The Festival of Seasons had drawn Visionaries like moths to flame, and the Power Ranking arena reflected this surge. Visionary battles raged across multiple stages, each fighter hoping to carve their name into the rankings. North understood their desperation—a high enough ranking now could put them in conversation with the Season candidates, even if they fell short. In this world, being "almost chosen" still carried weight.

Reputation, he was learning, was its own kind of currency. Good or bad hardly mattered—what counted was how far your name traveled, how many lips spoke it in whispers or shouts. Even being known as a notorious villain was better than being unknown.

For the first few minutes, North wandered almost blindly, trying to take it all in. The hall was massive, with multiple raised platforms hosting different matches simultaneously. On one side, Visionaries traded blows while on another, crowds cheered and placed bets. The sheer energy of it all felt overwhelming. Then, he found another registration table and lingered there, using the moment to study the ongoing matches. Each fight revealed something about how Visionaries used their Images in combat. Some created ghost beasts to fight for them, others manipulated elements from a distance. The variety of Images on display made North increasingly aware of his own limitations.

His Borrowed Might Image only gave him defensive capabilities—a flowing stream of water for protection. To actually win a fight, he'd need to get dangerously close to his opponent. Unlike these other Visionaries who could attack from safe distances, he'd have to risk close combat. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth.

North stopped at another table solely dedicated to arranging Rank 1 matches.

A bulky man sat behind it, his chair protesting under his weight as he counted piles of Nether and Rain coins. Each stage had its own coordinator, a plain-looking man who managed the fights. The highest-ranked Visionaries on any stage were Rank 3—no sign of Rank 4 or 5 cultivators here. Not surprising, really. Those at such levels could act with complete independence, feared nothing, and represented the highest power openly displayed in the Visionary world.

The match system offered two options: simple fights or battles with wagers. As a Rank 1 with no real combat experience, North decided to start with the basics—no wagers, no risks beyond the obvious physical danger. He wasn't alone in this choice; about two dozen other Visionaries clustered around the bulky clerk's table. They chatted and smiled at each other, but North saw through the friendly facades. Behind those polite expressions lurked predators, each hoping to tear apart their opponents and rob them of their Images as prizes.

Everyone here is desperate for power, North thought, watching the subtle positioning as each cultivator tried to gauge potential opponents.

Finally, he stepped forward. No point in delaying—he was here to learn, and practical experience beat observation every time. He presented his jade token to the bulky man. "Normal match. No wager."

The man gave his face a calculating scan before nodding. "Ten Nether Coins."

North's heart clenched as he counted out the coins. Today's expenses were bleeding him dry. Between the household & clothing splurge and now this, his once-impressive two Rain coins had dwindled to a mere sixty Nether coins. From rich to barely comfortable in one day, he thought grimly.

"Win, you get fifteen back. Lose, you lose it all. You know the rules." The man's tone suggested he'd recited these terms thousands of times. North nodded, trying not to think about how many previous participants had lost both their money and their dignity.

The man turned to the crowd of waiting Visionaries. "Who's up?"

"Looking for someone close to advancement," a voice rose from the group. "Need a proper challenge to test my new Image combinations."

"Waste of time," another agreed. "Need someone who can actually push us toward Rank 2."

"Same here," another agreed. "No point wasting time on basic matches.”

North kept his face neutral, though their dismissal stung. Before the awkward moment could stretch too long, a young man stepped forward from the crowd.

"I’m Fei Chan. I achieved my Visionary status a month ago. Perhaps we could have a match?" Despite his age—around fifteen—he carried himself with the sharp focus of a drawn blade. His frame was lean but corded with muscle, speaking of dedicated training.

"That would be suitable," North replied, maintaining his young master facade while internally grateful for an opponent who also appeared new to the rankings.

The coordinator led them to one of the smaller stages. As they took their positions opposite each other, North felt increasingly out of his depth. He'd never been in an actual fight—his combat experience consisted entirely of coding battle sequences and games.

"Begin in three counts," the coordinator announced.

The young man's polite demeanor shifted to focused intensity as he took his stance. Something in his eyes suggested this month as a Visionary hadn't been spent idly. North pushed his uncertainties aside, trying to approach this analytically. But standing here, about to experience cultivation combat firsthand, all his theoretical knowledge felt inadequate.

Fei Chen coordinator's hand dropped. In that instant, North's opponent blurred into motion. His steps carried him across the stage in a heartbeat. His other hand transformed, fingers elongating into metallic claws that gleamed like silver under the arena lights.

Too fast! North barely had time to activate Borrowed Might. The familiar stream of invisible water materialized around him just as those iron claws slashed through the air. The impact sent vibrations through his defensive water barrier, and North felt a strange pressure building inside around him as his Image absorbed the force.

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But Fei Chen wasn't done. The young man's footwork was dizzying—left, right, then suddenly behind North. It was like he was walking on air. Each step precise, each slash of those claws meant to probe for weaknesses.

He's testing my defense, North realized, turning to keep his opponent in sight. And I'm letting him dictate the pace.

Another slash came, this time from above. North ducked barely escaping, but the invisible Burrowed Might water barrier caught it, converting more of that force into stored power. He could feel the pressure building in his muscles, waiting to be released. But getting close enough to land a hit.

His opponent seemed to read his hesitation. "Is defense all you can do?" Fei Chen’s voice carried no mockery, just genuine curiosity as he continued his relentless assault.

North's mind raced. His opponent had the advantage in both speed and reach. Those claws could shred him if his timing was wrong. But with each blocked hit, the power stored in his muscles grew stronger. The next attack came low—a sweeping strike meant to force North to jump. Instead, he stepped into it. The claws raked across his water barrier, and in that moment of contact, North struck. His fist carried the accumulated force of every blocked attack, enhanced by his Image's power.

Fei Chen’s eyes widened as he tried to step away, but even his Smoke Step Image couldn't completely evade at such close range. North's punch clipped his shoulder, sending him spinning across the stage.

But the young man recovered instantly, turning the momentum into a controlled roll. When he rose, his expression had changed from curiosity to genuine interest. Those hand turned iron claws gleamed as he flexed them.

Then he changed tactics after taking that hit. Instead of wild slashes, his attacks became precise—quick jabs that tested North's barrier while staying out of counter-attack range. Each strike contributed less force for North's Image to absorb.

He figured it out, North realized. Small hits don't give me enough power to make my counters worthwhile.

The real trap revealed itself when North tried to close distance. Fei Chen Smoke Step Image wasn't just for straight-line speed—the young man could change directions instantly, making North's forward momentum work against him.

"Your Image is interesting," Fei Chen said, ducking another of North's swings. "But you're too predictable. One pattern, one trick."

Those iron claws flashed, catching North's Burrowed Might barrier at an angle he hadn't defended before. The barrier wavered, and suddenly those metallic fingers were inside his defense. North felt a sharp pain across his chest as the claws raked through his expensive robes. Panic made him stumble backward. Blood showed through the torn fabric—not deep, but enough to prove how dangerous those claws were. Fei Chen pressed the advantage, each step perfectly placed to cut off North's retreat.

The young man continued, his attacks forcing North to constantly backpedal.

North quickly realized, he had no foundation in basic movement, no understanding of distance.

The next exchange happened too fast for North to follow. Fei Chen’s Smoke Step’s took him right, then left, then—somehow—above. North's Burrowed Might barrier caught the first two strikes, but the third came from a blind spot. Iron claws raked across his back, and this time the cut went deeper.

North's knees buckled. His barrier flickered as his concentration wavered from the pain. That moment of weakness was all his opponent needed.

A kick swept North's legs out from under him. He hit the stage hard, and before he could roll away, those iron claws pressed against his throat.

"Match," the coordinator called.

Fei Chen helped North up, his iron claws reverting to normal hands. "You have good instincts, but a single Image alone isn't enough. I only used two of my Images to defeat you. So come back when you've learned to fight and have bought a proper set of Images."

North could only nod, his pride stinging worse than his wounds. Ten Nether coins lost, and a harsh lesson learned: in this world, theory and analysis couldn't replace practical experience.

Also, his wounds weren't deep, but his new robes were definitely ruined. Still, as North dragged himself off the stage, he felt an unexpected lightness. Fighting had let him vent some of that pent-up frustration—all that anger at being trapped in this world, at having to survive.

...

"Brother! Brother!" A voice called out, and suddenly a lanky man materialized beside North, so close their noses almost touched. His smile was uncomfortably wide, eyes gleaming with an intensity that made North want to step back. "You require healing!"

"I..." North started, but the man pressed on.

"I have a healing-type Image! Minutes, just minutes to fix those nasty cuts." He gestured enthusiastically at North's wounds. "Everyone calls me Mang Yan. You should too!"

North eyed him suspiciously. Everything about Mang Yan screamed 'back-alley doctor,' from his too-eager smile to his fidgeting hands. But the thought of infection in a world that might not have antibiotics...

"How much?" North asked, already dreading the answer.

"Hehehe," Mang Yan's laugh did nothing to inspire confidence. "For you, special price! Fifteen Nether Coins. First-time discount! Usually charge double, depends on severity. You're lucky—young Fei Chan is gentle. Some brutes would've crippled you just for fun!"

Healing costs more than the beating, North thought bitterly. Some things really are universal. Next they'll tell me healing Images don't cover pre-existing conditions.

With a resigned sigh and increasingly light coin purse, North agreed. Mang Yan guided him to a chair, pulling aside the torn robe. "Stay still now. Gets hot, very hot! Move and you'll scar. Nobody wants scars, yes?"

What crawled out from under Mang Yan's fingernail made all the hair on North’s body stand. A spider, yellow and gleaming like molten metal, skittered onto his chest. Its eight eyes glowed as it assessed the wounds.

"That's... your healing Image?" North asked curiously.

"Flesh Weaver Spider! Very rare, very effective!" Mang Yan beamed with pride.

The spider got to work, and North discovered new definitions of pain. Its silk burned like liquid fire as it pulled and stitched his flesh together,

Don't move, don't move, he chanted internally, watching through watering eyes as the spider wove patterns of golden silk across his gash. Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen hours.

"Perfect, perfect!" Mang Yan clapped as his spider finished, leaving North's wounds covered in gossamer-fine golden webbing. "Leave for one hour. Will heal clean, no marks! Like it never happened!" He pocketed North's coins with practiced efficiency. "Come again if you need more healing!"

North watched him scurry off to another injured cultivator, spider already crawling over the next poor patient. North wounds throbbed underneath their golden covering, and his purse felt significantly lighter.

Next time, he promised himself, I'm either winning or dying. Can't afford more healing bills.