Spirit’s Awakening: The Path of Lightning and Water

The match was over before most had even processed what they had seen. Han Shiyan's follow-up attacks, charged by his Extreme Yang Lightning, had burned through Yoren Feng's attempts at fighting back with ease. He melted his defenses away strike by strike. The few attacks Yoren managed to reply with that hadn't been completely negated by the advanced lightning law had been insignificant, barely leaving a mark on Shiyan or dodged completely. Now, Yoren was barely on his feet, his robes scorched and torn with melted holes, his breathing ragged. The once confident and entitled noble heir looked completely disheveled, his arms trembling from the residual burns left by the scorching yellow lightning. His body refused to cooperate. The extreme heat of Shiyan's lightning had seared into his muscles, restricting his movement, a new type of paralyzing force that was much more potent than standard lightning, forcing his limbs to shake with every attempt at retaliation. His stance was off-balance, his left leg dragging slightly as he struggled to stand upright. And Shiyan… He hadn't even broken a sweat. His expression remained as calm and neutral as when the fight had started, his white-jade sword still crackling faintly with residual sparks of his lightning mana. He had barely needed to exert himself in this one sided battle. His attacks had been clean, efficient, and merciless. For Yoren Feng, this was a disaster. The realization had fully set in—he had lost. He clenched his fists, glaring at Shiyan as if sheer force of will could change the outcome. But there was no changing it. His body was too damaged, his reserves drained. And worst of all… he had been humiliated. The son of the Feng Clan, a Personal Disciple of the Lightning Sect, had been completely overwhelmed by a nameless fellow personal disciple. He had never lost once in in his. He was always handed everything he ever wanted. This was unacceptable. Up on the highest platform, Volten's smirk had faded into something more serious. He watched as Yoren stumbled back, his body swaying, before Elder Baruun finally stepped forward. "Enough," Baruun said, his voice booming across the coliseum. His utterance was final. Yoren froze, breathing heavy, but he didn't protest. There was no point. Baruun lifted his hand. "Winner—Han Shiyan!" A roar of cheers and applause erupted from the coliseum stands. Many disciples cheered for the upset victory, others whispered in hushed amazement at what they had just witnessed. The realization of what had been revealed today, a second person with a blessed constitution was settling in. A new name that would surely rise to the top in the future had been etched into the minds of the Lightning Sect's members. Shiyan bowed slightly before stepping back, returning his white jade elemental weapon into his inner heart world. He showed no excessive pride, no gloating—just the same calm, steady presence he had maintained throughout the entire battle. Meanwhile, Yoren fell to one knee, gritting his teeth in pain. At that moment, a robed healer stepped onto the stage, his garments marked with the green embellished robe pattern and insignia of the Lightning Sect's Healing Division. He knelt beside Yoren, placing a glowing blue palm against his injuries, already channeling soothing water essence into his battered body. The burns and melted skin on Yoren's arms and legs began to cool, the worst of the pain fading instantly. The healer barely spared Yoren a glance before looking up at Elder Baruun for approval. Baruun gave a sharp nod. "Take him." Without another word, the healer lifted Yoren to his feet and began guiding him toward the exit of the arena. Yoren did not look back. As he was escorted away, Sect Master Volten turned toward Elder Ren. "Go collect your disciple," Volten said, his tone calm but filled with an unspoken expectation. Elder Ren immediately stood and bowed. "Yes, Sect Master." Volten's gaze flickered back toward the departing Shiyan as he voiced one last command to Elder Ren before he left. "Keep him safe for the remainder of the week. He can watch the tournament, but I want him away from unnecessary attention. If anyone dares to interfere with him, I will handle it personally." Elder Ren's face paled slightly, but he nodded quickly. "Understood." Volten then turned to the side, his eyes landing on two figures standing at the edge of the platform. Dressed in violet robes with red embellishments, the insignia of the Lightning Sect Guard was clearly visible on their chests. Both men were Spirit Transcendence, level 9 cultivators, their postures rigid and worthy of at least pretending to stand guard of the most powerful man in the region, their expressions unreadable. They stood waiting for orders. Volten addressed them, "You will follow them. Ensure the boy's safety. No one is to approach him without proper cause until I say otherwise." The guards bowed in unison. "Understood, Sect Master." With that, Elder Ren quickly descended from the platform, making his way toward Han Shiyan, who had just stepped towards the arena's designated exit. The two Lightning Sect Guards followed discreetly behind, moving through the shadows. The moment they left, Elder Baruun turned back toward the waiting crowd. His voice boomed across the coliseum. "With that, the Spirit Growth Stage bracket has concluded! We now move forward to the next stage—the Spirit Transformation bracket!" A ripple of excitement spread through the audience as the arena rumbled slightly, the stone beneath shifting as the entire battlefield split apart, dividing itself into five equally sized square stages. Lassim watched from above, intrigued by the shift in format. "Why five?" he asked, turning to Volten. Volten leaned forward slightly. "Because the number of competitors demands it." Elder Baruun confirmed it moments later as he raised his voice to the crowd. "This year, the Spirit Transformation bracket holds the largest number of Personal Disciples out of any stage! We have a total of 246 competitors ready to fight for their shot at a God's Trial token." A murmur spread through the crowd—it was an immense number, and the most so far out of all of the competitions that had been shown. "Because of this, we will be conducting all battles across five stages simultaneously." Baruun's gaze swept over the gathered competitors, his eyes sharp. "These matches will be single elimination. If you lose, you are eliminated immediately. There will be no rematches." A heavy silence settled over the participants. But Baruun wasn't done. His tone hardened. "Additionally," he continued, "each match will have a strict ten-minute time limit. If neither competitor has been decisively defeated, the match will be judged based on damage dealt. I will personally oversee the final call. There is no challenging my decision. If you have any complaints, then you can reach my level and take it out on me personally. Until then, suck it up buttercups." A wave of tension rolled across the waiting disciples that began to enter the arena as they were on standby since the Spirit Growth stage tournament was expected to end quickly. Lassim could feel it as his spirit sense swept across them—some were confident, others visibly unsettled. A time limit changed things. Not everyone fought with explosive techniques or even had the time to study techniques or battle arts that had the potential to decide outcomes in a short amount of time. Some relied on attrition, defense, or waiting for an opening. Now, they would be forced to be aggressive. Baruun let the silence drag for a moment before continuing. "This is a combat tournament. Not a waiting game. Facing the abyss, you might not have the chance to last long enough for your particular choice of techniques to present you with victory. As lightning cultivators, we must be merciless! As lightning cultivators you must strive to strike down your opponents with the quickest and most volatile methods. If you wish to obtain a God's Trial Token, you must succeed." His spiritual pressure suddenly crashed down upon the gathered competitors, his Spirit Mystic Stage aura pressing into them like a storm on the verge of breaking. Lassim watched as some of the weaker disciples trembled, while the stronger ones held firm. "If you lack the ability to fight within the given time, then you don't deserve to be here," Baruun finished coldly. Then, he stepped back. "Bracket assignments have been randomly generated. Matches will begin immediately. Oh, and one last thing… Due to the number of combatants, I've been granted permission to not only provide the top three competitors with a token, but also one additional disciple should— I deem you worthy of the 'Fighting Spirit' prize—a special addition to only the largest division of the martial competition tournament for each Elder Summit." He paused, letting the words sink in before continuing, "The disciple that wins the prize shall also receive additional tutoring and lessons from me personally for a period of five years. If you wish to prove yourself the most valuable in the sect or even grow to your maximum potential, I'd wager to say that it's much more valuable of a reward than even the token." The same projection screen that had been present as an additional view for witnessing the progress of the contestants flickered into the air above the arena. This time, instead of the platforms in a multi-screen setup, it was a static and dedicated display listing the first wave of combatants across the five platforms. Then, the matches began.