The week passed without incident.
If there had been tension building beneath Lin's composure, it never surfaced in his routine. Cultivation continued at the same measured pace, careful not to provoke the threshold he felt waiting just ahead of him. His skin had grown dense and responsive, reinforced to a degree that no longer felt tentative, yet something remained unfinished. He could sense it in the way qi settled beneath the surface, stable but not fully integrated, as though his body were waiting for permission rather than struggling to advance.
That restraint was intentional.
Martial practice continued each night, the scythe tracing controlled arcs through the air until movement and recovery blended into one another. The weapon no longer felt foreign in his hands. Its weight had become familiar, its demands understood. Lin did not push for speed. He did not test power. He focused on balance, on positioning, on understanding how much space each motion claimed and how quickly it could be reclaimed.
By the time the day arrived, preparation no longer occupied his thoughts.
It was simply time.
Lin rose before dawn and prepared in silence. The scythe was secured at his side, wrapped and unassuming. The mask rested in his hands for a brief moment before he fastened it in place. Its surface was plain, lacking ornament or distinguishing features, chosen precisely because it offered nothing to remember.
When he looked at his reflection, there was no sense of detachment.
Only distance.
"You will be Feng Yuan today," the Sword God said, his tone calm but attentive. "Lin Yuan does not exist inside that arena."
"I understand," Lin replied.
The tournament grounds had been transformed overnight. What had once been an open square was now enclosed by layered barriers, wooden platforms rising in tiers around the central arena. Banners bearing the city's insignia hung from tall poles, their fabric stirring gently in the morning air. Officials moved through the space with practiced efficiency, their expressions neutral, their voices clipped and professional.
Spectators were already gathering, filling the stands with a low murmur that ebbed and flowed as new arrivals filtered in.
Lin entered through the participant gate without drawing attention.
The Body Tempering division was assigned its own waiting area, separated from the higher realms by both distance and implication. The cultivators gathered there varied in age and demeanor, some seated in quiet meditation, others stretching or exchanging muted conversation. Qi signatures drifted faintly through the air, restrained by regulation but impossible to fully suppress.
Lin found an empty space and settled into stillness.
His breathing slowed naturally. Qi remained compressed beneath his skin, obedient and quiet.
A clear voice echoed across the grounds as the host stepped onto the central platform. The man's robes were formal but practical, his posture upright, his gaze sweeping across the assembled crowd with practiced ease.
"Welcome, honored guests and participants," he began. "Today marks the opening of the Body Tempering division of the city tournament. As always, the rules will be stated clearly and enforced without exception."
The murmur of the crowd faded.
"Matches will be decided by submission, incapacitation.. Lethal force is not prohibited. Any participant is responsible for their own wellbeing."
His gaze sharpened.
"Additionally, all participants are reminded that any advancement in realm or sub-realm that occurs during the tournament must be reported to the officiating body without delay. Failure to disclose such changes will be treated as an attempt to deceive the arena and will result in immediate removal."
The reminder carried weight.
Lin listened without reaction. His cultivation remained exactly where he intended it to be.
Names were called as matches were announced, each accompanied by brief descriptions that allowed the audience to place expectations. When his own name was spoken, it sounded distant, unfamiliar.
"Feng Yuan. Body Tempering division. Skin Tempering completed."
Lin rose smoothly and stepped forward.
Across the arena, his opponent was already waiting.
"Kuan Bin," the host continued. "Mid stage Bone Tempering. Independent cultivator."
The man was broad-shouldered and solidly built, his stance relaxed but grounded. His qi was more pronounced than most in the division, the faint crimson undertone of Blood Tempering visible even without focused perception.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Early Bone Tempering," the Sword God remarked quietly. "They did not ease you in."
Lin's gaze remained fixed ahead. "It was expected. They aim to eliminate the weak links as quickly as possible."
"Indeed, time to prove them wrong" the Sword God replied.
They moved to their positions as officials took their places along the arena's edge. The ground beneath Lin's feet was packed earth, reinforced to withstand repeated impact. He adjusted his stance subtly, testing traction, noting the distance between himself and his opponent.
Kuan studied him openly.
The mask drew attention, as masks often did, but there was no mockery in his expression. Only assessment.
"Masked fighters tend to be either cautious or arrogant," Kuan said evenly. "Which are you?"
Lin inclined his head slightly. "Prepared."
Kuan huffed a short laugh. "We will see."
As the final preparations were made, Lin's attention drifted briefly upward.
The mayor's booth overlooked the arena from above, elevated and partially concealed by a heavy curtain that obscured its interior. The presence there was unmistakable. Even restrained, the aura rolling off the space carried authority, dense and refined, pressing subtly against the senses of those attuned enough to feel it.
A Realm Five Soul Temperer, by public account.
Lin's eyes lingered for only a moment before returning to the arena floor.
The Sword God was silent longer than usual.
"That is not a Realm Five," he said finally.
Lin did not react outwardly. "You are certain?"
The Sword God's tone was uncharacteristically tight. "Yes."
"How?"
"Martial intuition," he replied. "It does not grant clarity, only alignment. Past a certain rank, strength leaves a… signature. Hers is being deliberately suppressed."
Lin absorbed that quietly. "What realm?"
"A concealed Realm Six," the Sword God said. "At minimum."
Lin exhaled slowly. The information settled without panic, without urgency.
"So she is watching," he said.
"She is," the Sword God confirmed. "And she is not the only one."
Lin accepted that without comment.
Whatever eyes were upon the arena, concealed or otherwise, were irrelevant for now. He let the awareness fade, drawing his attention back to the packed earth beneath his feet and the presence standing across from him. The scythe rested lightly in his grip, its weight familiar, its balance steady. Beneath his skin, qi remained compressed and orderly, held at the edge of motion but not released.
Officials along the perimeter raised their hands in unison, barriers settling fully into place as the ambient noise of the crowd thinned. The murmurs did not vanish, but they lost cohesion, individual voices dissolving into a single, expectant hum.
Kuan rolled his shoulders once, slow and deliberate. The movement was unhurried, but it carried intent. Lin felt it clearly now, the density in the other man's presence as qi circulated through muscle and bone, reinforcing structure rather than flaring outward. There was confidence there, grounded and unadorned, the kind born from certainty in one's foundation rather than a need to intimidate.
Lin adjusted his stance in response, not mirroring but aligning, feet settling into the earth as his posture loosened just enough to allow motion in any direction. The mask hid his expression, but behind it his focus sharpened, awareness extending outward through space, timing, and distance.
Kuan's gaze lingered on the scythe again, then returned to Lin's face. Something unreadable passed through his eyes, not doubt, but consideration.
"You carry yourself like someone who knows what is coming," he said quietly.
Lin did not answer.
The host stepped forward, his voice carrying cleanly across the arena.
"Participants."
The last traces of casual movement vanished. Even the air seemed to still, pressure settling as the space narrowed to the two figures facing one another.
"Prepare."
Lin's grip tightened imperceptibly. His breathing slowed, deep and controlled, each breath aligning body and intent. Qi responded without resistance, settling evenly beneath reinforced skin, ready to move the moment it was called upon.
Across from him, Kuan shifted his footing, weight distributing evenly as qi sank deeper into his frame. His posture lowered slightly, shoulders squared, stance solid.
The Sword God watched in silence, attention focused, expectation held in check.
The host's hand rose.
"Begin."