The altar absorbed the stone completely before spitting out a small iron plaque, which was the symbol of entry for the Underground Tournament. Li Xiuwen took the plaque in his hand, gave a slight bow to the large man, and walked away unhurriedly.
As Li Xiuwen was leaving the building, he overheard a conversation among a group of fighters waiting to register, who seemed to be the strongest ones in the hall.
"Hey, have you heard about that young swordsman?" one man whispered excitedly. "The one who took down a high-level fighter from the Demon Iron Sect with just a single sword technique?"
"I heard about him too," another replied with respect. "It seems he's a disciple from an outside sect who came here to make a name for himself… They call his sword technique the Moonlight Sword Art."
"The Moonlight Sword Art? That's an interesting name," the first man muttered. "But it seems he's not interested in fame at all. They say he came here only to join the Underground Tournament to get the prize, which is an ancient sword manual… because he holds Bai Li, the legendary Sky-Roaming Swordmaster, as his personal ideal."
"Bai Li?! The legendary figure who conquered the world with his self-created sword technique?!" another man exclaimed in shock and admiration.
Li Xiuwen did not join the conversation, but he listened to every word intently. A faint light flickered in his usually calm eyes when he heard the name Mu Rong Jian and the legend he admired.
"A self-created sword technique, huh…" Li Xiuwen murmured softly to himself. "Interesting."
As Li Xiuwen was walking out of the building, he saw the back of a young man walking in.
The young man was dressed in clean swordsman's clothes, not stained with dust like the other fighters. A long, silver scabbard was neatly tucked at his waist. His pitch-black hair reached the base of his neck, and a distinct aura of confidence emanated from him, setting him apart from the crowd.
Li Xiuwen did not turn back to look again. He continued on his path, but in his mind, he had already committed the name Mu Rong Jian to memory and realized that this tournament might not be as simple as he had initially thought.