Chapter 9: Shadows of the Tournament
The ground trembled beneath the first eruption. A thunderous explosion burst from the forest's depths, casting waves of wind that bent trees and sent birds fleeing into the dim skies. In the quiet grasslands just outside the chaos, two figures stood beneath the shadow of a tall oak tree.
Sung Ki, hands buried in his coat pockets, eyes calm but calculating, looked toward the horizon. The wind tousled his silver hair as he watched the distant smoke curl into the sky.
"They're on the move already," he said, voice low. "Lady Sumi's out there. Unfortunate for whoever drew her card."
Beside him, Maito leaned against the tree, gripping the hilt of his blade. His brows furrowed. "Shouldn't we intervene? If she's on the field, it's only a matter of time before she wipes out half our team."
Sung Ki began walking toward the distant mountains. He raised one hand, waving dismissively behind him.
"You do you. I'm just here to participate."
Maito scowled. "Unbelievable."
---
Elsewhere, far from the grasslands and into the bitter reaches of the tournament world's north, a storm churned.
Ice blanketed the terrain. Thunder rolled across jagged cliffs. Lightning laced the heavens like a divine web, illuminating the battlefield in jagged bursts.
From above, Misuki hovered, cloaked in violet light. His lifeless eyes gleamed like amethysts, unblinking, unyielding. Behind him floated hundreds of translucent swords edged in gold.
Below, three Hunters stood trembling amidst their fallen comrades. Two more lay unconscious in the snow, bloodied and barely breathing.
"Damn it... this guy's not a silver F-rank," one of the standing Hunters muttered. He was Japanese, mid-twenties, blond-haired, blue-eyed, panting with a black sword in hand.
"Fuck this!" shouted another—a burly black American in his thirties with a blood-stained axe and a fury aura blazing around him.
"STOP!" the third male Hunter yelled, trying to restrain his companion. "You'll provoke him further!"
Misuki drifted to the frozen ground like a wraith. His swords dissolved into violet mist, his qi dimming.
"The story suppresses dimensionality for balance," he said softly. "Don't resist it."
"You're insane," the female Hunter whispered, eyes wide. She was young, early twenties, with black bob-cut hair and purple eyes.
Misuki's head tilted toward her, intrigued. "You know of cultivator stages. Impressive."
"I know you're in the mortal realm... early Foundation phase, I'd guess... but your aura... I can't pin it."
A faint smile ghosted Misuki's lips. "You're well-informed."
He then turned to the others. "You're Dominators—Knight and Berserker class. She's a Projector... Assassin class."
All three stared, stunned.
"How the hell do you know that?" one breathed.
Misuki tapped his temple. "It's written all over your thoughts."
"You're reading our minds?!"
"Correct."
He turned. "I'm done here." His body dissolved into violet particles, vanishing.
The black American collapsed in relief. "Man... screw this tournament."
---
In the lower world stadium, the audience watched the events unfold via massive holographic screens. Students and observers sat in wide rows. Saito, eyes glued to the fight, was muttering to himself.
"Is it really that surprising for a cultivator to know hunter classes?"
"Yes, it is," Misuki's voice echoed in his mind.
Startled, Saito blinked rapidly. "Wait, you can do that from another story?"
"You ask too many questions."
Suddenly, a familiar voice beside him. "Are you alright, odd one?"
He turned to see Jin-Young Zheng, their teacher, sitting beside him. Her lemon-gold eyes watched him with a playful tilt.
"I'm fine. Just... thinking about something Sumi said before she left."
"Oh? Trouble understanding it?"
"Maybe. Or maybe she's just teasing me again."
"She does enjoy that," the teacher chuckled.
Saito squinted at her. "Senpai... are you a Hunter or a Cultivator?"
She smirked. "Curious, are we?"
He nodded.
"It's a secret."
She ruffled his hair. "You're rather peculiar."
He blushed and swatted her hand away. "Stop that."
Saito looked back to the screen. "Why were they surprised that a cultivator knew their classes?"
"Information like that isn't shared easily. Concealment barriers prevent identity leaks."
Misuki's voice echoed again. "A concealment barrier separates identity from perception. It must be granted willingly or breached skillfully."
Jin-Young adjusted her glasses. "You're a curious one. Perhaps not from this story at all."
He turned pale. "W-What?"
She smiled. "Relax. I like mysteries."
---
In the heart of the tournament world, far from spectators' eyes, a storm of combat brewed in the vacuum of space.
Shockwaves rippled through the void. On the moon, a red-haired Hunter clashed with three cultivators. Blades and fists blurred like comets.
The Hunter kicked one back, only to be ambushed from behind by a golden barrage of swords. He barely dodged—before a magic circle appeared beneath his feet.
"Art of Disintegration!" the cultivators chanted.
Golden light struck him like divine judgment, detonating the moon's surface.
Dust settled.
Only silence.
Then—
Countless black swords appeared, piercing space, time, and distance. They exploded across the surface, reducing the moon to fragments. But before it could scatter fully—
A golden glow reassembled it.
Zhong stood among the debris, calm and composed. "Maito, shall we?"
Maito hovered nearby, cracking his knuckles. "Thought you'd never ask."
Their gazes locked. Power swelled.
---
In the lower world, Saito felt the hairs on his neck rise.
The energy of the battlefield bled through the screen.
Cheers erupted. Bets were made. Cultivators had dominated.
But Saito's focus drifted.
He noticed a man in a black hood speaking quietly to himself, standing alone near an exit tunnel. His presence felt... wrong.
"Misuki," Saito whispered in his mind, "am I being watched?"
Silence.
Jin-Young touched his shoulder. "You're shaking again."
"I'm fine. Just nerves."
"Try to enjoy the tournament."
---
Back in the story realm, Sung Ki stood among corpses.
He approached a tall boulder, where Sumi sat cross-legged, calmly reading.
"You showing off for your brother again?" he asked.
She smiled. "You noticed?"
"Kind of hard not to. Monster like you in a tournament."
"Calling a girl a monster is rude," she said sweetly. "No wonder you're single."
He laughed. "Who said I was?"
She smirked. "You wouldn't survive dating me."
Her book and pen vanished. She stood, adjusting her sleeves.
"Let's begin."
The air around her shimmered. Reality warped.
And the battle began.
--
To be continued