Chapter Ten: The Contest Begins

Stoneforge Peak was the place where the Hundred Suns Sect forged their weapons, and its sole purpose was to provide arms for the sect’s disciples. However, with the number of disciples being limited and the forging process never truly coming to a halt, Stoneforge Peak had become the most “leisurely” of all the sect’s peaks once every disciple was equipped. For this reason, and because it conveniently provided weapons, the sect frequently held its martial tournaments at Stoneforge Peak.

Naturally, the tournament for the newly admitted disciples was no exception.

When Liu Pan arrived at Stoneforge Peak with the large group from Peak Thirteen, a considerable crowd had already gathered. Structures were sparse on Stoneforge Peak; aside from a grand hall, there was little else in sight. Before the hall stretched a vast plaza, spacious enough for three thousand people to assemble without feeling crowded—let alone the mere eight hundred disciples of the Hundred Suns Sect.

Within the plaza stood numerous arenas, the largest occupying the central position. This main arena, raised a man’s height and built of blue stone, bore the mottled marks of age—clear evidence that it had stood for many years. Surrounding it were several smaller arenas, also of blue stone and similarly weathered.

Liu Pan was already familiar with Stoneforge Peak, so unlike the other disciples who took in their surroundings with curiosity, he lifted his gaze to search the crowd for figures he had once described in his writing.

It wasn’t long before he found several “familiar faces”—though the familiarity was his alone. Among them, he spotted Liu Kuang and Skinny Monkey. At that moment, Liu Kuang was glaring at him with hostility, likely still sore over being trapped on the mountain by Skinny Monkey these past days. Still, although Liu Kuang’s stare was unfriendly, he made no move to cause trouble. Whether this was because the tournament was about to begin or due to the Wildlands Blade, Liu Pan could not say.

As for Skinny Monkey, he was glowering at both Liu Kuang and Liu Pan with equal ferocity, which left Liu Pan feeling unjustly targeted but helpless to do anything about it. After all, in his novel, Liu Pan had never written about Skinny Monkey, but now they were, in a sense, half-acquaintances. Liu Pan offered a smile in greeting.

Before long, all eight hundred disciples of the Hundred Suns Sect had assembled on the plaza. Then, without anyone entering the hall to make an announcement, several figures emerged from within.

At their head was a middle-aged man, about thirty, dressed in a flowing purple robe, every step exuding the confidence and authority of a king. This was Yang Jiangshui, the current Sect Master.

Following him were several elders, among whom was Li Liao. Behind the elders stood five or six young disciples, whom Liu Pan immediately recognized as the personal disciples of the Sect Master and elders.

As these figures emerged, the plaza fell instantly silent. The senior disciples looked on with respect, the newcomers with curiosity.

After a few cursory words, Yang Jiangshui dispensed with formalities and declared the tournament for new disciples open.

“All new disciples who have yet to reach the Martial Apprentice stage, please gather here to draw lots for your opponents. Those who have already reached the Martial Apprentice stage may, after the entry tournament, check the Inner Disciples roster at Sunpeak and decide whether to challenge for inner disciple status.”

It was a young man in his early twenties, with a striking and heroic appearance, who spoke. Liu Pan recognized him at once—this was Zhao Ming, Yang Jiangshui’s personal disciple.

Soon, the new disciples separated from the veterans. On seeing how many new disciples there were, many of the newcomers were left stunned.

In the Hundred Suns Sect, all but the Sect Master’s and elders’ personal disciples and the fifty inner disciples were considered outer disciples. Among the new recruits, there were over three hundred who had yet to reach the Martial Apprentice stage—almost as many as the current disciples, a fact that surprised many.

But this surprise was written only on the faces of the new disciples; the veterans seemed unconcerned, clearly well aware of how things worked. And so was Liu Pan.

The Hundred Suns Sect, although the most powerful in the southern borderlands, was ultimately only a two-star sect. To have over eight hundred disciples was already impressive. Single-star sects might have only a couple hundred, or even fewer than a hundred disciples.

Nearly half the outer disciples being new recruits was a result of the sect’s “elimination system.” Every year, the sect recruited new blood while expelling a batch of old disciples—ensuring that those with talent joined, and motivating the veterans to train harder. With limited cultivation resources, the sect couldn’t afford to waste them on those without promise. Thus, though the sect admitted new disciples each year, the number hovered around eight hundred, explaining the seemingly lopsided ratio of new to old outer disciples.

Despite their confusion, the new disciples quickly drew lots under Zhao Ming’s direction. There were three hundred and twelve in total. Liu Pan himself drew lot number thirteen, matching the number of his residence peak. The Wolf drew two hundred and eighty-eight.

Zhao Ming then explained the tournament rules and points to note. The rules were simple: number one fought number two, number two fought number three, and so on. After each round, winners would draw lots again and repeat the process. If the number of competitors was odd, the highest number would advance automatically. This continued until only ten to twenty were left, at which point the rules would change to determine the top ten, and then the top three.

The points to note were the usual: no lethal force, and so forth.

Soon, all the new disciples understood the rules, and with Zhao Ming’s announcement, the tournament officially began.

Liu Pan, with lot number thirteen, was matched against fourteen. Since only six matches could take place at once due to the arenas, and Liu Pan was in the seventh group, he would have to wait his turn.

The matches allowed weapons, but only those provided by the sect. Soon, racks covered in weapons—swords, sabers, spears, axes, halberds, hooks, and more—were carried to the arenas, a testament to Stoneforge Peak’s abundant leisure and craftsmanship.

This, too, was a reason for holding the tournament here—convenience in supplying weapons.

The first twelve contestants selected their weapons and took to their arenas. Liu Pan hesitated briefly before choosing a broadsword and preparing to go onstage.

To be honest, the early bouts were rather dull. The new disciples, being so young and inexperienced, wielded their weapons with extreme caution, constantly afraid of hurting others—or themselves.

For Liu Pan, who had written of epic battles, watching such matches was pure torment. In his novel, he had always summarized such uninteresting fights in a line or two, skipping straight to the results.

After a long stretch of tedium, someone was finally “cautiously” kicked off one of the arenas, and Liu Pan’s turn arrived.

Ascending the arena, Liu Pan found his opponent was a shy little girl, leaving him utterly speechless. He had hoped to put on a display of skill and liven up the hesitant atmosphere, but facing this timid child—how was he supposed to fight seriously?

“Um, my name is Luo Li. May I ask your name and cultivation?” she asked, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Luo Li? Loli? Liu Pan nearly spat blood—her name, her appearance, even her voice seemed designed to embody the very essence of “loli.” Was someone like her truly suited to the martial path? How had she even joined the Hundred Suns Sect?

“Ahem, my name is Liu Pan. Ninth-stage Warrior. Please instruct me,” he replied, suppressing his urge to cough up blood and bowing politely.

“Oh, you’re a ninth-stage Warrior? I can’t possibly win. I’m only at the eighth stage. I’ll concede,” she declared, blushing even more, and after a polite bow, she left the arena.

Liu Pan felt as though he’d suffered internal injuries.

His first match ended in such a farcical manner that, upon leaving the arena, he immediately found a quiet spot at the back of the crowd and covered his face with his hand in exasperation.

Such “spectacular” battles were blinding; a few more and he’d go mad.

His retreat did not go unnoticed. Soon, someone came looking for him.

“Pan, what’s wrong?” Wolf asked, puzzled. In his view, winning without a fight was something to celebrate, but Liu Pan looked anything but happy.

“It’s nothing. The scene was just… too beautiful,” Liu Pan replied wearily.

“Too beautiful?” The question came not from Wolf, but another voice.

Startled, Liu Pan looked up and, upon seeing who it was, sighed. “Yes, too beautiful to watch.”

Liu Kuang furrowed his brow, glanced at the ongoing matches, and after a moment seemed to understand Liu Pan’s meaning.

“There should be a less beautiful match soon,” Liu Kuang remarked, heading toward the arena.

“Pan, who was that?” Wolf asked, still confused. He’d seen Liu Kuang with Liu Pan in the dining hall before, but could never quite figure out their relationship.

“Him? He’s the one who can tell you why you lost to me.”