Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation

As the duel raged below, Jin Shu chased that flickering thread of insight—an elusive glimmer at the edge of his mind—only for it to slip away just as he reached for it.

Then, a deep voice echoed in his thoughts.

“Don’t worry about that epiphany. I’ve captured it for you. But it won’t help in the short term—you’d be better off watching the matches,” Long Jinshu said.

You can do that? Jin Shu asked, skeptical.

“Yes,” came the simple reply. “Though… this is an interesting epiphany. Phoenixes…? Must be from that one’s leaking aura…”

What are you mumbling about now?

“Nothing. Just focus on your upcoming battles. You still need to repay that girl for earlier.”

Yeah, Jin Shu smirked, I've got a surprise in store for her.

“Uh-huh. I’ll be dormant for a while. Call out to me after the tournament—I’ll have a surprise for you, too.”

Alright, Jin Shu answered absently, already turning his attention back to the stage.

The match had reached its climax.

Mei You Ren rained down flaming kicks and punches against a semi-transparent wall of ice. Sparks flew as fire met frost, shards of glittering ice exploding into the air like scattered gemstones.

Behind the wall, Bing Hou remained motionless. A hovering blue flame glowed before her, casting her in an ethereal, frostbitten light.

Mei You Ren stepped back, her breath ragged, realizing her attacks had done little.

Then the wall collapsed.

With the weight of an avalanche, the massive sheet of ice crashed down toward her.

Mei You Ren’s fire qi flared around her, melting most of it before impact. The remaining chunks she shattered with fists and kicks, each impact echoing across the arena.

By the time the last piece struck the stage, she was panting. Her bright red robes were torn, her qi flickering like a candle in the wind—but her eyes burned with unyielding defiance.

Bing Hou didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

With a small gesture, she pushed the flame forward.

Wherever it passed, the stage froze in its wake—ice creeping outward, sealing everything in blue and white.

Mei You Ren let out a final cry. Her qi surged again, condensing over her right fist in a blaze of crimson fire.

With that burning hand, she struck the blue flame.

Boom!

The explosion rocked the stadium. Red and blue light flared in a blinding flash, and a cloud of dust and frost consumed the stage.

“What happened?! Who won?”

“I can’t see! Someone clear the stage!”

The crowd roared with confusion as the haze slowly cleared.

Then the silence hit.

In the center of the ruined arena stood Mei You Ren, frozen mid-punch. Literally frozen.

A thin sheet of ice covered her arms, legs, and torso. Only her face was visible—eyes wide, mouth slightly open, still defiant even in defeat.

“Winner, Bing Hou!” the judge declared.

Healers rushed the stage, surrounding Mei You Ren. Bing Hou lifted a hand, her blue flame spiraling back toward the frozen girl. The ice melted gently under its warmth.

Mei You Ren collapsed into a healer’s arms the moment she was free, unconscious but alive.

Bing Hou didn’t spare her a glance.

She simply turned and walked off the stage as the crowd roared back to life.

“Senior Sister Bing won! I knew she would!”

“No one but Senior Sister Liu Hua can match her!”

“Hmph! Don’t forget Senior Sisters Tian and Ling!”

“And Fan! You can't forget Fan Biyu!”

“That new sister, Jin Shu, looked strong too.”

“She’s still only at the Sixth Stage. She can’t compare to Bing Hou’s Ninth Stage.”

“Right, she only beat Zhu Ren. Not exactly a monster.” One girl said condescendingly. 

“Don’t insult my queen like that!”

“Your queen? Since when was Senior Sister Bing your queen?! Huh?!”

A scuffle broke out as two girls began shrieking and yanking each other’s hair. Two outer sect elders had to swoop down and separate them, muttering about hormonal disciples and reputation damage.

Jin Shu shook his head, a half-smile playing at his lips as he watched the chaos.

Di Ti returned to the stage as several outer sect elders moved quickly to repair the damage left behind by Bing Hou and Mei You Ren’s clash.

“This next battle will determine the top two! Will the second-ranked Zhu Ren maintain her position? Or will there be an upset, and Wu Ming claim the title of second-ranked inner sect disciple?”

She paused theatrically.

“...Oh! That’s not quite right. Wu Ming is now the disciple of Elder Han and has officially advanced to the Core Sect! Regardless, we have an exciting match ahead—let’s give them our applause!”

She gestured toward the side of the stage as Wu Ming and Zhu Ren rose from their seats and stepped onto the freshly restored arena.

The crowd roared—though with less intensity than they had for Bing Hou. Still, both girls had their supporters.

“Go Wu Ming!”

“Show her who’s boss!”

“Senior Sister Wu for top two!”

“Give that evil girl a beating she won’t forget!”

“Enough with the slander! If it weren’t for Senior Sister Zhu Ren, we’d still be trampled under those bullies!”

“That’s right! Zhu Ren is the best! Say otherwise and catch these hands!”

“You bitches, come at me if you want to ruin our Zhu Ren's reputation!”

“We love you, Zhu Ren!!”

Zhu Ren nearly stumbled on the last step as a group of four particularly loud girls burst into impassioned cheers, some even waving hand-painted signs with strange things like: ‘Small is justice!’ written on them.

A blush crept up her neck—whether from the misstep or the attention, it was hard to tell. Perhaps both.

But her expression soon hardened as she stepped into place, facing Wu Ming.

“This time, I’ll beat you,” Wu Ming declared, eyes sharp with determination.

“Hmph. I wouldn’t count on it,” Zhu Ren replied coolly.

The barrier shimmered into place around them.

The duel began.

Wu Ming was the first to move, charging forward in a blur of motion, her long robes billowing behind her like wings.

Zhu Ren hesitated a moment too long, distracted by her opponent’s banter. Her weapons weren’t yet in hand.

But hesitation didn’t mean defeat.

Her robes suddenly shredded as thirty-six daggers burst free, spinning into motion midair.

“Ha! Showing off your meager assets?” Wu Ming taunted as she closed in.

Zhu Ren gritted her teeth but refused to rise to the bait this time.

Wu Ming’s sleeve snapped like a whip, deflecting the flying daggers before continuing its arc toward Zhu Ren’s torso.

In response, Zhu Ren guided her daggers with precision, sending them skimming across the ground, only to rise behind Wu Ming and strike at her unguarded back.

But Wu Ming was already turning.

Her robe unfurled in a perfect spin—silk transforming into steel.

The daggers struck, but the cloth absorbed the blows, rippling but unpierced. Even if the blunt daggers had been sharpened, it was doubtful they’d cut through the reinforced fabric.

Zhu Ren didn’t falter.

She sent her daggers circling, weaving through the air to strike from every angle—testing for a weakness, hunting for an opening.

Wu Ming spun and flowed like water, sleeves and robes forming a seamless defense. Her footwork was fluid, her expression focused.

The two danced across the stage in a blur of metal and fabric.

Attack. Defend. Strike. Parry.

A perfect stalemate.

Neither gaining ground. Neither giving an inch.

That was, until Zhu Ren’s leg was caught by Wu Ming’s whip-like sleeve.

She stumbled, her balance stolen as Wu Ming yanked her foot out from under her.

But Zhu Ren wasn’t one to fall without a fight.

She caught herself on her hands and spun, twisting free from the sleeve’s grip with a practiced flick of her leg.

“Enough!” she shouted, qi flaring around her like a storm.

Her robes swelled for a breath, then exploded in a flurry of shreds—not just at the front this time, but all around her.

She stood bare, save for tightly bound cloth wrappings over her chest and hips. As the last strips of cloth drifted to the floor, seventy-six new daggers rose into the air, joining the thirty-two already circling.

A total of one hundred and eight daggers hovered, glinting with lethal intent.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

“My god! That’s the Flying Dagger Art’s full manifestation!” a knowledgeable spectator cried out.

The sea of blades surged forward.

Wu Ming tried to hold them back, her sleeves swirling in a desperate defense—but for every dagger she knocked aside, two more took its place.

“Aaaah!”

Her scream echoed across the arena as the storm closed in. The barrage shredded her iron-threaded robes, tearing through her defenses before battering her body with precision strikes.

“Winner, Zhu Ren!” the judge called, raising a hand.

Instantly, the daggers froze midair, suspended like a thousand sharp stars.

The last tatters of Wu Ming’s robes fluttered down around her like autumn leaves.

She stood motionless, dazed, her body trembling, dressed only in her undergarments.

Then—

Thud. Thud.

Two heavy objects dropped from within her dudou, bouncing on the stage.

Melons.

The silence in the stadium deepened.

Zhu Ren blinked… then burst into laughter.

“Ha—ahahaha!” She doubled over, pointing. “You called my assets meager—but look at you! You’re flat without your melons!”

Her laughter echoed across the arena, bold and unrepentant.

Wu Ming's face turned ashen. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned and fled from the stage, vanishing down a tunnel entrance.

The crowd remained utterly silent.

Even the core elders in their lofty seats were frozen in place.

No one knew quite what to say.