The Sect Master of the Heavenly Root Sect moves towards the central pavilion, his movements full of power and grace. He stands next to another Elder of the Sect wearing the same black and golden robes, whose face resembles his own. Breaking the momentary stillness, an Elder clad in crimson robes, similar to Junai, yet heavily adorned with symbols and a dual trimming of gold and silver, identifying himself as an Elder of the Crimson Flame Pavilion, steps forward. The Elder's robes flutter gently, cradling a golden cauldron in his arms. This cauldron, modest in size yet pulsating with contained power, seems to resonate with the energy of countless tournaments past.

“Today,” he begins, his voice carrying across the pavilion with a clarity that commands attention, “each disciple will receive a ticket. This ticket holds your fate for the forthcoming trials—a number designating your platform, and the sequence of your combat.”

He gestures with practised ease to the ground at his feet, where the symbol of Platform One is etched. “For clarity,” he continues, the edge of his robe brushing against the symbol as if to emphasise its significance, “those holding a ticket marked with Platform One will stand next to the platform, as I do now.”

His gaze sweeps across the faces before him, ensuring his words have taken root. “And should your ticket bear the combat order of one, you’ll face your counterpart with the matching numeral. Each platform will consist of these duels, until there are only two disciples left. There will be a half-hour break once we reach this point, before the final duels continue. It is here, on these platforms, where your strength, resolve, and mastery will be tested.”

The Elder begins to infuse the cauldron with his fiery Qi. The disciples standing closest to the Elder begin to sweat profusely and slowly move away from platform one. ‘Why are all the disciples moving away from the Elder?’ Azreal has a confused expression spreading across his face, before he feels a slight lift in temperature. ‘The Elder’s Qi cannot be changing the ambient temperature of this entire field, can it? I truly have a long journey ahead; the depths of the Elders are far from what I can fathom.’

A minute passes, and every disciple within fifty metres of the duelling platform one slowly steps backward, before a subtle yet powerful wave of Qi spreads through the crowd of disciples. A feeling of déjà vu warms Azreal, as a small white ticket appears before his eyes, materialising out of the thick fiery Qi that flows like a river in search of its destination.

Azreal reaches out and grasps the white ticket, letting out a small grimace. ‘The ticket is hot!’ He moves the ticket between each of his hands before the ticket cools to a lukewarm temperature. ‘Platform twenty? I do not see platform twenty near me. I wonder what Darian got? I hope Junai is on a different platform…’ Azreal’s thoughts betray his attempt to maintain a calm exterior.

Darian slaps Azreal’s shoulder. “I got platform three, you?” “Platform twenty, any idea?” Azreal responds, standing on the balls of his feet, trying to find his platform over the sea of disciples who have begun moving. “It must be towards the back of the duelling grounds, as the Elder stood on platform one, and platform three is just a few metres that way,” says Darian, pointing his massive hand to a platform, which has a few disciples already patiently waiting to the side.

“Good luck, Azreal. You may have amazing cultivation speed and strength beyond even me, but do not forget most of these disciples have trained for their entire lives, often under the tutelage of their powerful families. So, do not underestimate them, and more importantly, do not overestimate yourself,” Darian says, releasing his grip on Azrael's shoulder. Darian then walks to stand in front of Azreal. “Seriously, try not to die out there. I’ve heard a few of the more vicious disciples aim to cripple or kill their partner.” Darian’s eyes shoot to Junai, who moves towards pavilion one with a vile smile as he eyes anyone who crosses his path.

“I’ll try my best, Darian, but I am not confident. I understand the Stormblade Surge’s first stage, but I have never had to fight before, definitely not with my life on the line,” says Azreal. Azreal lets out a small breath through his nose, straightening his back and shaking his head. “I’ve got this! Good luck to you as well, my friend…”

Azreal spends a few minutes winding his way between disciples. The duelling grounds have turned into a maze, filled with other disciples trying to find their own way. ‘This is just chaos—’ Azreal’s thought is interrupted as his head collides with another disciple's chest. “Fuck me, who put that wall there…” Azreal mutters to himself before craning his head and locking eyes with the disciple who is a solid foot taller than Azreal. She is clad in the Sect Master’s Personal Pavilion, The Heavenly Defense Pavilion, outer disciple robes which are a deep void-like black, with a muted gold trim.

“Oh! My apologies, truly. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she inquired, her concern evident in the gentle tilt of her voice, compelling Azreal to reassess his initial impressions. ‘Her voice is so serene and captivating’ Azreal stands with a dazed look on his face.

“Oh no, I broke another one… The Sect Master will kill me!” cries out the tall disciple, as her breath rapidly quickens. ‘What have I done?!?!’, her mind races with visions of dire repercussions for accidentally breaking a disciple. Azreal, snapping back to the present, can't help but be charmed by her distress. "Really, I'm perfectly alright! There's no need for alarm," he assures her, his smile broadening.

He playfully waves his hand before her face, in a failed attempt to get her attention. "Earth to... um, sorry, I didn't catch your name. But as I was saying, you can relax. I'm not injured," Azreal persists, aiming to soothe her worries.

"Oh! I... uh, I'm Lian, thank the Heavens you are okay. I accidentally broke one of the other disciples' collar bone in a similar incident, so I am truly happy that you are okay,” says Lian, her face adorned with a brilliant smile. “I am Azreal. There is no need to be so concerned! I am sure most of the disciples here are made of tougher stuff than he was. It was a pleasure to run into you, Lian. Good luck with your duels,” says Azreal, returning Lian’s smile with one of his own.

‘How can someone so huge have the most serene voice on the planet… The women in this game world are truly amazing’ the smile never leaving Azreal’s face as he finally makes his way to duelling platform twenty.

As Azreal makes his approach, his eyes focus on a group of nineteen disciples who are waiting next to the podium. An Elder, wearing the Spirit Harmony Pavilion’s robes, which are a calm sky blue with white trim, featuring a flowing river and blooming lotus emblem, smiles widely as Azrael approaches. “Finally, our last disciple joins us! And if my old eyes don't deceive me, you have already joined the Unbound Pavilion. You must be a mighty and impressive young man.”

Azreal’s face becomes flushed with embarrassment. All nineteen disciples turn to face him, their critical gazes burrowing into his body. “Please, Elder, I am not any more impressive than the disciples present. I simply got lucky!” pleads Azreal, his gaze fixated on the Elder who lets out a hearty chuckle. “A strong cultivator will always be the centre of attention. I hope you can overcome your shyness, for there will be many times you will be under the critical gaze of many more than you are now.”

Azreal nods his head in response to the Elder's advice before retrieving his ticket. “I am number three. Who am I paired against?” Azreal says. A man, who appears to be the same age as Azreal, eighteen, raises his hand. Azreal, activating his Celestial Gaze, breathes a sigh of relief at the young man's information.

<Name: Jin Feng>

<Title: >

<Weapon: Sword>

<Cultivation Path: Whirlwind Sword>

<Cultivation Level: Martial Adept 2>

‘I should be able to win… if I only look at the cultivation level, I should have an advantage, but Jin Feng looks so calm. Maybe he cannot see my cultivation level like Darian and Junai?’ Azreal's thoughts race as he walks near Quani Feng’s location and waits patiently. ‘How should I attack him? I can infuse my Qi into my weapon, but I do not properly know how to swing my sword. Do I just hack at him? Do I pierce or slash? What if I kill him? What if he kills me? Who let me be part of a duel without any training!’ Azreal’s thoughts consume his mind.  His hands clawing at each other, drawing a drop of blood before his minor regeneration begins to heal the small cuts he dug into his hands. Before Azreal can get his mind under control and produce a single answer to any of his questions, a kind yet stern voice tears Azreal from his inner dialogue.

“Number three, please come to the duelling platform. We will begin when you are ready!” says the Elder. Azreal blinks his eyes twice, attempting to confirm what he has just heard. The Elder, noticing his confused expression, meets Azreal’s gaze. “Yes, it is your turn. You’ve been so consumed with your thoughts and worry that you had not spent a single second watching the other duels. What a wasted opportunity. Stop wasting time and get up here.” The Elder's tone leaves no room for negotiation.

Azreal, absentmindedly meandering his way to the staircase, never leaves the floor with his eyes. Before he is cognisant of his location, a youthful voice sounds from the opposite side of the duelling platform. “I do not know what is wrong with you. However, I am here to impress the Elders, so either get ready to duel or find a new path in life,” says Jin Feng, his words harsh as they bounce around inside Azreal’s mind.

Azreal feels a sudden increase in pressure, as if every disciple and Elder looks towards his direction. The sound of fighting quickly resounds as multiple duels begin at the same time, swords striking against each other, screams of pain, shouts of anger, and the clashing of metal on flesh. The invading sound and the sudden external pressure that Azreal senses cause his mind to go blank—a blessing in disguise, as Azreal was moments from being completely consumed by his own anxiety and catastrophizing.

Azreal’s eyes, for the first time since he approached duelling podium twenty, shine bright, the crystal blue of his eyes changing colour ever so slightly, now a deep blue. Jin Feng's sneer falls from his face, an uncomfortable weight spreading across his shoulders. ‘What is this feeling… These eyes belong to those who’ve survived countless battles and crushed foes countless times stronger than me.’ Jin Feng shakes his head, scattering these thoughts to the wind, raising his sword, which he grips with both hands, before a small gust of wind begins to swirl around the sword.

Azreal’s eyes fixate on the wind swirling around the steel sword, instinctively taking a sword stance, lowering his centre of weight, and moving his head slightly forward. Azreal’s sword crackles with Lightning, the Elder stepping between the two individuals, looking into Jin Feng’s eyes, nodding towards him. Jin Feng returns the nod, his facial expression calm, yet the Elder can see the droplets of sweat forming around his hair and the increase in his breathing speed. 

The Elder turns towards Azreal, slightly taken aback. ‘Elder Juhee informed me to keep an eye on this one, but those eyes and that power, what could she possibly be worried about?’ The Elder nods his head towards Azreal. A few moments pass, and the Elder has not seen a reaction. He lets out a loud sigh as he walks to the side of the platform, where a small wooden platform was created for the overseeing Elder to stand and keep a watchful eye over the duel.

Elder Juhee, currently sitting next to the other Great Elders, eyes go wide. ‘How has he already comprehended the first stage of the Stormblade Surge Technique? He couldn’t have learnt it in just a few hours, even the most talented geniuses took at least a day to comprehend the first stage!’ The other Elders have noticed her reaction, their gaze moving to the duel that is just beginning.

“Duel Start!” The Elder of the Spirit Harmony Pavilion's voice booms across the pavilion, as both Jin Feng and Azreal begin to move towards each other. Azreal, moving faster than anyone watching anticipated, darts to the left side of Jin Feng. Azreal brings his sword up to strike at Jin Feng's upper leg, a sharp breath escaping Jin Feng’s mouth as he barely manages to block Azreal’s strike. Azreal steps back with a slight wobble before beginning to channel his internal energy, the next words from Azreal’s mouth making the Elder watching gasp, “Stormblade Surge, first form, Gathering Storm!”

Azreal’s sword becomes enveloped in Lightning, the surrounding air now pulsating with power, stronger than any first form technique should be giving off. ‘Who is this monster, why is he so strong, yet he looked so afraid moments before the fight?’ Jin Feng’s internal dialogue desperately tries to bargain with the fate that is about to befall him.

A silence fills the area, the only sounds that permeate the area are the crackling energy of Azreal’s Qi leaking from his sword. A small smile appears across Azreal’s face as he leans forward and strikes towards his target, this strike much faster than his previous strike. This time the strike is too fast for Jin Feng to react. A feeble attempt at lifting his sword before he feels a slight burning sensation on his rib cage and just above his elbow. 

The only trace of Azreal’s attack, from Jin Feng’s point of view, is the blood dripping onto the floor. ‘Whose arm is that on the floor? I didn’t manage to attack once yet, so that can’t be my arm, and whose blood is that? They need to get serious help; it’s pooling and staining the duelling ground.’ Jin Feng's mind goes blank as he feels a strong arm wrap around his body.