The Morning of the Great Sect Tournament arrived with a flare of crimson sunlight that bathed the main peaks of the Scarlet Cloud Sect in a deceptive, holy glow. Thousands of disciples gathered at the Rising Dragon Arena, a massive circular platform carved directly from the living rock of the mountain. The air was filled with the hum of flying swords, the fluttering of sect banners, and the arrogant laughter of the young elite.

  In the midst of this spectacle, a figure walked slowly along the narrow, winding path from the neglected Blue Mist Peak. He wore the standard grey robes of an outer disciple, slightly worn at the edges, and his hair was tied back with a simple hemp cord. His face was pale, his features unremarkable, and his aura was suppressed to a stable but uninspiring Rank 4.

  This was Han Ming.

  Hua Sui looked up at the towering stands where the Elders sat. Among them, he saw Elder Mei of the Ice-Dew Peak, her expression one of serene confidence. Beside her sat Su Qing, her presence drawing the eyes of every young male disciple in the arena. She looked perfect—cold, beautiful, and untouched. No one could guess that her Dantian was a hollow ruin, or that her soul was tethered to the unremarkable boy walking toward the registration desk.

  "Name and Peak," the registrar barked, not even looking up from his jade ledger.

  "Han Ming. Blue Mist Peak," Hua Sui replied, his voice calm and rasping.

  The registrar paused, flipping through his records with a frown. "Blue Mist Peak? I thought that place was empty save for the drunkard Deacon. Ah, here it is. Han Ming... Rank 4? You've been in seclusion for three years?"

  "Yes," Hua Sui said simply.

  The registrar shrugged, stamped a jade token, and tossed it to him. "Group 7. Don't die too quickly; the Elders hate cleaning up messes on the first day."

  Hua Sui caught the token and merged into the crowd. He could feel the eyes of his competitors sweeping over him—eyes filled with disdain and boredom. To them, he was just fodder, a stepping stone to help them climb the rankings.

  "The sheep are so eager for the blade," he thought, a cold flicker of amusement passing through his mind.

  The first round was a melee—ten disciples in the ring at once, only one allowed to advance. It was a brutal way to filter out the "trash." When Group 7 was called, Hua Sui stepped onto the arena floor. His opponents were a mix of Rank 4 and Rank 5 disciples, all of them eyeing each other with hostility.

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  Among them was a tall, muscular youth named Zhao Kui, a Rank 5 disciple from the Fire-Cloud Peak. He held a heavy bronze mace that glowed with a dull, orange heat.

  "You, the pale brat from Blue Mist," Zhao Kui pointed his mace at Hua Sui, his voice booming with arrogance. "Get off the stage now, and I'll spare you a trip to the infirmary. I don't like wasting my energy on walking corpses."

  The other disciples laughed, fanning out to give Zhao Kui space. They already viewed Hua Sui as a non-entity.

  "The arena is for fighting," Hua Sui said, his voice low and steady. "If you want me to leave, make me."

  "Looking for death!" Zhao Kui roared. He leaped forward, his mace whistling through the air as it trailed embers. It was a simple, brutal strike designed to crush bone and spirit alike.

  Hua Sui didn't move until the mace was inches from his face. To the spectators, it looked like he was frozen in fear. But in that split second, he shifted.

  Inverse Step: Shadow Flicker.

  He moved not like a man, but like a wisp of smoke caught in a draft. The mace passed through the space where his head had been, slamming into the stone floor with a bone-jarring thud. Before Zhao Kui could recover his balance, Hua Sui was already inside his guard.

  He didn't use a weapon. He didn't even use a palm strike. He simply brushed his index finger against Zhao Kui's wrist.

  Inverse Frost: Essence Decay.

  A tiny spark of dark, greyish-purple energy jumped from Hua Sui's fingertip into Zhao Kui's skin.

  Initially, nothing happened. Zhao Kui pulled back, snarling. "Fast, aren't you? But luck won't save you twice!"

  He tried to lift his mace again, but his arm suddenly went limp. He looked down in confusion. The skin of his wrist was turning a sickly, mottled grey. The grey color was spreading with terrifying speed, moving up his forearm like an invasive fungus. Where it touched, the veins turned black and the muscle seemed to wither and shrink.

  "My... my arm... what did you do?!" Zhao Kui screamed. The heat from his Fire-Cloud Qi, which should have burned away any foreign energy, seemed to be feeding the grey rot.

  "I didn't do much," Hua Sui whispered, loud enough only for the dying boy to hear. "I just gave your fire some fuel."

  Zhao Kui collapsed, his entire right side turning brittle and grey. He tried to scream again, but the grey energy had already reached his throat, silencing his vocal cords. Within seconds, the Rank 5 'genius' was a heap of withered flesh and brittle bone, gasping for air on the cold stone.

  The rest of Group 7 froze. The laughter died instantly. The air in the arena seemed to drop several degrees.

  "Next," Hua Sui said, turning his cold, dead-grey eyes toward the remaining eight disciples.

  One by one, they backed away, their faces pale with a terror they couldn't name. This wasn't a fight; it was a demonstration of a power they didn't understand—a power that turned their very strength into a weapon against them.

  High in the stands, Su Qing's fingers twitched under her sleeves. She was the only one who knew that the slaughter had only just begun. And beside her, Elder Mei leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the unremarkable 'Han Ming.'

  "Interesting," the Elder murmured. "A Rank 4 from Blue Mist... using a corrosive ice technique? I've never seen such a variant."

  Hua Sui felt the Elder's gaze, but he didn't care. The first blood had been drawn. The hunt was officially open.