As Xiao Wuzi's presence faded, Ace exhaled slowly, but the weight pressing against his chest didn't lift.
For the first ti in a long while, he felt—insignificant.
All this ti, the voice had been repeating the sa chilling words.
Pray you win the tournant. The old man intends to really kill you—yet he won't. Not so easily.
Ace clenched his fists.
Why?
Why had Xiao Wuzi first disowned him, only to openly threaten him before an audience?
Was it a show of dominance? A warning? Or was he fishing for hidden enemies, waiting to see who would dare step forward?
Ace couldn't pinpoint the exact reason, but deep down, sothing gnawed at him—a heavy, suffocating feeling that there was an imnse grudge between them.
One he had no mory of.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.
Hua Hua strolled over, exuding his usual carefree arrogance, with Hua Tiger followed closely behind.
"Greetings, Master Xiao." He paused, then smirked as he corrected himself. "Ahem, I an, greetings, Master Zhi."
The amusent in his voice was unmistakable, yet his gaze flickered toward the direction Xiao Wuzi had left, cautious and calculating.
Ace didn't respond imdiately, still caught in the storm of his thoughts.
Hua Hua, ever perceptive, didn't push. Instead, he shifted the topic. "I saw your disciple—both of them, actually. Absolute monsters in the making."
His smirk widened. "I'd be worried if I were you, Master Zhi. Give it a few years, and they might just surpass you."
Hua Tiger, who had remained silent until now, rely stroked his beard, his sharp eyes fixed on Liu i.
The last ti he had seen the girl, she had just ascended to Silver Rank.
That had been only a few months ago.
Yet now, she was nearing Gold Rank.
Monsters in the making?
No.
That girl was already a monster.
"Master Zhi, would you like to stay with us for the tournant?"
Hua Hua's tone was casual, but his sharp eyes held sothing more—an offer, a shield against the danger Ace had just been exposed to.
An invitation, yes. But also a lifeline.
Ace hesitated.
Sothing in his gut told him to refuse, to tread carefully. Was accepting their hospitality a sign of weakness? Would it entangle him further in the political gas of the powerful families?
But then—he turned to i'er.
Liu i, standing beside him, her small hands clenched into fists. She wasn't shaking out of fear, not exactly, but the encounter with Xiao Wuzi might have unsettled her.
Ace exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he said, his voice steady. "I'll take you up on that offer."
"You'll love being with us, Master Zhi," Hua Hua said with a knowing smile.
Then, as if rembering sothing, he chuckled. "Oh, by the way, that Spirit Pork you gave us—it was the best I've ever had. Even the black market suppliers can't compare. Whatever you're feeding those pigs, it's beyond anything I've seen."
Ace smirked at the complint but didn't react much. He had long since realized that his farm's products were in a league of their own.
"Good thing I brought so with for the trip," he said casually. "Let's enjoy it together."
Hua Hua's eyes lit up. "Now that's the best news I've heard all day!"
Ace glanced at Liu i, who was still standing close by. He had promised her good food, after all.
"Can't be stingy now," he thought to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
___
The next day, the Hua Family's most prominent figures—Family Head Hua Hua and the two Hua brothers, Hua Ting and Hua Tiger—sat together at the grand pavilion overlooking the tournant grounds.
The morning air was crisp, filled with the murmurs of spectators eager for the next stage of battles.
Ace sat beside them, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the arena. Today marked the beginning of the real tournant, and despite the lurking dangers, he couldn't deny the spark of excitent building inside him.
The referee strode onto the stage, his voice booming across the coliseum.
"First match of the day! Lady Flow, Major Silver Rank—step forward!"
A graceful figure erged, her movents as fluid as her na suggested. Clad in a flowing silk robe, she carried herself with quiet confidence, her silver-ranked aura rippling gently around her.
"And her opponent—Young Master Jack, Minor Silver Rank!"
A young man stepped onto the battlefield, his stance rigid, eyes sharp with determination. Though he lacked the effortless grace of his opponent, there was no mistaking the fire in his gaze.
The crowd hushed in anticipation.
"Both of you must rember—your life and death an nothing unless you surrender," the referee's voice rang across the arena, firm and emotionless. "Raise a hand now if you wish to forfeit."
Neither contestant moved.
A tense silence followed.
Then—
FWEEEEET!
The sharp blast of the referee's whistle signaled the start of the fight.
The crowd erupted.
"Lady Flow! My money's on you—don't disappoint !"
"Jack! You better win, or I'm coming for your ass!"
Laughter and cheers filled the air, so spectators roaring in excitent, others heckling for sport.
But on the stage, there was no amusent.
Flow remained silent, her sword raised, eyes closed as if she were ditating rather than preparing for battle.
Jack didn't waste ti. There was no need for words—only fools chided their opponents for underestimating them in a life-or-death match.
He shot forward, his speed impressive, his intent sharp. Midway through his charge, he vanished—only to reappear behind Flow in an instant. His fist struck clean, driving into her back with crushing force.
Flow was sent hurtling across the stage, slamming into the corner with a sickening impact. Blood splattered onto the ground as she coughed, her body trembling from the blow.
Jack smirked. "That's what you get for underestimating ."
But then—
His vision blurred. The world twisted unnaturally.
And then... he saw himself.
Or rather—he saw his body.
From the stands, horrified gasps rippled through the crowd.
Jack's headless corpse stood motionless before crumpling, blood pooling beneath it.
The first death of the tournant.
Silence suffocated the arena.
Flow slowly lifted her head, her eyes flickering open with an eerie calm. Without a word, she stepped down from the stage.
There was not a single scratch on her body—the punch mark was gone.
And yet, the crimson-stained blade in her hand told a different story. The blood dripping from its edge was undeniable proof—this was no illusion. It was all real.
"T-The winner is Lady Flow!" the referee announced, his voice carrying over the stunned silence that followed.
For a brief mont, the crowd remained frozen, processing what had just happened.
Then, those who had placed their bets on her erupted into cheers, their voices rising in triumph.
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