Chapter 23: Underground Arena

The final hammer strike rang through the forge, sending a clear, sharp note through the heated air. Jin Ye lifted the sword, turning it in his grip, feeling the perfect balance, the way the Spirit-Infused Black Iron responded to the faintest touch of his Qi. The blade was simple, unembellished, but there was a beauty in its lethality.

Master Yun watched from across the workbench, his arms crossed, the usual gruff expression still in place. "That's a real blade, not some ornamental garbage. You work like someone who's done this before. A lot."

Jin Ye sheathed the sword across his back. "You can say that."

Yun grunted, rubbing his temple. "Hmph. Try not to get yourself killed before you actually earn some recognition."

Jin Ye smirked. "Thanks for the tip, I'll be back when I'm ready to join the guild."

The old blacksmith said nothing, only watching as Jin Ye stepped out of the forge and into the cold streets of Dawnroot City.

The descent into the underground arena began at a nameless tavern in the Outer Market. No signs marked its entrance, but the right people knew where to go. Jin Ye passed through a narrow corridor hidden behind a curtain of faded cloth, the stale scent of alcohol and sweat growing stronger with each step. The wooden stairs creaked under his boots as he moved downward, the distant echoes of combat growing louder.

The cavern beneath the city opened into a massive pit, its walls lined with stone benches where men and women shouted over one another, placing bets on the warriors below. In the center, a battle raged, two cultivators locked in a vicious contest, their techniques sending bursts of dust and blood into the air. A heavy stench of sweat and iron hung over the place, the raw scent of combat and desperation.

Jin Ye scanned the fighters, his silver eyes flickering from match to match, observing the techniques, the movement, the subtle shifts in stance. These were warriors shaped by survival, their skills refined in life-or-death battles, not sect training halls. More raw but deadlier.

A man ducked low beneath an incoming sword strike, his body twisting unnaturally before delivering a precise counterattack to his opponent's ribs. Another fighter moved like a shadow, barely visible, his presence flickering in and out of sight. Every fighter in the pit carried something unique—an instinct, a technique, a refinement of skill that had been honed through real experience.

A place like this was more than just an arena. It was a battlefield, no glass vase would survive here.

No one would question if an opponent suddenly lost their edge, if a well-practiced movement became sluggish, if a natural instinct dulled. Talents stolen here would go unnoticed in the chaos, swallowed by the blood and the sand.

Jin Ye adjusted the sheath on his back, stepping toward the tournament registry. A heavy wooden counter separated him from a scarred official, a man with a missing ear and a permanent scowl. Fighters crowded the area, most of them mercenaries, rogue cultivators, or men looking to pay off debts through bloodshed.

The official barely spared him a glance. "You looking to bet or fight?"

"Fight."

The man snorted. "No one's heard of you. Buy-in is fifty gold."

Jin Ye pulled a pouch from his robe and placed it on the counter. The clink of coins inside was sharp against the dull roar of the arena. "Here's a hundred. If I lose, keep the extra."

The official weighed the pouch in his hand before nodding. "Cocky. I like that." He jerked his thumb toward the pit. "You're up next."

Jin Ye stepped forward, his fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword.

The underground arena would be his testing ground. Every opponent was an opportunity, every battle a chance to sharpen his skills, refine his movements, and take what was useful.

By the time he left this place, he would be far stronger. Where others struggled to survive he was going to thrive.

Jin Ye stepped into the pit, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the air. The packed crowd roared, the noise reverberating off the cavern walls as he stood in the center, his new sword resting lightly at his side. Across from him, his opponent loomed—a brute of a man, broad-shouldered, thickly muscled, his Qi flaring with the force of 6th-stage Qi Refinement. His greatsword, nearly as wide as a man's torso, glowed faintly with engravings meant to amplify power with each strike.

The announcer barely had time to call for the match before the brute charged.

The massive blade cut through the air with a force that could split stone. Jin Ye didn't move until the last second. Shadow Step activated. His form flickered out of reach, the air pressure from the missed strike whipping past his face.

The moment he reappeared, his blade was already moving.

A single clean cut traced across the brute's ribs, drawing the first blood of the match. A sharp gasp left the man's lips, followed by a growl of rage. He swung wildly, his greatsword cutting arcs through the air, forcing Jin Ye back. Dust and debris kicked up from the sheer force of his Qi, but power alone meant nothing without precision.

Jin Ye let him think he was gaining ground, let him believe his strength was enough to overwhelm him.

Then he struck.

His sword flashed once.

Then twice.

Then three times.

Each cut was surgical, severing tendons, cutting through muscle at critical points. The brute staggered, his arms trembling as he tried to lift his weapon, but his strength was already leaking from him like water through cracked stone.

Jin Ye exhaled. One last strike.

A flick of silver, a sharp slice across the throat. The brute dropped his greatsword, his hands grasping at his neck, his body collapsing onto the sand as blood pooled beneath him.

The crowd erupted in cheers, bets being settled as Jin Ye wiped his blade clean.

He turned, stepping away from the body, but he could already feel someone's eyes on him.

Among the crowd, a figure leaned against the stone railing, watching him intently. A thin man with sharp eyes, his robes tattered but his Qi tightly controlled. Unlike the gamblers and rogue fighters, this one wasn't just here to spectate.

Jin Ye had seen that expression before. A hunter recognizing its prey.

The man grinned, stepping down toward the pit entrance, cutting through the dispersing crowd until he stood directly in Jin Ye's path.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," he said, voice casual. "I was starting to think the rumors were exaggerated, but after that performance…" He whistled low. "I'd say you're worth every bit of that three-thousand gold bounty."

Jin Ye stilled.

So Wang Yiran had raised the price. Last he checked, the bounty had only been one thousand gold taels. That meant one of two things—either Wang Yiran was growing desperate, or he had enough backing to start making real moves against him.

The bounty hunter didn't attack immediately, his fingers tapping lightly against the hilt of his curved blade. "Word is, the Wang Clan wants you gone before the sect entrance exam. They don't care how it happens—just that it does. And three thousand gold… that's enough to make even a few high-stage cultivators interested."

Jin Ye tilted his head slightly, his silver eyes studying the man. "And you? You think you're the one to claim it?"

The bounty hunter chuckled. "I don't need to beat you, just stall you long enough for others to come. Let's make this easy—put down that pretty new sword, and I'll make sure you die quick."

Jin Ye's fingers curled around his hilt, his expression unreadable.

"You're mistaken."

The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Jin Ye's Qi flared subtly, his stance shifting.

"I'm not the one who needs to worry about dying quick."

The man barely had time to react before Jin Ye moved.

One moment he was standing still, the next, his blade flashed forward in a blur of silver light, cutting through the space between them in an instant.

The bounty hunter reacted on instinct, drawing his curved blade in a desperate attempt to block. Too slow.

Jin Ye's sword shifted mid-strike, twisting in an unnatural, fluid motion—like a current changing direction. The moment the bounty hunter thought he had tracked the attack, the blade was no longer where it should have been.

Jin Ye's Qi surged.

Flowing Phantom Blade.

The technique was an extension of Moonlit Phantom Steps, merging unpredictable movement into his swordsmanship. His blade blurred, becoming an illusion of presence, striking from an angle the mind couldn't fully process.

Steel bit into flesh.

The bounty hunter's eyes widened as his left arm separated from his body, severed at the shoulder before he even realized he had been cut.

A scream never came.

Jin Ye's follow-up strike pierced through his chest, the blade burying itself deep into his heart.

The man gasped, blood bubbling past his lips. His Qi faltered, his knees buckling. His curved blade slipped from his grip, clattering uselessly against the sand.

Jin Ye pulled his sword free, the bounty hunter collapsing in a lifeless heap beside the brute's corpse.

The arena had already forgotten the first kill. The crowd cheered, coins changed hands, and more names were called to fight. No one cared about the dead.

No one except Jin Ye.

Golden-red wisps flickered above the fresh corpses. The remnants of fate, of stolen talent, of years of cultivation built upon struggle and instinct.

Jin Ye reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed against the unseen threads, power surged through him.

The brute's raw physical strength absorbed.

The bounty hunter's tracking skill taken.

Jin Ye closed his eyes briefly, letting the stolen knowledge settle, his Qi stabilizing as his foundation expanded further. His blade had been tested, and now, so had his new technique.

He slid his sword back into its scabbard, stepping over the bodies as if they had never existed.

The underground arena had already forgotten them such was the fate of the weak.