plan
Chapter 73
Adrian had barely straightened his stance after the last cultivator fell when the air above the arena twisted again.
This time, it wasn’t subtle.
Two figures descended almost simultaneously, their auras crashing into the arena like twin storms. The ground groaned under the pressure, cracks spreading further across the stone rings. Five cultivators now stood where moments ago there had been only three.
Gasps tore through the crowd.
“They’re not stopping!”
“That makes five!”
“This isn’t a duel anymore–it’s an execution!”
Miss Reyes shot to her feet, her composure breaking for the first time since the duel began. “This is cheating!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “This goes against everything that was agreed upon!”
Freya turned her head slowly, her expression smooth, almost amused. “Cheating?” she echoed. “There are no rules here. This is survival. If he can’t endure, then he doesn’t deserve to stand.”
Reyes‘ hands clenched into fists. Panic flickered across her face as she looked back toward the ring, her heart hammering. Five immortals–no, cultivators already half–ascended, beings who had carved their own inner worlds and lived beyond mortal limits. Even Adrian-
Her thoughts stopped short.
Because Adrian wasn’t panicking.
His eyes had sharpened instead, recognition flashing through them as he looked at the two newcomers. He knew them. Not personally, but by presence, by the signature of their power. They belonged to the same faction as the others–trained together, cultivated together, and now moving together like a hunting pack.
“Five,” Adrian murmured under his breath. “So this is how you plan to finish it.”
The newcomers didn’t waste time on words. They spread out instantly, reinforcing the formation that had already nearly crushed him earlier. Pressure mounted again, heavier than before, layered and complex, pressing against his lungs, his spine,
his mind.
The crowd leaned forward, breathless.
“This time he’s done.”
“Five at once–no one has ever-”
Adrian exhaled slowly.
Then he moved.
Not forward.
Up.
The air around him rippled as he stepped into a rhythm that felt wrong to the eye, as if the world lagged a fraction of a second behind him. His hands moved in precise arcs, fingers sketching invisible patterns that intersected and overlapped. Power didn’t explode outward–it folded inward.
A web formed.
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Not physical, but palpable, stretching across the arena like unseen threads of force. The cultivators lunged, confident in their numbers-
And ran straight into it.
One froze mid–step, his aura snagged and twisted. Another stumbled as his momentum vanished, his strike dispersing uselessly into the air. The web tightened, reacting to their movements, feeding on their aggression.
“What is this?” one of them snarled, struggling.
Adrian coughed again, blood staining his lips, but his eyes burned Brighter. “You rely too much on overwhelming pressure,” he said evenly. “You forget that pressure can be redirected.”
The fight turned brutal.
Blows landed. Adrian was struck twice, hard enough that the sound echoed across the arena. His shoulder screamed in protest, and for a moment his knees buckled. The crowd cried out, certain they were witnessing the end.
But Adrian twisted, rolled, and rose again, his movements sharper now, more economical. He used their strength against them, letting them collide with one another, forcing missteps, turning coordination into chaos.
One by one, the cultivators faltered.
When the last of the five crashed to the ground, trapped and unconscious within the collapsing web, the arena fell into stunned silence.
Five.
Five cultivators defeated at onces.
No cheers followed. Only disbelief.
High above, seated on a raised platform hidden among the more discreet observers, a man watched with keen interest. His robes were unremarkable, his presence restrained, but his eyes glimmered with sharp amusement.
Smith.
Beside him, several disciples shifted uneasily, their faces pale. “Master,” one finally said, unable to contain himself, “who… who is that man? His power–it doesn’t make sense.”
Smith leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I can’t tell,” he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips. “And that’s what makes it entertaining.”
Another disciple frowned. “But this shouldn’t be possible. These cultivators have built inner worlds. Some of them have lived longer than entire bloodlines. No one has ever fought through them like this. And he’s… our age.”
Smith chuckled softly. “History is full of impossibilities that later become legends.”
The disciple hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Unless… unless he’s been reincarnated. That’s the only explanation. No ordinary man could-”
Smith’s expression cooled. “Enough,” he said calmly. “Speculating about him isn’t why we’re here.”
The disciples straightened immediately.
Smith’s gaze drifted back to Adrian. “We’re here for the ring,” he continued. “To retrieve it and return it to the pavilion. That remains our priority.”
One disciple nodded, then ventured, “But… what if we made an ally first?”
Smith’s smile returned, slower this time. “That,” he said, “is exactly what I was thinking, since we can’t find any signal of the ring.”
As if summoned by his words, more cultivators began to emerge at the edge of the arena. Their presence sent a fresh wave of
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dread through the crowd. Whispers spread rapidly.
“More of them?”
“They’re not stopping…”
Before they could step fully into the ring, the air shifted again.
This time, it wasn’t Adrian.
A pressure unlike anything before descended–vast, controlled, suffocating. It rolled across the arena in a single breath, pinning the newly arrived cultivators where they stood.
They dropped.
Every single one of them.
The arena shook as bodies hit the ground, unconscious before they even understood what had happened.
A collective gasp tore through the stands.
Adrian froze.
He hadn’t done that.
He turned slowly, following the trail of power back to its source.
His gaze locked onto Smith.
Smith stood, adjusting his suits calmly, a pleasant smile on his face as if he had merely stretched his legs. He met Adrian’s eyes without hesitation, then stepped forward.
In a blink, he was inside the ring.
Freya shot to her feet, shock written across her face. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
Smith ignored her entirely. He looked around the arena, then back at Adrian. “You’re impressive,” he said lightly. “And since there are no rules, as your associate here so eloquently put it, I suppose I can join as well.”
Adrian studied him carefully, every instinct on edge. “As an opponent?”
Smith laughed. “Hardly.” He turned slightly, standing shoulder to shoulder with Adrian. “As an ally.”
Kai snorted from the sidelines. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, then stepped forward himself, crossing into the ring. “If this is turning into a free–for–all, I’m not staying out.”
The crowd erupted into chaos.
“What is happening?”
“Another one joined him?”
“That pressure earlier–was that from him?”
Freya’s face had gone pale.
This wasn’t part of her plan.
Not even close.
Miss Reyes, still standing, let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. A small smile curved her lips, hope flickering in her eyes for the first time since the duel escalated.
“This just got interesting,” she whispered.
At the center of the arena, Adrian stood flanked by Kai and Smith, bloodied but unbroken, his gaze steady as he faced the
remaining unseen threats.
For the first time since the duel was announced, the balance had shifted.
And everyone watching could feel it.
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