Chương 34: Chapter 33: DARE TO KILL

CHAPTER 33 DARE TO KILL —∞— As the call echoed throughout the venue, the proctor got off the stage in a blur of movement. Daojue broke into a run, Gleaming End held straight to the side, flat against the length of his right arm. Across the stage, Xianjun exploded into motion—only to drop low and stay rooted, thrusting his halberd in rapid bursts at the empty air ahead. The halberd glowed a faint green now, and each thrust loosed a nearly invisible streak that tore through the air. Wind …

Jieyuan leaned over the guardrail, squinting, hastespace already up around him to track the movements. Bullets? Not even a third of the way in, Daojue snapped Gleaming End up just as the first streak—projectile? —reached him. Without breaking stride, Daojue spun his spear, meeting the first strike head-on—it vanished in a ring of metal and a burst of green. Daojue followed up by twisting Gleaming End to the side, blocking the second attack.

And then the third, the fourth, the fifth, all without stopping, less than a second's gap between them. Xianjun had first used his halberd's spiritskill two days ago to secure his fifth round win. It'd caught his opponent by surprise, and Xianjun had capitalized on it. Then, since the gold had already spilled out of the purse, Xianjun had used it plenty yesterday on his duel against Baisenzhou Houliao, enough for Jieyuan to get a rough grasp of how it worked.

Each of the halberd's blades—the axe blade at the front, the spearhead at the tip, the curved spike at the back—could shoot out wind projectiles. But all such projectiles up to now had been wind blades, produced by wide, slashing moves. But this was something else. Thrusts were faster than slashes, and if you needed any proof of that you only needed to look down below. Xianjun was thrusting his halberd so fast he was sending an unbroken barrage of bullets flying at Daojue.

And Xianjun was smart with it, stabbing high and low, front, left, and center. Soon Daojue's spear was a blur, twisting and flashing so fast it looked like chaos. But the ringing bullets being blocked kept coming so quickly there didn't seem to be any gap between the sounds, and the accompanying little green bursts grew so numerous and constant that it looked like a vague, greenish barrier of sorts had formed in front of Daojue. Jieyuan leaned further over the railing, eyes wide. Not one bullet was getting through.

Random was the furthest thing from what Daojue was doing—he was reorienting Gleaming End several times each second, so fast he was practically spinning it, but each and every twist and turn was perfect. And throughout all of that, Daojue kept on advancing. At a slower rate than his earlier full-throttle run, sure, but making good progress all the same. Barely a moment had passed, and he was already halfway through the stage. Daojue kept it up.

Two-thirds of the way to Xianjun now, and not a single wind bullet had hit home yet. By now, Jieyuan was sure none ever would. Xianjun was probably counting on getting at least one lucky hit in. It wouldn't have been an unreasonable expectation—had he been facing any fourth-step other than Daojue. Jieyuan grimaced. In Daojue's place, he wouldn't have been able to last more than a couple of seconds before he ended up riddled with holes all over, like some honeycomb.

He might have been able to pull it off with Fatebloom Intuition—with Fatebloom Instinct—but even then he'd have still needed to practice it a bit first. He'd never really thought to include high-speed-projectile-deflection days in his training regimen. He'd never needed to. And if he didn't have the option to cheat by predicting the future? He'd have to have had to spend thousands of hours simulating the fight to have a chance at being able to perfectly block each bullet like that.

He'd have to experience it over and over, die tens of thousands of times in his mind, until every block became instinct. Daojue was doing it on the fly.

"That's quite the contrite look you have, for the one who beat both my son and daughter." A soft voice, coming from behind. Jieyuan turned around. There was a woman just behind him. Tall, willowy, with the Liangshibai sharp, fine lines, and bright, faceted orange eyes. Looking not much older than he was. Protector Yuyan. Yongyi's mother, Meiyao's stepmother. The chief elder's wife—the remaining one, at least. She moved to stand to his side, leaning against the brightgold railing.

She moved her gaze to the stage and gave an appreciative little hum.

"He's something else, isn't he?" Down on the stage, the rings of bursting wind bullets kept on coming. Jieyuan looked from her to where the rest of the Liangshibai were standing. Meiyao and Yongyi were both looking over at the two of them, but weren't making moves to approach. Yongyi had a look somewhere between resigned and amused. Meiyao, for her part, looked contrite. There was a beat in which he stared at them, and they stared back; but then they both looked away, back down at stage.

Jieyuan had little doubt, though, that most of their attention remained on him and the protector. Ah. He turned back to Protector Yuyan, who was facing him again. She smiled, topaz eyes gleaming.

"What? Am I not allowed to talk to my children's friends, now?"

"It's hardly up to me to say what you are and aren't allowed to do, Protector. I'm just a lowly inner disciple." He'd only really talked with Yuyan once: about a month ago, when she'd picked him, Meiyao, and Daojue up and taken them to Topaz Square, where the sect's delegation for Radiant Gold Summit had gathered. Since then, they hadn't done much more than exchange simple greetings the few times they came across each other. Still, she'd always seemed fairly easygoing, and it looked like that hadn't changed.

She scoffed, even as her smile widened.

"So says the future Greensoul." Future Violetsoul, if I have any say about it.

"I might be a merchant's son, but I'm not that keen on gambling on future prospects like that."

"Oh? That doesn't quite match what I've heard about you." The ringing sounds from the stage below suddenly stopped. Jieyuan immediately looked down. Xianjun must've realized he wasn't getting anywhere with those wind bullets, because he'd stopped with the thrusts and was now going for cuts. A wind blade—unlike the bullets, this one Jieyuan could clearly see, a green-tinged crescent of air like a half-moon—surged from the axe blade.

Several others followed it as Xianjun fully shifted gears, slashing again and again in a frenzy. This new volley of attacks didn't give Daojue so much as a pause. As the first of the wind blades reached him, he simply changed his grip on Gleaming End, spacing out his hands, and held it across him, perfectly matching the wind projectile, letting it land harmlessly across the spear's shaft. Daojue didn't slow; if anything, he was gaining speed. Only a fourth of the stage stood between Daojue and Xianjun now.

"I don't think we've ever had anyone quite like him," Protector Yuyan said.

"Though it's not like Daojue's really the Gleaming Stone Sect, is it? We're just a stepping stone, as far as he's concerned. A temporary stopping point. And the same goes for you, no?" Jieyuan could only shrug. He didn't have enough presence of mind to summon a proper answer, not when the duel below was on the tipping point. Daojue getting closer and closer, advancing. And then they were within striking distance of each other. There was a shift: Daojue struck at Xianjun, who parried with his halberd.

That should have been the moment that really kicked things off. The moment that started the duel in earnest. Barely a few seconds later, though, Jieyuan realized that strike had been instead the beginning of the end. They'd barely exchanged a few blows, and already Xianjun was being pushed back. It was painfully, glaringly clear that Xianjun wasn't Daojue's match. Suddenly Xianjun's figure seemed to shimmer, and his movements grew faster. Finally. Sibilant Wind Blessing.

Jieyuan was too far away to hear its signature hiss, but the faint shimmer and the increase in speed were clue enough. Jieyuan wouldn't be forgetting it any time soon, not with his duel against Xiyunfeng Caoluan still so fresh in his mind. Jieyuan held his breath, putting all he had into watching the fight, unwilling to risk missing even a single detail. Sibilant Wind Blessing probably wouldn't be enough to turn things around altogether, but it should still force Daojue to… To…

Jieyuan lost that line of thought as Daojue sped up. Xianjun blurred into movement under the effects of Sibilant Wind Blessing. He was faster now, more agile, and not by a small margin. But somehow, so was Daojue. And with him, there was no tell-tale sign of bondskill usage. It just looked like someone ramping up. Which would mean Daojue had been holding back and was just now getting serious. Sibilant Wind Blessing hadn't changed the picture at all; the gap between Xianjun and Daojue remained practically unchanged.

Jieyuan tried to make sense of just how Daojue was doing it—and as he watched Daojue move to parry a strike barely a moment after Xianjun had started to make it, Jieyuan realized the truth. Daojue hadn't actually gotten faster or stronger. This wasn't a matter of physicality, but skill. Physically, Daojue was a monster, straight and simple, but Jieyuan didn't think that in terms of raw ability, raw strength and agility, Daojue was Xianjun's match.

Without Sibilant Wind Blessing, maybe (which would already be enough to put Daojue well into inhuman territory), but not when a bondskill like that came into play. But there was something about Daojue even more monstrous than his body. His skill. When you pitted halberd against spear, polearm against polearm, skill gaps became more apparent than ever. And Xianjun didn't come close to Daojue's level. Jieyuan was starting to suspect that nothing could, really.

It bordered on predictive, as if Daojue had his own Fatebloom Heart, his own Fatebloom Instinct. There and then, Jieyuan's interest in the duel died a sharp, ugly death. It wasn't that he'd overestimated Xianjun. Rather, despite everything, he'd still managed to underestimate Daojue. His hands gripped the railing hard, the brightgold cold and smooth under his palms. A hand landed gently on one of his. Smaller, but not at all softer; heavily calloused, rather.

He looked up at Protector Yuyan, and he found that her eyes weren't on the duel. Rather, her bright, burning orange eyes were on him. Studying him. She said, "Envy sure is a cruel mistress, isn't it?" He stared at her, at a loss for words. Protector Yuyan didn't take her eyes off his.

"It just pushes and eats at you, over and over. There's no rest, no respite, until you're better than them. And what happens when the one you're chasing after is unreachable? When no matter what you do, you can never close the gap, never mind beat them? Then there's no satisfaction, no realization. You'll just keep toiling away, fruitlessly, chipping away at diamond with a metal chisel." She removed her hand from his. He slackened his grip on the railing, staring at her.

"Most people don't really know what that's like, to chase the impossible. But we do, don't we? For you, it's Daojue. For me…" She turned her head. Jieyuan followed her gaze to the sole white-robed woman in the venue. Protector Wanxin. The sect's sole heavenly protector. Protector Yuyan's sister. She looked back at him.

"I can't say our circumstances are exactly the same, but I do have an idea of what it's like. But here's a word of advice. Don't give up." That caught Jieyuan off-guard, and it must've shown, because Protector Yuyan broke out into a grin.

"What? You thought I'd tell you to let go of it, to find peace in yourself, or some other such nonsense? Please. Inner peace? What good is that? We're cultivators. The goal's not peace. It's power. Power, and power, and power—that's all that really matters in our world." She stepped in closer, her expression alight.

"I'm the strongest cultivator in the sect, did you know? I don't have my sister's talent, but she can't beat me in a fight—not when both of us are at the same realm. Nor can my brother, my husband, my father, or my sister's husband. They're all regarded as the sect's best, and still I'm better. I could take on any two of them on my own and come out on top." She grinned.

"And what do I have to thank for that? Wanxin. Wanxin and her obscene talent. And my need to outdo her." She held out her hands, palms up. They were sprawls of callouses and scar tissue.

"Make no mistake, Wanxin's still far beyond me. She only needs to say the word, and she'll get picked up by a Yellowrealm sect, and soon become more powerful than I can even imagine." Protector Yuyan's hands balled into fists.

"But that's the whole point of it, isn't it? Chasing the impossible. So even now, I keep on working, keep on training, keep on practicing, because it's not enough. It's never enough. Not compared to her. It's like mining a quarry that'll never run dry; you'll never get to the end of it, never be able to move on from it, but you also won't ever run out of ore." Somehow, she sounded both bitter and triumphant.

"So, take it from me. An ever-moving goalpost? That's just about the greatest motivation to us of bitter, envious ken. So don't let go of it, keep pitting yourself against Daojue, keep chasing after the unreachable." Protector Yuyan leaned forward, her voice growing quieter but more intense.

"Because if you want to keep up with my daughter, you'll need every little bit of motivation you can get—because you'll find that she's in no way inferior to that stuck-up pretty boy down there. You won yesterday, I'll give you that. But if you get too comfortable, she'll leave you in the dust. You don't know half of what she's really capable of." Jieyuan understood, then, what this talk had been about all along. And as he did—as Yuyan's words finally struck home—he felt that familiar heat rising in his chest.

That all-consuming spark he knew too well. Envy, ambition, and desire, all in one blazing, burning rush, feeding into each other. His heart thundered, blood thumping in his ears. She nodded to where Meiyao was standing next to Yongyi.

"That girl likes you, more than she's willing to admit. She doesn't let others close to her, not anymore, but you've managed to get through to her somehow. She won't have anyone where she's going, but I hope she'll be able to count on you. Because she'll be watching out for you, and I won't have you dragging her down." Jieyuan was still getting his thoughts in order, thinking up an answer when the bright, ringing clatter of metal snapped him out of it. He turned.

Down on the stage, Xianjun's halberd lay on the floor. Daojue had disarmed him. It's over. Daojue was quick. He had hardly finished the swing that knocked off Xianjun's halberd before he redirected Gleaming End and charged at the now-unarmed Xianjun. But Xianjun was faster. He advanced, weaving out of the way of Gleaming End, letting it stab the empty air next to his head, as he closed in on Daojue, arms folded in front of him. He made as if to punch, shifting his body to the side like he was preparing for it.

Daojue of course saw it, and reacted, pulling back even as his body tipped forward from the earlier lunge. And that was when Xianjun spun on the spot, and his leg lashed out at Daojue's side in a roundhouse kick. There was a blur of movement from Daojue, and then the dull clang of metal meeting metal, followed by another, softer ring.

Daojue staggered to the side, his position awkward—and Jieyuan realized Daojue had let go of Gleaming End, turning his body and bringing his arms down to his side in time to block Xianjun's kick. Beside Jieyuan, Yuyan whistled softly. He risked a quick glance up. Envoy Guodan was practically bent-over the railing, eyes wide. He looked back down just in time to see Xianjun surge at Daojue in one, fluid stride and drive his feet at Daojue's head.

Again Daojue blocked, but Xianjun gave him no quarter as his other fist came on up. Another block, another clang, and another instance of Daojue being pushed back. The turnabout was absolute. Xianjun was overwhelming Daojue, straight and simple. He kept stuck close to Daojue, barely an arm's length, and came upon him with vengeance. Punches flowed into kicks, kicks into punches, each strike chaining seamlessly into the next. Daojue endured, blocking each and every blow.

Soon the two of them were a good distance from where Gleaming End and Xianjun's halberd lay on the stage floor. Which meant that the weapons were as good as out of play. If Daojue and Xianjun hadn't been in the middle of a fight, they could've probably summoned their weapons to their hands using soulforce; Gleaming End was light enough, and even if Xianjun's halberd was made of inscribed gold like the Shifting Sisters, his soulforce should be strong enough to lift it, given his step.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. But using soulforce required concentration; and from the look of things, neither Daojue nor Xianjun had any to spare right now. As Xianjun lashed out with another kick, Daojue managed to step around it, and struck at Xianjun with a punch of his own. But Xianjun just weaved around the attack, his rhythm not upset in the slightest, and followed up with an uppercut.

It was Daojue who ended up worse off, having to once again make an awkward retreat, this time to avoid his jaw being blown off. It'd never occurred to Jieyuan before, but he'd never really seen Daojue fight with anything other than his spear. It wasn't that Daojue was poor at unarmed martial arts—he was a fourth-step against a sixth-step, and he was still weathering the storm of Xianjun's attacks. If they'd been at the same step, Jieyuan doubted Daojue would be Xianjun's inferior. But that was just the thing.

They weren't. Daojue, it turned out, was merely exceptional at unarmed combat—and exceptional wasn't enough to bridge a gap in steps, not when your opponent was exceptional too. Even more so when the shimmer of Sibilant Wind Blessing still covered Xianjun, boosting his agility. Jieyuan could hardly believe it, but it looked like Daojue might very well lose. That thought had barely crossed his mind when it began. Subtly, at first. Jieyuan couldn't really pinpoint when, but Daojue's responses began to improve.

He didn't get any faster, but his blocks grew more solid, his balance more stable. If Jieyuan hadn't been fully concentrated on the fight, and if he hadn't known Daojue so well, he probably wouldn't have noticed. But even then, it'd have become obvious over the next few seconds. With each exchange, each punch and kick blocked or avoided, Daojue took fewer and fewer steps back, until he stopped retreating altogether.

The stop wasn't sudden, not when the build-up had been so clear, but it seemed abrupt all the same, as Daojue just stood there, solid and firm as a rock, his feet shifting and turning constantly but without moving from the spot. Despite the change in Daojue, Xianjun kept at it, going for an overhand strike—and Daojue moved out of it at the last moment, tilting his head to the side with minimum movement, and jabbed at Xianjun's stomach. Xianjun pulled back, avoiding the attack.

But though no damage was done, Xianjun had just had his rhythm broken. He might as well have taken the blow, really. Before Xianjun could make an attempt at regaining his momentum, Daojue's kick came at him from the side. Again, Xianjun weaved out of it, moving as smoothly as the breeze. But now it was Daojue advancing on him. To his credit, Xianjun put up a good struggle, managing to hold position for a while.

Xianjun's style wasn't much for blocking—definitely no direct, hard blocks like what Daojue went for—but it was a smooth, fluid thing, all parries and dodges. Xianjun was good; in a straight fight, Jieyuan knew he wouldn't have stood a chance. But as the clash went on, Xianjun was forced to defend more and more often, to give up more and more attacks, until he was completely on the defensive. Not long after that, Daojue started pushing him back. Daojue's style was almost Xianjun's direct opposite.

Hard, rigid, solid. Full blocks, power strikes. But at the same time it was practical, efficient, all movements precise. It wasn't that Daojue had gotten any faster, or stronger; rather, Daojue had gotten better. More skilled, plain and simple. He'd gone from exceptional to a level not far from his monstrous, impossible skill with a spear. The rate of his improvement was literally visible. And now that Daojue's unarmed technique was good enough to bridge the step gap, he was able to properly tap into his style.

Which translated into a pure, merciless, brutal offense. Not a single mistake forgiven. Not a single weakness unpunished. Daojue kept on pushing Xianjun back, further and further, in the exact same way Xianjun had pushed him before. Soon they were near where Xianjun's counter-offensive began, where Daojue had disarmed him and Xianjun had disarmed him in turn, within just a foot or so of where their weapons lay.

Each and every inch Xianjun had taken from Daojue, Daojue had taken back; Jieyuan didn't doubt it was intentional. They'd barely returned to their original positions when Daojue snapped a knee up and made to thrust his foot into Xianjun's midsection. Xianjun pulled back, of course.

And that was when Daojue slammed that same foot down on the end of Gleaming End's shaft as if that had been his idea all along, and the spear snapped up into the air, into his grip—and Daojue lunged forward with it, stabbing at Xianjun's throat. It all came too fast. Xianjun was still busy setting his footing after his abrupt dodge when the tip of Gleaming End came to a sudden stop not even an inch off his throat. Daojue said nothing. Neither he nor Xianjun moved, both of them statue-still. A second passed.

Then two, then three. Xianjun said nothing. Not the slightest sound came from him. All that happened was the hazy outline of Sibilant Wind Blessing vanishing from around Xianjun. Jieyuan could only see Daojue's back, but Xianjun's face was in full view from his position, and perfectly visible now that he'd stopped using his bondskill. Behind a sheen of sweat, glimmering in the glow of the brightgold, Xianjun had on a stony, complete lack of expression worthy of Daojue.

In fact, Daojue was probably wearing that same look right now. The seconds crawled by with heavy, pregnant slowness. There was movement to the side of the stage. The proctor, looking up to the lower floor, to where Sovereign Aoxin stood beside Envoy Guodan. Sovereign Aoxin, for her part, turned to Envoy Guodan. But the Orangesoul didn't seem to notice the sovereign protector; she was staring fixedly down at the stage.

The envoy didn't look nearly as tense as she had seemed when Jieyuan had sneaked a quick glance at her, back when Xianjun had had the advantage, but there was still a dangerous intensity to the way she held herself. The standstill stretched on. Suddenly the rules that the proctor read before every match, the rules Jieyuan always glossed over, became very important. The proctor couldn't call the match on their own judgment.

The duel would only end when one of the contestants fell unconscious or was too grievously wounded to continue fighting, or gave up. The rules assumed that in a situation where one of the contestants had obviously won, the other would have the grace to admit defeat. Up until this very point, this system had worked just fine. There'd already been over a hundred duels, and not a single one had stalemated on a technicality.

Envoy Guodan was just about the only one that could intercede—she superseded all the rules—but she didn't look like she had any interest in doing so. The seconds soon added up to a full minute. Both Daojue and Xianjun remained entirely unmoving, Gleaming End still pressed to Xianjun's throat. Jieyuan didn't consider himself the curious sort, but he'd have given good, solid gold to learn what exactly the two on the stage were thinking there and then. Xianjun in particular.

The two-minute mark was coming up when Xianjun smiled. Though calling it a smile wasn't all that true to the spirit of the word. His lips parted, his teeth bared, the skin of his face stretched, crinkling around his eyes. It didn't look natural; the change in his expression came like cracks spreading throughout a pane of glass. And when it was done, smile fully formed, there was something about it that looked wrong.

There was a desperate, broken quality to it, like a jagged shard of glass, fatally sharp but also terribly fragile.

"I'm not conceding." Xianjun spoke softly, steadily, clearly. It didn't match at all his expression. And though he didn't shout—if anything, he was quiet—it filled the entire venue. A pause followed. Probably Xianjun waiting for a reply. If Xianjun had known Daojue any, he wouldn't have bothered. To Jieyuan's total lack of surprise, Daojue said nothing in response. His posture remained unchanged, Gleaming End still held firmly, its blade against Xianjun's throat.

And Jieyuan didn't need to be looking at Daojue's face to know that Daojue's expression hadn't changed, either. Faced with Daojue's silence, Xianjun only smiled wider.

"I'm not conceding," he repeated, softly still.

"Not while there's breath left in my lungs. Not while my heart still beats. Not while blood runs through my veins." Jieyuan tried to make sense of what was going on, but the numbers just weren't adding up. What could Xianjun possibly stand to gain from this? He cast a quick look around the upper floor. Just about everyone else seemed to share in his confusion. The Xiyunfeng, though. Some looked stricken, but most of them wore solemn looks. Sovereign Zhihao—Xianjun's father—was pale, wide-eyed.

It took Jieyuan a moment to realize that the man was trembling. Back down on the stage, nothing changed. If Jieyuan were in Daojue's place, he'd have just knocked Xianjun out. It wouldn't keep Xianjun out for long—normal concussions didn't really stick past fourth-step—but it'd have been enough grounds for the proctor to call the match. Barring that, he could've also just maimed Xianjun and called it a day. It wasn't like Xianjun wasn't asking for it. Literally so, even.

"I'm not conceding," Xianjun said, for the third time now.

"I'm not—" There was a flash of green. A blur of movement, as Daojue turned around—and struck down the wind blade that had just come at him from the side, barely a moment before it reached his neck and cleaved his head off. Xianjun's halberd was half-lifted into the air—by soulforce, Jieyuan dimly recognized even as he took in the scene—angled, oriented towards Daojue. It glowed green again, and Daojue struck down the newly formed wind blade with Gleaming End just as it left the weapon.

Then he gave the halberd a hard kick. It was sent flying, spinning in the air. Daojue then whipped back around and drove his spear back at Xianjun. Xianjun, who'd just begun to move, fists half-raised, body leaning forward. Once again, Daojue stopped Gleaming End just an inch from Xianjun's throat. Daojue's and Xianjun's positions were practically the same as before. It was as if the last second— second, that was how fast Daojue had acted—hadn't even happened.

But the proctor, who'd been standing beside the stage, was now halfway across it to where Xianjun and Daojue were. She'd been too late to stop Xianjun's sneak attack, and now that it'd already happened, the woman had completely frozen in place. Xianjun's halberd crashed down on the floor just outside the stage, skidding a few inches to an unsteady halt.

The sound of its landing—already a loud ring—was made all that much more thunderous by the situation at hand, echoing shrilly throughout the venue, bouncing off the brightgold walls. Envoy Guodan's expression turned ugly. Sovereign Zhihao's was worse. Beside Jieyuan, Protector Yuyan cursed under her breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand move closer to the hilt of her saber, held sheathed by her waist. Down on the stage, Xianjun was still smiling.

Even though he'd just tried to kill Daojue—in plain sight of everyone, in plain sight of Envoy Guodan, after he'd all but lost the duel. Not just tried, but failed so badly Jieyuan could've hardly imagined a worse result. And then Xianjun's expression changed. But his smile didn't disappear—no, it grew bigger, stretching about as much as human biology allowed. And he said, "Go on, then. I've already said my piece, played my hand. It doesn't get any clearer than this. You want your win?

Take it from my cooling corpse." Daojue said nothing. Did nothing. That, it seemed, finally got through to Xianjun. His smile—that horrible smile—slipped. And what took over his face was a red, wide-eyed look of insane rage.

"ARE YOU DEAF? KILL ME, YOU COWA—" Jieyuan caught a flurry of movement out of the corners of his vision, but he didn't take his eyes off the stage. Didn't look away, as Daojue snapped Gleaming End forward. Through Xianjun's neck. Xianjun's body jerked, blood spewing from his lips. His face flushed crimson, his body sagging, limp from the neck—or what was left of it, with the blade lodged there.

The strike was so clean, so precise, that though blood bubbled and swelled around the spear's shaft, none of it gushed out. Not all the blade had gone through, but enough so that some of it must've come out on the other side. Through the throat, past the spine, sticking out the nape. The spear was the only thing keeping Xianjun upright. In one smooth motion, Daojue snapped his spear free and held it to the side. The white cloth around the blade was soaked a deep crimson, the shaft near it splattered with blood.

Spearhead gone, a torrent of blood burst from Xianjun's neck: a strong shower of it, gushing out in a spray at Daojue. Xianjun's body crumpled forward. Daojue stepped back with a smooth, unhurried motion as the corpse hit the floor with a heavy thud. Daojue lingered there for a moment. Jieyuan still couldn't see Daojue's face, but knowing him he probably wore no expression at all. It'd be like Daojue to just stare dispassionately down at the corpse as blood pooled around it on the brightgold floor of the stage.

Daojue jerked his wrist, giving Gleaming End a sharp flick, and the blood that coated its spirit-shroud splattered down onto the floor. He then turned around, and strode off the stage with the same long, effortless strides he'd used to cross the arena not even half an hour before. Jieyuan could see Daojue's front now. Sure enough, his face was the same stony mask he always wore.

Except now with a thick coating of blood spread over it—red droplets going as high as his forehead, stark against his pale skin, the space under his nose and around his jaw more red than white. His robes were stained much the same way, a dark splotch taking up the upper half of it. Mid-step, a hazy shimmer flashed around Daojue. When it faded, all the blood was gone. Save for some slight ruffles in his clothes, some hairs out of place, Daojue looked just about pristine. Like none of the duel had even happened.

Like it had all been a dream. But Xianjun's corpse, left lying behind Daojue, was definitely real. For a good while, the only sound around was that of Daojue's footsteps, the click of the metal of his greaves gliding along the brightgold floor. Down the stage, then across the arena floor back over to the entrance he'd come in through. It was only then that Jieyuan managed to pry his eyes off the lower floor and look up.

The very first thing he noticed was that Envoy Guodan was gone, Sovereign Aoxin left standing by herself. The second thing was that the envoy wasn't gone after all, only somewhere else—over on the Xiyunfeng's side of the floor, right beside the other sovereign protector, Sovereign Zhihao. Who was bent over the railing, shaking, wide-eyed, staring fixedly at the stage. At his son's corpse. The envoy had a hand around the man's wrist, but he didn't seem to notice the envoy or her grip on him.

That must've been the flurry of movement Jieyuan had caught earlier, when Daojue struck down Xianjun. Sovereign Zhihao attempting to intervene, with Envoy Guodan crossing to his side in a flash to restrain him. The tension in the air hung heavier than gold. The silence, save for Daojue's footsteps, was deafening. Not so much as a murmur escaped anyone's lips. Practically nobody so much as moved. Nobody except Daojue, who was already halfway across the lower floor.

Before, after Xianjun had tried to sneakily kill Daojue, the faces around Jieyuan had gone grave. They were still that way, but now in a frozen sort of way. Frozen stiff.

"Winner," Sovereign Aoxin suddenly said, firmly, tonelessly, "Tianzijun Daojue, of the Gleaming Stone Sect." The proctor was still standing frozen halfway through the stage from when she'd rushed to stop Xianjun's sneak attack. She hadn't moved a muscle when Daojue had struck Xianjun down, and now she remained as silent and unmoving as everybody else. Apparently Sovereign Aoxin had seen fit to take charge. The announcement set things in motion again.

Protector Yuyan moved to stand right beside Jieyuan, gently but firmly pushing him back, positioning herself in front of him.

"Stay back," she said, not looking at him, eyes fixed over on the Xiyunfeng's side of the floor. Her hand was now firmly grasping the hilt of the saber, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. All over the upper floor, elders moved to position themselves near the front, pushing back disciples in much the same way. Everyone turned their attention to the Xiyunfeng's side. The Xiyunfeng clansmen, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle. Most of them had gone considerably pale.

Some disciples edged back or forward, murmuring uneasily, only to be held firmly in place by the elders around them. Much like everybody else, they all looked to where Envoy Guodan and Sovereign Zhihao were standing in their silent deadlock. Depending on how the next few moments played out, the Xiyunfeng Clan might just face total annihilation.

Pretty much the moment Daojue vanished through the entryway at the end of the lower floor, Sovereign Zhihao took a deep, heavy breath and pulled himself back from the railing, standing up straight. But he still didn't look away from his dead son. Envoy Guodan also didn't release her hold on him.

"My son—" Sovereign Zhihao began.

"Is dead." Envoy Guodan's voice was cutting, merciless.

"Is that a problem?" Sovereign Zhihao inhaled sharply. He still didn't turn around, still stared at the stage.

"A problem? That boy killed—""I'd have killed him myself if Tianzijun Daojue hadn't," Envoy Guodan cut in.

"And his death wouldn't have been as quick." That got Sovereign Zhihao to turn around. But that was all he did; he said nothing. The man's back was to him now, so Jieyuan couldn't see what his face was like. But he suspected it didn't look good.

"Tianzijun Daojue has been scouted by me," Envoy Guodan continued, in a voice that left no room for argument.

"It matters not that the scouting has not yet been made official. Everyone here is well aware he's under my protection."

"You—" Sovereign Zhihao tried, but Envoy Guodan didn't let him get a second word in.

"I would have been willing to overlook your son's repeated attempts to kill Daojue throughout their duel," she said.

"Daojue emerged unscathed, and perhaps Xianjun had intended to pull his blows. I'd have given him the benefit of the doubt. But what he did at the end cannot be tolerated." Her voice was hard.

"I don't care what reasons he may have had, if he even had any, for he didn't seem entirely possessed of himself at the end. After that last attempt on Daojue's life, Xianjun's death was inevitable. Daojue merely expedited the process." She then repeated her first question, "Is that a problem?" Sovereign Zhihao's response was barely audible.

"No." Envoy Guodan let go of his wrist.

"Then the matter is settled." Protector Yuyan, still standing in front of Jieyuan, finally moved her hand away from the hilt of her saber. But when she glanced back at Jieyuan, he saw she still looked serious.

"Stay with the others," she said, before striding back over to the Radiant Gold Sect's side of the floor. Many of the other elders did the same, not just the ones from the Gleaming Stone Sect, but also those from the Viridian Death Cult. This wasn't anything unusual. After the last round of each day, some of the higher-ups of each sect would gather for a meeting. Purportedly for some preliminary discussions of the current rankings, sometimes to strike some early deals based on the current state of things.

Meanwhile the rest of the disciples would be led back to their palace by the elders who didn't take part. It was a great deal more elders than usual that were attending the end-of-day meet-up today, though. And Jieyuan suspected he and the other disciples would be sticking around until those talks were over, rather than leaving early. According to Elder Yiming, those talks were already full of barely contained hostility on a good day. Today's should stretch the definition of contained.

The tension had eased up some, but it was still thick in the air, just shy of palpable. It didn't matter that the Xiyunfeng Clan was unlikely to pull off anything with the envoy breathing over their shoulders as she was. What had just happened would still sour things a great deal. Over on the Xiyunfeng's side, Envoy Guodan walked off first. Sovereign Zhihao stared at her back, then back down at the stage, before looking over to a pair of elders. They both nodded and made for the nearby stairwell.

Meanwhile Sovereign Zhihao set off after the envoy, taking the remaining Xiyunfeng elders with him. Barely a second later, those same two elders appeared on the arena floor; they arrived at the center stage as little more than blurs. Still moving unnaturally fast, they gathered Xianjun's corpse and stored it away inside a holder pouch. A cleansing flash followed, vanishing all the blood. The pair of elders were gone just as quickly as they arrived, leaving behind a spotless stage.

It could've looked like it had never seen a fight if it weren't for the gouges and scratches scattered throughout it. The proctor finally got moving again and followed the two Xiyunfeng elders back to the upper floor from a distance. As murmurs and movement started up around him, Jieyuan turned back just in time to see Daojue stepping off the stairwell and onto the upper floor. Daojue didn't so much as glance about as he made straight for his original place by the railing, not far from where Jieyuan stood.

The disciples all stared at Daojue. And it wasn't just them. Most of the departing elders paused to look, including Envoy Guodan and most of the Xiyunfeng. But Daojue paid them no mind—didn't even seem to notice, pace unhurried, expression blank—and heads turned away, feet kept on walking, though many disciples kept sneaking glances at him. It wasn't just that he'd killed Xianjun. Even if that hadn't happened, the duel by itself would've been enough to warrant the attention.

No fourth-step Redrealm had any business being as good as Daojue was. Not nearly. Not by half. Jieyuan was among the ones that kept staring at Daojue. He couldn't help it. Everything else that happened today aside… What in the Heavens am I supposed to do tomorrow? What had happened today with Xianjun didn't change the fact that Jieyuan wanted to beat Daojue tomorrow. So much it hurt.

Meiyao and Daojue were the ones he'd been chasing after all along, from the moment he'd faced them on the entrance trials of the Gleaming Stone Sect and miserably lost. He'd already beaten Meiyao (sure, with Fatebloom Instinct, but he'd take it, a win's a win), and now it was Daojue's turn. More than that, he'd promised Yongyi he'd win this whole stupid tournament. But all signs pointed to one thing: that he'd keep hurting for it. Jieyuan scowled and looked away from Daojue.

Even before Daojue and Xianjun's duel, Jieyuan had worried that he wouldn't be able to match Daojue tomorrow. Now his worry had turned into full-on certainty. Back in the Gleamstone Valley, a third-step Daojue had beaten a fifth-step Qingshi. The gap between third-step and fifth-step was slightly larger than that between fourth- and sixth-step. Not by much, but larger all the same. And Qingshi was just as skilled as Xianjun was, if not more so.

That was all the clue anyone could ever need that Daojue didn't play by the same rules as everyone else. But then Qingshi had gone and revealed himself to be a sixth-step Redsoul—meaning his mantle would be boosting him twice as much as Daojue's did. That wasn't supposed to be the sort of gap that could be bridged. At all, even more so against someone as talented as Qingshi.

But even then, Daojue had managed to hold on; not for long, sure, but he'd hung in there for a while before Jieyuan and Meiyao joined the fray. Jieyuan had always thought what he'd seen that day was Daojue at his best. His limit. Certainly he hadn't been in any position to hold back, struggling for his life like that. But he'd failed to consider that it wasn't only Daojue's step that could go up. Daojue's technique had clearly improved since. And he seemed to have worked on his conditioning besides.

It wasn't to the point that, under the same circumstances—third-step against sixth-step—Daojue would've matched Qingshi. Not yet, anyway. But it was probably enough to let him last twice as long, if not more. And Jieyuan still didn't know what in the Heavens Daojue's bondskill was. Maybe he'd been right all along, and Daojue's bondskill did further boost his body, strength and speed, though without any of the light show or special effects that most other such bondskills had.

But he still felt that such a bondskill was too simple, too plain. If anything, he'd sooner believe Daojue had no bondskill at all. Jieyuan was still lost in thought, trying to both make sense of Daojue and puzzle out a way to win tomorrow, when he noticed someone standing all the way at the back, on the mouth of the stairwell to the arena floor. The robes were the first thing he noticed. Black, trimmed with green. Xiyunfeng Clan robes.

But not the ensemble of members of the core court, like most of the Xiyunfeng Clan's delegation. The robes were less elaborate, with only a simple light-green sash wrapped around the waist. An inner disciple. Jieyuan only knew one Xiyunfeng Clan inner disciple worthy of note. And as he focused on the face, his suspicions proved right. A woman. Sharp-eyed, strong-jawed, with a prominent brow. Xiyunfeng Caoluan, his opponent in the fifth round. The woman who had run him through with her sword.

Her expression was inscrutable. And she was staring straight at him. What's this now? The moment their eyes met, she gave him a small, subtle nod before disappearing down the stairwell. Jieyuan cast a quick look around. It didn't seem like anybody had noticed… His eyes fell on Meiyao. She was looking at him. And frowning. She nodded to the stairwell, then gave him a questioning look. So she'd also noticed Caoluan. Unless he'd missed the mark, Caoluan wanted to talk.

He didn't know what about, but he'd long suspected the Xiyunfeng were up to something, and this was as good a lead as any. He considered it. There shouldn't be any danger to it, what with Envoy Guodan around. And it wasn't like he had much else to do at the moment. He shrugged at Meiyao, then headed for the stairwell.