The bustling atmosphere gradually died down. People were no longer paying attention to the contestants as much. They drifted towards the refreshment stands or grabbed snacks during the intermission, while the organizers reset the arena. Once cultivators reach higher ranks, they no longer need to eat or drink. But at Tier 1, they still need energy like normal.

The four spatial items had already been collected by the elder, so when the staff adjusted the stage, they remained intact. However, the four areas were still designated. The arena itself was large enough for the disciples to train daily, so there wouldn’t be any issues. Above all, the elders didn’t want to waste time watching the less interesting bouts. After all, the inner sect elders only came for the top 4. Imagine dragging out all sixteen matchups, who knew how long that would take?

Nathan sat in the medical tent, his eyes still glued to the floating screen displaying the thirty-two names that would enter the inner sect of the southern region this year. A goofy grin plastered on his face, the euphoric afterglow still lingering.

He'd been treated with healing salves and given a mana-replenishing pill to aid his recovery. The nurse had calculated to ensure he'd recover and feel invigorated in time for the upcoming elimination round.

Zeryn parted the tent flap and entered, a radiant smile on his lips.

"My friend, my precious friend."

Nathan frowned at the odd enthusiasm.

"You've no idea what a grand achievement you've made. Orin will be kicking himself, I tell you."

"You bet on me?"

"You bet!"

Nathan wasn't sure whether to be pleased or dismayed that his friend had such confidence in him.

"Your PsiLink is on the way," Zeryn said, swinging his legs as he sat on a chair nearby.

"I thought I'd get one of those as a reward anyway?"

"You wish!" Zeryn snorted. "We don't know which division you'll be assigned to yet, but there's still the matter of senior disciples hazing newcomers."

"Damn!"

"Damn indeed! But let's talk about that later. No need to dampen your spirits. There are still plenty of benefits, don't worry."

Nathan nodded, truly admiring how his friend had managed to navigate the cutthroat microcosm of the inner sect. Rumor had it that Zeryn had never bowed his head to anyone. Not just because of his talent, but also his stubborn nature.

"You started the name-chanting, didn't you?"

Zeryn lifted his chin proudly. "So? Felt good, didn't it?"

Nathan responded with two enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Who've you bet on for the next round?" he asked.

Zeryn's eyes lit up.

"A lot. Can't put all your eggs in one basket, you know. But for the champion, I think there's only one."

"Who?" Nathan leaned forward, intrigued.

"That little Keira."

Nathan tilted his head, recalling that she was the only one who'd reached Phase 9.9 in the previous test.

"Because of her level?"

"You don't want to know. It'd only distract you. But it's not just about her level. That girl's the most dangerous of all."

"What about Xander?"

"The spear user?" Zeryn pondered. "If he's truly as I sense, he's quite formidable too. But his chances of beating Keira are still low."

"What do you sense?"

"A future threat to me," Zeryn said coldly, as if he didn't really mean it.

Nathan frowned, confused by his friend's ambiguous description. It seemed dangerous yet playful, leaving him unable to dismiss it entirely.

"Of course," Zeryn continued, "since you brought in the most profit last round, I'm still betting on you. Your odds are much higher than others."

"But not the top position?"

"Correct," his friend nodded promptly. "Highest is top 16."

Nathan pouted, not responding. He hadn't even believed he'd make it to the top 32, let alone 16. In fact, he was considering forfeiting as soon as he stepped onto the arena to avoid unnecessary time and suffering. The remaining contestants were all capable enough to make his newfound confidence evaporate under the pressure they exuded.

But the newly assigned mission was truly enticing. He had a chance at another Very Rare Skill. According to the escalating odds table, at the 50th roll, the probability of getting such a skill was only 30.3%. Although reaching first place seemed as improbable as winning the lottery, top 4 seemed more feasible. Three more rolls wasn’t bad, making him closer to a Rare skill.

Thinking of his rolls, he glanced at the reward displayed in the corner of his system screen.

1 Very Rare Skill Roll.

1026 credits.

The melee had helped him accumulate more points, enough to exchange for five rolls.

He briefly considered whether to use the roll now, quickly making his decision. If he was planning an exit strategy, he might as well try his luck. Normal rolls for ordinary skills might not produce any significant effect. A Very Rare Skill, however, would be a different story.

Biting his lip, he commanded the system to proceed with his reward roll.

Starting Very Rare Skill Roll

Congratulations! You received a Very Rare Skill - [Titan's Descendant].

Rare and above skill will give you one bonus roll.

Starting normal roll.

You received [Better Vision].

In the blink of an eye, the skill activated.

Nathan's eyes felt foreign, everything they perceived suddenly brightening to the point of pain. He blinked rapidly to adjust. After a moment, as tears welled up, the burst subsided. The surroundings became clearer than ever before. It was hard to describe, but it was as if everything had gained an extra layer of sharpness. His mild nearsightedness had also been cured. If he were to take an eye test now, the 20/20 scale wouldn't even begin to capture it.

He held up his hand, still feeling a bit strange. He waved it quickly, yet his eyes tracked the motion without any lingering blur. Then he tried throwing punches in quick succession, and each movement was recorded and processed by his mind with impeccable precision.

Before he could marvel at how well the new skill synced with the treasure trove [Martial Art Mastery] had provided, a bone-chilling crack resounded. It felt as if someone had just slashed his leg.

Zeryn, sitting nearby, jumped to his feet, startled.

"What the hell, Nate?"

His face was a mix of confusion and concern. He immediately grabbed Nathan's shoulders.

"You alright?"

"I'm fi..."

Nathan suddenly let out a low groan of pain. Just as it seemed it would persist, everything stopped. His mind went blank, but his body felt normal. Strangely normal. The aches from all over his body, the broken bone in his leg, and the injury in his arm no longer existed. He felt as if he'd returned to his state before participating in today's battle. No, he felt even better than that.

"My leg..." he stammered.

"What is it?" Zeryn asked anxiously. "You can't feel your leg?"

"No," Nathan shook his head. "I think... I think... It's healed."

"You're speaking nonsense..."

But as Zeryn’s eyes settled on Nathan’s leg, he was rendered speechless. Earlier, the wound had been healing at a gradual pace, a jagged fracture slowly straightening out. The anesthetic had dulled the pain, so Nathan hadn’t noticed. Now, however, the leg was completely smooth. His toes even wiggled as Nathan tested them.

"You... you..." it was Zeryn's turn to stammer. He'd never seen anything like this before.

Nathan was equally stunned, swinging his leg over the side and standing up on his own. He jumped, kicked into the air, and assumed various martial stances, all smoothly, without any hindrance.

"What the...?" they both exclaimed.

"You know the sect will kick you out if you use forbidden techniques, right?" Zeryn became serious.

"How could I get forbidden techniques? I don't even have a PsiLink yet!"

"True. So what in the world is happening here?”?"

Nathan hesitated, finally deciding it was best to explain a little to avoid future suspicion.

"You know travelers from other worlds all have a system, right?" he asked Zeryn.

“Yeah, pretty convenient. But PsiLink has inherited a lot of those functions, so it’s not that big of a deal.”

"Right. But my system is quite special; it helps unlock potential too."

Zeryn didn’t seem surprised by the revelation. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before replying.

"So you're in the minority then. I researched travelers after getting to know you. Apparently, there have been a few rare cases of special systems recorded. But strangely, information about them later seemed to be erased. No matter what network you use, you can't find anything."

Nathan had been encouraged by the first half of Zeryn’s response, but the latter part left him feeling hopeless. He had hoped to meet and exchange knowledge with others who came from Earth.

"Well, that makes it easier to explain," Zeryn concluded. "There have been precedents before, so you won't be suspected. I thought you had a normal system like Jessica's?"

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"Actually, it only activated recently. Jessica's was there as soon as she arrived here."

"So that's why you've changed so much," Zeryn nodded.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Nathan said cheerfully, but then furrowed his brow in worry. "This won't bring unnecessary trouble, will it?"

Zeryn waved his hand as if this was a trivial matter. "Unless you actually possess forbidden techniques, people won't pay much attention to you. Otherwise, you'll just be seen as an individual slightly better than others. You have to understand, the empire has plenty of freaks. And that's not even mentioning other empires, countries, and organizations."

The answer made Nathan breathe a long sigh of relief. He remembered one of the systems he could have rolled into was the [Forbidden Spells System]. If he had that, he might even have unimaginable breakthroughs in the blink of an eye. He wondered if anyone had received this system and if they still existed.

Both fell silent, waiting. Zeryn browsed his PsiLink, while Nathan looked back at the skill he'd just acquired.

[Titan's Descendant]

Description: The blood of Titans flows through your veins, awakening latent power within. Your physique undergoes a subtle transformation, granting enhanced strength, accelerated healing, and heightened physical cultivation potential. As you grow stronger, the legacy of the Titans becomes more pronounced, unlocking greater feats of power and endurance.

Hidden Effects: ???

Nathan stared in disbelief at the skill description. Everything now made sense—the rapid healing, the way his bones had mended. But he knew this blessing-like effect would only happen the first time. Like other newly acquired skills, the initial surge of power would be overwhelming, but afterward, it would settle into a more persistent, albeit weaker, form.

"Zeryn, give me your sword," he called out.

"What crazy thing are you planning now?" Despite asking, the sword was already in mid-air.

Nathan caught it, unsheathing the blade. The shiny blade exuded a cold aura, ringing with a clear sound. He swung it, slashing his palm.

Blood gushed out, tracing an arc.

"You freaking maniac!" Zeryn panicked, thinking his friend had gone mad. "Are you really using forbidden techniques?"

"Calm down," Nathan hushed him.

From the gash in his palm, blood dripped to the ground. Whether it was an illusion or not, from the sound of the drops, he guessed they felt heavier than normal.

In just a moment, the blood stopped flowing, entering a scabbing state instead.

After a few minutes, both young men watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the wound gradually closed, then knitted together, formed new skin, and fully healed.

"What kind of devilish magic is this?" Zeryn marveled.

Nathan flexed his hand back and forth, turning it over to examine it closely. The pain still lingered, but he felt invigorated. The usual fatigue after using healing medicine was nonexistent. It was as if the energy pool in his body had expanded. Using a portion of it no longer significantly affected his spirit as before.

"Jealous?" he teased his friend.

Zeryn nodded vigorously.

"It's not some dark stuff, right?"

"Definitely not," Nathan assured confidently.

It's Titan, not demon, so it should be fine, he thought.

"Holy shit, Nate!" Zeryn cursed. "If I'd known you had this twisted side, I'd have bet more on you. Now I'm out of capital."

"Why not use my points to bet?" Nathan suggested.

"How many do you have left?"

"11."

"Forget it!"

Ignoring his friend's financial woes, Nathan returned to his thoughts. He wondered why [Titan's Descendant] was a tier below [Martial Art Mastery]. The latter had brought immense benefits, undeniably – evidence being that he was sitting here, one of the top thirty-two, a first in Verdant Spire Sect's history.

But couldn't Titan blood produce equivalent results? he pondered.

Without testing, he was quite certain his physical improvements would lead to higher damage potential, with strikes easily reaching 6, 7, or even 8 points. The limits of his body's endurance might also be eliminated, allowing One-inch punch to function.

One-inch punch?

Nathan laughed at himself. He was getting ahead of things, already imagining [Titan’s Descendant] as a game-breaking ability. Could he have even learned the One-Inch Punch without [Martial Art Mastery]? Certainly not. Achieving advanced techniques required meticulous understanding, not brute force.

He wouldn't be foolish enough to overestimate his physical abilities and recovery. They were strong, but surely had limits. Amidst a forest of merciless blades, without grasping the mindset and execution of techniques to dodge, exploit opponents' strengths and weaknesses, and relying solely on tanking everything with his body, he'd be exhausted instantly.

Standing alone, [Titan’s Descendant] was undoubtedly strong, but [Martial Art Mastery] offered more versatility. He had already glimpsed a future where that mastery would enhance his Titan-blooded strength, pushing both skills to new heights.

Not feeling much change in his body, he still found it strange that a different blood now flowed in his veins. Most importantly, it made him feel much stronger. Perhaps top 16 was no longer an unreachable dream.

A deep, resonant horn sounded. All disciples, including Nathan and Zeryn, moved outside or stood up. The sect leader had arrived.

From the mountain of the inner sect, a group of people parted the clouds as they approached. They flew through the air, and though still far away, everyone already felt the pressure. In a flash, their figures became clearer in everyone's sight.

Leading the group was a tall, thin man with gleaming eyes filled with clarity and wisdom. His hair was pinned with a wooden ornament said to have been carved from a divine tree thousands of years old by a master sculptor. His white robes were adorned with green patterns symbolizing the vitality of nature, while golden threads at the hem formed the image of dragon claws, poised to strike. Despite his imposing presence and straight brows, there was kindness in the way his gaze fell upon the gathered disciples.

Behind the white-robed man were nine inner sect elders in their resplendent purple attire. Only one person on the far left wore casual clothes, an oversized shirt and worn-out pants, looking very sloppy and unkempt compared to the solemnity around him.

The Sect Leader descended slowly, hovering in mid-air before his presiding seat. The elders behind him had already taken their seats.

"We respectfully welcome Sect Leader Alaric Tethras," the elders, managers, and disciples all bowed before the man.

“Greetings, outer sect disciples,” Alaric’s voice was calm and gentle, instantly putting everyone at ease. “You must forgive me for not being here from the beginning. I regret missing the opportunity to witness the talents and future pillars of the Verdant Spire Sect display their skills. Failure is unavoidable. You may feel disheartened, but there’s no need to dwell on it for long. The top thirty-two today will not be the same top thirty-two tomorrow. Climb one mountain, and there will always be another. Fly a distance, and someone will soar higher still. So, whether you win or lose, remain humble and learn. The victor must beware, and the defeated must capitalize on their mistakes. As long as you keep moving forward, that’s enough. Do you understand?”

"We humbly accept the Sect Leader's guidance," all disciples responded in unison, including the inner sect disciples who had come to watch.

"Good, very good," Alaric's laughter sounded like that of a kindly old man, making the disciples smile involuntarily.

With that, the sect leader turned to his highest seat, his eyes sweeping over the disciples.

When his gaze passed over the top 32 area, he looked more intently. Keira and Xander both felt the pressure of his stare lingering on them for a while. When it glided over Nathan, even Alaric, a man considered to have seen it all, had to look back several times.

"Interesting, very interesting," Alaric chuckled.

The surrounding elders, noticing this, wanted to look too. When they discovered a Tier 1, Phase 2.6 in the arena, most just smiled mockingly, quite different from the sect leader who carried more expectation.

No one paid attention to the slovenly elder. And no one noticed he had locked his gaze on Nathan from the start.

Under the gaze of these high-tier figures, Nathan trembled all over. He'd heard the sect leader was a genuine Tier 5. His power was renowned across the realm, suppressing all surrounding forces to consolidate the name and power of Verdant Spire Sect. Nathan wasn't quite clear about the elders' cultivation levels, only knowing that some were on par with the sect leader, some lower at Tier 4, or on the verge of breakthrough.

Despite the oppressive pressure, Nathan couldn’t help but stare at them with admiration. Tier 5... They were more than halfway through the path of cultivation. Nine tiers, each with nine phases. Alaric Tethras must have endured countless trials to reach such heights. Nathan’s goal remained the same: to grow stronger, protect himself, and find a way home. The flow of time between worlds might differ, so even though centuries could pass here, time on Earth might have moved differently. But until he reached Tier 5, he had no way of knowing for sure. Orin had hinted that it would take at least Tier 7 to begin sensing the laws of time and space. That meant Nathan had to become even stronger than Alaric.

Nathan, of course, wouldn't blindly claim he could do it. Countless people had fallen at the threshold of Tier 2 or Tier 3, despite being considered peak existences among their peers. The cultivation world had too many variables; nothing was certain. But precisely because nothing was a hundred percent sure, he dared to hope. No one taxed dreams, so he'd keep dreaming, why not?

“Continue, Marcus,” Alaric instructed the supervising elder.

Marcus then flew out. He had lost some of his earlier confident nonchalance, replaced by a more subservient, cautious demeanor. The presence of superiors clearly weighed on him too.

"Alright, disciples," he said, "your names will appear in the battle areas. We'll conduct two pairs from branch one and two pairs from branch two each time. If you're not present in the arena within one minute, you'll automatically forfeit. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Elder," the thirty-two contestants responded.

Without further ado, the elder moved to mid-air, acting as the referee for the disciples. Direct elimination often led to unnecessary hot-blooded situations, endangering lives. So he would intervene at any time. The previous battle royale had been monitored by teachers, but now it was Marcus's turn to perform under the eyes of the sect’s leadership.

Nathan mulled over the two branches arranged for the competition. He was in the left branch, the first branch, in the fourth pair. So after the first round, he'd have to take the stage. Suddenly, his whole body started shaking uncontrollably, like that time he was about to defend his thesis project before the entire community at university.

"Chill, bro." Zeryn put a hand on his shoulder, still lingering around instead of returning to his inner disciple seat.

"I...I...I...a..am...o...ok...okay!" he found himself stuttering.

Zeryn laughed so hard he bent over.

"I'm recording all this. Oh, Nate, imagine looking back at this in the future!"

If he was like this before his turn, who knew how the contestants going first were feeling.

Eight disciples moved onto the arena, heading to their designated areas. Though nervous, they still carried themselves well with steady steps, not forgetting to perform the ritual of bowing to the sect leader, the elders, and showing respect to their opponents.

The area near Nathan held two disciples who looked quite compatible with each other. Tomas Ryven, Phase 8.2, carried a Rapier, held diagonally pointing to the ground. Milo Thayne, Phase 7.7, bore a shield and a mace in his right hand. Sharp precision faced off against sturdy bulk.

With a roar from the elder above, the matches began.

Tomas Ryven struck first, using his agility to overwhelm his opponent with a flurry of rapier strikes. His primary goal was to disorient Milo with rapid movements. Tomas then shifted to Milo’s blind spot, aiming his rapier at his opponent’s exposed side.

Just as the attack seemed certain to land, Milo slammed his shield into the ground with a boom. The vibration from the arena floor made Tomas stagger, barely managing to retreat as the massive shield swung towards him. Both returned to a standoff.

"That Milo guy," Zeryn commented, "is very promising."

"How so?"

"He's gradually touching upon his Intent."

"Intent?" Nathan marveled. "Shield Intent?"

"Yup. Tomas has the advantage in level, but this match will be tough for him."

Tomas changed tactics, constantly moving from one blind spot to another, seeking an opening to attack Milo. But Milo was very decisive. He was ready to let go of his shield. But not to stop using it. When Tomas moved behind with his sword, Milo would plant the shield in the ground, swinging his mace to counterattack, or retreat to the other side of the shield, leaving his opponent unsure how to attack.

"Haha," Zeryn laughed loudly. "Tomas has met his nemesis. Even randomness can't save him now."

All matches were arranged randomly. Only when the top 8 began fighting in turns would the randomness cease. After the top 32, the top 16 would also be randomized again to increase the unpredictability of the tournament. If fixed, contestants could observe each other and plan their strategies before stepping into the arena. But the sect's intention was to always keep disciples adaptable, so they wouldn't know their opponents clearly. Either prepare for everything or become stronger than everything to fear nothing. Additionally, this randomness added entertainment value to the otherwise potentially tedious early rounds.

Tomas on the field also knew he was in a dilemma. Initially, he didn't understand why his opponent chose such a cumbersome shield that limited mobility. But now he realized he was the one with limitations. However, he understood one thing: he didn't need to attack. It would create a stalemate, something the elders wouldn't want, but it would give him time to think.

Sensing Tomas's hesitation, Milo grinned and charged forward, his shield leading the way and his mace poised for a strike.

Tomas was startled by his opponent's bold decision. He had misjudged again, thinking Milo would be as willing to stand still as he was. Projecting one's own thoughts onto others truly wasn't good. Today was the day to showcase before the elders; crazy things were inevitable.

Milo barreled forward like a tank, his shield emblazoned with the image of a demonic face, fierce and imposing.

Seeing this, Tomas crouched down, using force to leap over Milo's head. But as soon as he landed and raised his head, a massive shield came flying toward him, parallel to the ground, like a cannonball. Abandoning his rapier, Tomas braced himself against the shield’s edge, the impact nearly knocking him out of the arena.

Behind, Milo roared like a fierce beast, having caught up. With a spinning motion, he channeled all his strength into his mace, striking hard on the other edge of the shield opposite Tomas. As one force ended, a new one was created.

Tomas strained with all his might, blue veins popping out as he tried to resist. He favored speed and finesse, unprepared for a situation like this.

Milo didn't stop, giving his opponent no time to think or catch his breath, swinging relentlessly.

Eventually, Tomas was pushed back out of the arena, his palms bleeding, fingernails shattered from clinging to the shield.

Milo smiled, needing only one hand to pull the shield back, spinning it once as if it were a feather. The other hand raised the mace high, signaling victory.

"That was awesome!" Nathan exclaimed, excited.

"I need to recruit this Milo guy," Zeryn commented.

The other matches were also concluding. Four advanced to glory, four retreated in defeat. Some matches were so bloody they caused chaos in the medical area. One contestant nearly lost his head. Upon checking, Xander Caldoran was once again the culprit. The intervening elder was too surprised, having just signaled the start when the result was already like this.

Nathan shuddered at such brutality. Xander was also in his branch. But he dared not think too much. Who knew if he'd even advance far enough to meet him.

The next eight contestants were called up.

Nathan Reed versus Roran Alastair.