The plaza was dead silent.
Chase stood with his hands behind his back, expression calm, while Reynar— the fat young master he argued with before, once smug and puffed up with pride—now looked like he had swallowed a wasp. The three prior matches Chase had fought were short, clean, and brutal. He hadn't drawn his spear, hadn't used his full strength, and yet no one could touch him.
But this was different. Reynar was the young master of the Arkvale Trading House, one of the wealthiest backers of Farin's Crossing. And he was not used to being humiliated.
"I'll fight him," Reynar said, stepping forward with a flourish, his gaudy robes fluttering.
A few of his followers tried to talk him down, but he waved them off.
"This blind fool dares parade around with a wrapped stick like some wandering sage. Let's show him the difference between street rats and nobility."
Chase tilted his head slightly. "Are you going to keep talking?"
The crowd oohed in unison.
Reynar's face flushed a blotchy red, and he raised his hand. The examiner—a stoic elder with a long silver beard—glanced at Chase. The boy simply gave a small nod.
The elder raised his hand. "Begin."
Reynar didn't hesitate. He lunged, aiming a reinforced punch toward Chase's chest, his cultivation aura flaring with Rank 3 power.
It never landed.
In one fluid movement, Chase shifted his body, stepped sideways, and tapped Reynar's wrist with his wrapped spear.
There was a loud crack as Reynar's arm twisted awkwardly from the redirection, and he stumbled forward. Before he could recover, Chase swept his leg, causing the fat young master to fall face-first into the platform with a dull thud.
The audience gasped.
Chase didn't even bother following up. He simply returned to a relaxed stance and waited.
Reynar got up, nose bleeding and pride in tatters. "You little—!"
He roared, unleashing his elemental energy—wind—and shot forward again, this time attempting to spin and deliver a reinforced kick.
Chase raised his foot and slammed it down.
A shockwave rippled from the impact, fracturing the stone beneath them and knocking Reynar off balance mid-kick.
And then, without so much as a word, Chase flicked his wrapped staff upward, landing a controlled blow right to Reynar's stomach.
Boom.
The fat young master flew backward, skidding across the stone and crashing into the boundary of the stage. He lay there groaning, hands trembling.
The examiner didn't even wait. "Winner: Chase."
There was silence again. Then murmurs. Then chaos.
"That was Reynar!"
"He's Rank 3—he got thrown like a sack of potatoes!"
"Who is that guy?"
Reynar's attendants rushed to help him up, but he shoved them away and hobbled off the stage, red-faced and humiliated.
Chase stepped down slowly, his pet Milo hopping beside him with an air of smugness.
That's when she approached.
She had been watching from the edge of the crowd earlier—calm, composed, and strangely amused. She stepped forward now, parting the crowd like water as people stared in awe.
Her long auburn hair caught the sunlight, cascading over her back in waves. She wore a fine violet coat over traveling leathers, the emblem of a hawk-winged coin pinned to her chest. Her beauty was striking—elegant, mature, with a self-assured smirk that told you she knew exactly the effect she had on people.
She stopped in front of Chase, her emerald eyes scanning him with interest.
"You fight well, stranger."
Chase tilted his head slightly toward her. "So do rocks, when thrown properly."
She blinked once, then smiled, clearly entertained.
"Elara Wren," she introduced. "From the Wren Merchant Group."
A ripple ran through the onlookers.
"Wren Merchant Group? The one that trades directly with the imperial cities?!"
"She's that Elara?! The heir?"
Chase didn't react. He simply gave a small nod. "Chase."
Elara chuckled. "That's it? Just Chase?"
"Just Chase."
She looked down at Milo, who tilted his head and chirped, his tiny tail flicking. The crowd was still whispering about her background, her group's wealth, her fame, her looks. But Chase remained perfectly still, unmoved.
Elara's smile deepened. "You're a strange one."
Chase shrugged. "I get that a lot."
The examiner stepped forward, announcing the last phase: "All participants who remain will proceed to the final trials tomorrow. The top ten will be chosen. Affinity and strength testing will be administered."
Elara glanced back at him, her smirk returning. "See you tomorrow, Just Chase."
He gave a small nod, already turning to walk away.
Behind him, Milo chirped again, his little form bounding beside his master.
As Chase disappeared into the edge of the crowd, whispers followed in his wake.
"Who is that guy?"
"Did you see how fast he moved?"
"Even Reynar couldn't land a hit…"
And at the very back, seated on a low balcony, one of the sect elders rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"A blind boy who beat three rank threes and Reynar… interesting."