As the final disciple returned to formation while holding their jade card, the air within the Grand Competition Grounds shimmered faintly with qi. Under the bright morning sun, fifty young cultivators—ten from each of the five clans—stood in flawless lines, their heartbeats matching the eager anticipation of the surrounding crowd.

Above them, a thousand banners swayed like flames in the wind, their colours a vibrant reflection of generations' heritage. The air was thick with a sense of spirit energy, tinged with the electric scent of an imminent battle.

A Grey Shadow Hall elder hovered with unshakeable poise above the ten stages. His robes flowed through the air like liquid ink, every fold buzzing with a soft, vibrant energy. He cast a calm gaze over the gathered disciples, and the light from his aura stretched long shadows across the stone arena beneath him.

"Now that every candidate holds their number," his deep voice rolled like thunder, "the selection for the first matches shall begin."

The murmur of the crowd faded instantly. Even the banners seemed to hold still.

He turned, gesturing to the platform where Lady Paige Lee stood.

Her robes billowed like a gentle storm as she gracefully ascended to meet him in the air, her demeanor calm and her face a mystery. Every movement of hers carried weight—a silent authority that drew reverence from the entire arena.

"The Lady Paige will draw the first number," the elder announced. With a graceful lift, Paige's hand moved deliberately. A beautiful jar made of translucent jade hovered in front of her, its surface shimmering as it cradled ten softly glowing pieces of parchment.

She reached in, drawing one with slow precision. The light reflected in her eyes as she unfolded it.

Her voice rang clear and cold across the stands.

"Number…" she paused, her gaze sweeping the field, letting the silence thicken until it trembled—"has been chosen."

A ripple of tension swept through the lines. Every disciple holding that hidden number straightened, qi stirring faintly around them.

Paige gave a short nod. "Now, the clans."

From another jar, the elder reached in and lifted glowing slips marked with clan insignias. They floated before him, circling lazily until one hovered close enough to grasp. He caught it between two fingers, unrolled it, and declared,

"The first clan to enter—the Clark Clan."

A low hum of excitement rose from the audience.

The elder reached again. "Their opponent…" He drew another slip. "The Brown Clan."

The crowd erupted in cheers as disciples from both clans exchanged glances, fire and resolve burning in their eyes.

The elder was not finished. From the jar, two more slips lifted, spinning through the air before landing in his palm. The first unfurled to reveal the Brooks Clan, and the second—the Osborn Clan.

The stands exploded. Cheers and jeers blended into a thunderous roar that shook the arena's barriers. For the first time in years, the Osborn Clan was standing shoulder to shoulder with the city's strongest.

Sharp and authoritative, the elder's voice cut through the clamour.

"The remaining disciple of the same number shall wait until this match concludes. Then, the process will repeat. After two rounds, three will remain. Of those three, the one who stands victorious will qualify for the Top Ten Trials."

His words hit hard, stirring up feelings of both excitement and discomfort. The classic format of duels had changed—what was once a mere clash had turned into a test of resilience and strategy.

Lady Paige Lee's hand moved again. Her fingers traced the rim of the number jar, light dancing around them like a silver flame. When she withdrew her hand, a single jade slip shimmered in her grasp.

Her calm, steady voice echoed through the air.

"Number Six."

Immediately, movement rippled across the field. From each of the four clans, one disciple stepped forward—their jade cards glowing faintly in response.

The Brooks and Osborn disciples moved to one stage, their qi rising like twin storms about to collide. The Clark and Brown disciples advanced to another, their gazes locked in a silent challenge.

From the stands came hushed voices, then sharp whispers.

"They changed the format again…"

"Because of the Osborn Clan, no doubt."

"Five clans now—balance is broken."

Laughter mixed with disbelief, tension thick enough to taste. For the first time in decades, Celestial Brook's hierarchy trembled.

Robert Osborn stood among his clan, unmoving. The noise, the rumours, the eyes—none of it reached him. His gaze remained fixed on the center arena, where dust and qi had already begun to stir from the first clash of blades.

The tournament had begun.

And with it, the destiny of every clan in Celestial Brook began to turn.

The first clash erupted like thunder striking stone.

On the far left of the stage, a disciple from the Clark Clan launched himself with incredible force, his crimson spear slicing through the air like a flash of fire. Across from him, the Brown Clan warrior stood his ground, both hands forming a seal as a wave of golden qi rose like a shield. The spear crashed into it with a thunderous roar, scattering sparks across the arena.

The audience leaned forward, breathless. The Brown disciple's defense rippled but did not break—his qi condensed into a shimmering barrier that pushed back against the flames. With a growl, the Clark warrior twisted his spear, channeling his spirit root energy down its shaft. The impact detonated like a shockwave, forcing the Brown disciple to slide backward across the stage.

Brooks Clan's fighter moved like the wind on the nearby platform, graceful and fluid, creating air ripples with every step. With a silent resolve blazing in his eyes, his opponent from the Osborn Clan stood firm. The clang of metal rang clear and sharp as the Osborn fighter parried the Brooks disciple's lunge.

As the Brooks disciple's blade whipped through the air, the audience cheered wildly, but his opponent faced each blow with an impressive calm and accuracy.

The difference in power was clear, yet the Osborns' defense refused to crack. Every time he was pushed back, his footing shifted just enough, his eyes never leaving his opponent's center line.

Then, with a burst of motion, the Osborn disciple struck back—his sword flashing upward in a rising arc of blue qi. The Brooks warrior barely blocked in time, sliding several paces before regaining balance.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. "An Osborn matching a Brooks disciple?" someone whispered.

The elder supervising the stage offered a faint smile, his eyes shining with satisfaction. "So, the fallen flame continues to burn," he whispered.

As the battles raged on, qi met in a clash, dust whirled about, and the air thrummed with a powerful spiritual energy.

The smell of sweat and burning essence filled the wind.

And high above, Lady Paige Lee's calm gaze never wavered. "The seeds of the storm," she whispered, almost to herself. "Celestial Brook will not rest easy this year."

The matches were far from over—but already, the city could sense it.

The balance of power was beginning to shift.

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