The taste of blood lingered on Shadow's tongue as he stood at the edge of the arena, his blade resting across his lap. Around him, the last survivors of **Group Forty-One** circled one another like wolves—wary, wounded, unwilling to make the first mistake.
The number had dwindled.
Out of fifty disciples, only **seventeen** remained. And soon, seven more would fall.
The stone beneath their feet was slick with sweat and red from bruises and cuts. The protective array continued to hum faintly around the edge of the platform, ensuring no one died—but not saving anyone from pain.
Up in the stands, excitement buzzed.
> "That's him. The one who knocked out Mu Chen."
> "He even forced Lian Ho to surrender…"
> "And he hasn't even used his full strength yet."
> "What's his name again?"
> "Shadow. From Elder Yan's line."
The whisper of his master's name stirred memory and resentment in some of the fighters still on the field.
One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered disciple with bronze-colored gauntlets—spat to the side and stepped forward.
> "You think because you beat Mu Chen, you're untouchable?"
His name was **Tan Bo**, known for using **Qi-Weighted Fists**, a technique that made every blow hit like a boulder rolling downhill. He was ranked **23rd** among the outer disciples—strong, disciplined, and very proud.
He pointed at Shadow with one heavy gauntlet.
> "I fought to reach this point. Earned every step. You? You're just someone's pity project."
Shadow stood slowly. His arm still throbbed. The bruising across his ribs burned every time he drew breath.
But he didn't step back.
> "You've said your pride."
> "Now show your strength."
Tan Bo growled and launched forward.
---
### **Duel of Force and Flow**
His fists struck with terrifying weight. The first blow landed on Shadow's blade—nearly knocking it from his hand. The second grazed his side, sending shockwaves up his spine. The third missed, but shattered stone where Shadow had stood.
Shadow endured two more strikes—one to the shoulder, one across the ribs—before finding his rhythm.
Tan Bo's attacks were like rain hammers—predictable after the fourth clash. Heavy, yes. But wide. Wild.
> "Overcommitted."
Shadow ducked under a sweeping punch and slipped in close.
**Flash Blade Art – Pulse One.**
A fast, clean strike across Tan Bo's chest forced him to backpedal.
> "Tch… You think I didn't see that coming?"
Tan Bo stomped down, releasing **Weighted Step**, which sent a ripple of compressed Qi across the platform.
Shadow leapt clear just before the wave struck.
But Tan Bo was already above him—both fists raised.
> "**Earth-Crushing Drop!**"
Shadow inhaled once.
And vanished forward.
The fists slammed into the stone behind him, creating a small crater.
Shadow reappeared behind Tan Bo and unleashed **Pulse Two**, cutting into the soft muscle just below his right shoulder.
> *CRACK.*
Tan Bo roared and swung blindly. Shadow ducked again and struck the gauntlet-wielder in the back of the knee with the hilt of his sword.
Tan Bo collapsed forward.
Before he could rise—
**Pulse Three** flashed.
This time across the jaw.
Tan Bo crumpled to the ground.
Unmoving.
---
The crowd gasped.
> "That's three…"
> "He's dropping them one by one."
> "He hasn't even used Thunder Slash again…"
The final remaining disciples hesitated.
A girl with fans stepped back. A sword user backed away toward the edge. One by one, **five more** retreated or dropped out after being injured in side clashes.
Only ten now remained.
The judge raised his hand.
> "Group Forty-One—elimination complete!"
> "The ten remaining shall proceed to the next stage."
Shadow exhaled slowly and lowered his blade.
He looked down at his wounds—his arm bleeding, ribs aching, feet burning from the constant strain.
But his eyes were clear.
His silence louder than ever.
---
### **Aftermath**
The disciples exited the arena to murmuring applause. Some walked with pride. Some limped. Some glanced at Shadow in fear, others in quiet admiration.
But no one spoke to him.
Until a voice called out—familiar, sharp.
> "So the cripple walks."
Shadow turned.
It was **Ren Jue**—Rank 4 of the outer court, twin blades sheathed at his waist, aura sharp as glass.
He stood across the hallway with three other disciples, arms crossed.
> "I've been watching your little dance."
> "My brother said you got lucky."
Shadow didn't respond.
> "You're not making it to the finals," Ren Jue said, stepping forward. "I'll make sure of that."
A pause.
Then Shadow's voice, calm and heavy:
> "Then try."
---