Chapter 86: Chapter 86
"Isn’t this thing a test of spiritual energy? It’s useless to a pure physical training cultivator like me," Ethan mused inwardly, his gaze resting on the gleaming Jade Stone.
Despite the noisy crowd and the competitive tension flooding the arena, his mood remained steady—only mildly inconvenienced by such sect conventions.
Soon, his name echoed through the air in the crisp tones of the young deacon standing watch. "Azure Sky Peak, Ethan!"
Ethan stepped forward, his movements composed and confident.
"Here," he announced, his voice unwavering as he presented his name and mountain gate.
"Put your hand on the Jade Stone," the deacon instructed. The expectation in his eyes was clear—another formality, another disciple.
Ethan pressed his palm to the transparent, shimmering stone fixed atop the stone pillar. Letting his essence and blood flow, he felt the tremendous power hidden in his body surge—but the stone remained inert, cold and lightless.
"It’s still not comprehensive enough. It can’t even detect power of essence and blood," Ethan muttered under his breath, a trace of disappointment flickering within.
The deacon was efficient, without hesitation, raising his voice for all to hear: "Azure Sky Peak, Ethan, eliminated!"
A ripple passed over the crowd. The rules were simple—fail the Jade Stone’s test, and you were out.
On another stone platform, Kain threw back his head and laughed, the sound ringing out like a taunt.
"I almost forgot that Ethan is just a pure physical practitioner."
Physical cultivators can’t activate the Jade Stone, meaning Ethan wasn’t qualified at all. An easy elimination, or so it seemed.
But Ethan merely lifted his chin, voice carrying across the stone platforms.
"Wait a minute! I’m a physical cultivator, the spirit stone can’t test my realm."
The deacon barely glanced up, of a mind to move things along.
"So what? If you don’t reach the standard, you can’t participate, regardless of your cultivation path."
Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp. "What’s the use of a realm? True strength is what matters in martial arts competition."
There was a stir; some saw arrogance, others heard truth.
The deacon, suddenly curious, folded his arms.
"If your words aren’t just bravado, prove it. Show me strength at the Core Formation Realm!"
Ethan smiled with a hint of mischief. "Do you have more Jade Stones?"
The deacon blinked. "Of course. Plenty left."
"Good!" Ethan replied, and in one fluid motion, grasped the Jade Stone tightly in his palm.
A sharp crack echoed. Fine lines split the stone, spreading with alarming speed. In less than a breath, the entire surface was veined with shimmering lines.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The young deacon’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
The Jade Stone was renowned for its hardness; even a cultivator’s sword often left no mark. But Ethan, with a simple squeeze, had fractured it utterly.
A tense silence, then—crumbling with force—the Jade Stone shattered and scattered to the ground in glittering pieces.
Ethan’s voice was gentle, but every ear strained to hear: "How about it? Can I participate?"
The deacon exhaled slowly, regaining his composure.
"Y-Yes. Azure Sky Peak, Ethan—error detected in the last test, now corrected. Passed the realm test!"
Stunned voices broke out across the platforms. Kain, his laughter dying out, stared in confusion. "What’s going on?"
A moment later, a smirk settled on Kain’s face as he clenched his fists.
"Fine. Then I’ll have my chance to beat you myself!"
Ethan stepped lightly down from the platform, leaving the still-speechless deacon behind.
The young man watched Ethan’s retreating back, thoughts spinning.
"How could he—there wasn’t even a trace of spiritual energy, only raw, terrifying physical power. To crush the Jade Stone by hand... that’s power fit for late-stage Soul Formation at least!" He shivered.
"This competition is truly a place of crouching tigers and hidden dragons. Can Serpentwind Peak even take first place this year?"
Ethan’s brief interruption was quickly noted and then the deacons continued, maintaining their usual efficiency.
Within half an hour, the realm test concluded—more than a third of the competitors eliminated. Only one hundred and twenty-nine remained.
Dorian, the host elder, restated the rules and placed a tall box on the central stone platform. A cluster of bamboo sticks protruded from its mouth.
"Those who advanced will now draw lots—matching numbers shall be paired and compete," Dorian’s voice boomed. The anticipation in the air turned electric as the disciples lined up.
Ethan queued calmly, blending into the crowd. Just as he matched up behind a young man with cold eyes and a familiar face, a sharp voice cut across the line.
"It’s you, Ethan!" The tone was frosty, edged in challenge.
Ethan twisted around. Recognition flooded him: Allen, Sam’s younger brother, his face taut with disdain.
"What do you want?" Ethan asked.
Allen smirked, his bravado transparent.
"Better surrender when you face me, unless you want your life to be in danger! Blinded fists can kill!"
Ethan rolled his eyes and lazily extended a finger. "One move."
Allen gaped. "Huh?"
Ethan repeated without a hint of uncertainty. "One move. That’s all I’ll need."
Allen let out a derisive laugh, drawing attention from other disciples.
"Arrogant brat! I hope you’re this bold when you actually face me!"
Ethan rolled forward and reached for a bamboo stick, indifferent to Allen’s posturing. He glanced at the word carved into the wood: "Odd."
He raised his eyebrows. "Odd, huh... I’m lucky today."
Out of one hundred twenty-nine, every pair would fight, sixty-four matches filled, but someone always ended up with a odd—skipping the battle, advancing unscathed.
Such was the quirks of the contest; every year, some abandoned the competition, either injured or exhausted. The odd-bearer would step forward to fill the gap.
From the sidelines, Allen and Kain’s stares blazed with jealousy.
Ethan flashed his number with a carefree grin.
"Sorry, I got the odd."
For Ethan, it mattered little—one less fight, one less wasted effort.
But for Allen and Kain, the difference stung deeply. Communicating, yes, but winning brought honor. No one wished to lose, and every round was an opportunity for fame or injury.
A lucky draw meant one less match—one step closer to victory.
Allen gritted his teeth, fists locked at his sides. "Your luck is nly temporary," he muttered, jealousy clouding his words.
"Why couldn’t it be me?"
A/N:
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