“Hah! You overreaching fools will all say that. I’ll be your first opponent then.” The cultivator grinned, flexing his biceps again.
“Really?” Wu Ying said with a roll of his eyes. Idiot. Even Wu Ying could tell, especially from how slim his waist and legs were, that the cultivator had spent all of his time working on his upper body. Once upon a time, a caravan guard had come by who looked much like this cultivator—all bluster and proud of how strong he was. Then he challenged Old Yi, who had grown a little fat since his back injury. The pair spent the next hour chopping wood to see who was stronger and fitter. At first, the guard had done well, splitting logs with a single blow. But soon enough, he ran out of steam while Old Yi chugged on, splitting log after log. The simple fact was that Old Yi knew how to split the logs from long years of practice, knew how to use all of his body. “If we are so lucky, I’ll accept the challenge.”
“Good. It seems all those who are content with their places have left,” Elder Khoo said, cutting off further discussion. “For those who have stayed, I commend you. It should not be a cultivator’s place to be content with their placing. We challenge the gods with our very actions. Settling is not for us!”
Even if Elder Khoo said that, Wu Ying knew that human nature would see most individuals more than happy to “settle.” At a certain point, struggling was not worth the effort—especially if one was already limited by one’s talent. Still, Wu Ying was there, waiting, just as much because of the trick played on him by Elder Mo as for any desire to upgrade his status.
“Now, since there seems to be more of you than normal, we shall have a quick elimination round. Fight honorably and with care. Remember, these are still your fellow sect members. Intentionally killing one another is not allowed. Now, pick your partner.”
The sleeveless cultivator smirked at Wu Ying, who eyed him up before returning the nod. For a second, Wu Ying touched the sword at his side—a practice sword he had taken out just for this event. Thankfully, due to the Sense of the Sword, he had not needed to practice for hours beforehand to get used to the weapon.
“Hey! No weapons,” the muscled cultivator said, eyes bulging at Wu Ying’s motion.
“Why?” Wu Ying cocked his head to the side as he waited for the Elder’s start signal.
Unlike the pair of them, it seemed others were having trouble finding a suitable partner.
“It’s not manly,” the cultivator said, though the nervous glances he kept giving Wu Ying’s weapon told another story.
“That’s a good point,” Wu Ying said, relaxing and letting his hand move away from the hilt of his sword.
At that point, the gong that signaled the start of the fight rang out. The muscled cultivator sprang into motion, throwing himself in an overhead leap while cocking a hand back to throw a powerful punch. Wu Ying stepped forward, his hand dropping to his sword even as his other hand tilted the scabbard to allow for the quick draw that was part of the Long family style. Dragon unsheathes his claws.
The blow cut across the cultivator’s body, cracking ribs and bruising muscle even as Wu Ying completed the form and turned. A quick cut to the back finished the spasming, over-muscled cultivator before Wu Ying sheathed his blade.
“But I don’t care.”
Chapter 22
“Tou He!” Wu Ying said, finding his friend seated after having rounded nearly the entire courtyard.
After his initial fight, Wu Ying had watched the other fights, expecting the next stage to happen immediately. That expectation had been dashed, so he had taken the free time to search for his friend. Tou He waved to Wu Ying and gestured to an empty patch of ground, where Wu Ying sat gratefully.
“Thanks!” Wu Ying said as he took a steamed meat bun from Tou He. “You brought food, eh?”
“You didn’t?” Tou He asked, and Wu Ying shook his head. For all his preparations, eating had not been high on the list.
“I thought we’d have a chance to eat. Or food would be sent,” Wu Ying said.
“True. I doubt anyone expected that,” Tou He said with an inclination of his head.
Wu Ying followed his gaze to where two giants among the outer sect members continued to battle it out, the cause of their current predicament. It had already been a half hour, but both contestants refused to budge. They were so evenly matched and of high enough cultivation that the deadlocked wrestling match they had undertaken had put a stop to the entire event.
“I wonder why they don’t just move on. Or call it done. I’m certain we’ve been trimmed down enough,” Wu Ying said. Of the initial few hundred, less than a hundred were left in the courtyard. Surely they could start the simple elimination rounds now.
“Oh, that’s because the Elders have been betting on the result,” Tou He said.
Wu Ying blinked, not having heard that. Then again, Tou He had made more friends than Wu Ying, since he had neither directly annoyed an Elder nor left for a month and a half like Wu Ying. In truth, an ex-monk might be considered below a noble, but he was still better than a farmer.
“Hey, how come you’re here? I thought you were looking to take it easy,” Wu Ying said, recalling Tou He’s professed goals.
Tou He chuckled ruefully and scratched his head. “Well, it seems the Elder who sponsored me heard about my plans and was quite irate. He threatened me with expulsion if I did not take part and do well in the tournament.”
Wu Ying took another bite from the bun to hide a smile. Served him right. The damn ex-monk was entirely too gifted and content. Even now, among all those who looked worried, excited, and nervous, the ex-monk sat, serenely eating a steamed bun. Only someone so carefree could think of something like food at a time like this.
A loud crack brought the pair’s attention to the wrestling match. Somehow, somewhere, the deadlock had been broken. So had an arm. Groaning, the loser cradled his arm while the winner helped him up, clapping his ex-opponent on the shoulder while grinning.
“Good. Now we can begin,” Elder Khoo’s voice rang out, drawing the group’s attention to him.
At the Elder’s gesture, a stream of inner sect members appeared, moving down the stairs. In a few minutes, the inner sect members had split the tournament contestants into five mostly even groups. Along with Tou He, there were twenty-one other individuals in Wu Ying’s group, with just above a third who looked like peasants. In truth, Wu Ying knew he was guessing—with everyone in sect robes, it was hard to tell, beyond a certain difference in bearing, the darkness of their skin, and the weapons they held. Commoners like him often wielded spears, if they wielded any weapon at all. After all, every family had at least one, if not more, spear at home.
“Each of you will pair up within your groups. After the first match, you will be matched with those of equal wins in the other groups, allowing us to better asses your prowess,” Elder Khoo said, sweeping his gaze over the sect members. “While we admire those who are willing to strive for greatness, one must also be aware of their limits. Those of you who fail to do well face a much higher chance of being banished from the sect.
“May the heavens smile on you.”
Of course, the matches did not start immediately. Firstly, they had to make enough space for the chosen pair to fight. Thankfully, the inner sect members in charge of the matter were efficient, and opponents were quickly paired up. Wu Ying found himself part of the circle around the chosen fighters, watching with avid interest as he assessed his potential opponents.