In the Midst of Blacksmiths and Farmers... a Goddess

Nyara was standing outside the arena when her young opponent began climbing onto the stage. Her eyes were fixed on him, analyzing every step, when a metallic sound echoed in the air:

Ding!

[Mission: Win the tournament and catch the attention of the present sects]

[Reward: Silent Fang]

A floating screen appeared before her, displaying the words in golden letters that softly glowed in the air.

Nyara raised an eyebrow and, with a casual wave of her hand, dismissed the screen as if swatting away an annoying insect.

"I would have won either way," she muttered with disdain.

The crowd fell silent when Nyara's name was called, echoing throughout the venue. She stood up, holding badge number 45 in her hand, and walked slowly toward the arena. Eyes filled with contempt and disbelief followed her every step.

The bleachers were buzzing with murmurs, and with every movement she made, more and more curious and judgmental gazes turned to her. But Nyara didn't care. She had faced far greater challenges in her long existence.

When she stepped into the arena, silence fell completely. Her opponent, a boy with an immature look, stood before her—nervous, yet trying to maintain his composure. His eyes were full of arrogance, convinced victory was his, seeing Nyara as nothing more than a "useless girl."

"Your name?" asked the elder organizing the event, trying to maintain formality, though his tone betrayed his disinterest in what was about to happen.

"Liu Mei," Nyara replied, her voice clear and firm.

The boy on the other side of the arena let out a forced laugh, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Liu Mei, I can't believe we're in the same tournament. You really think you can compete with me?" he said, trying to intimidate her, though his sweaty hands betrayed his fear.

Nyara smiled indifferently, her eyes narrowing as she stared at her opponent.

"Let's see if your confidence is justified," she replied in a calm voice, almost as if distracted.

The elder gave the signal to begin, and the boy didn't hesitate. With a shout, he charged forward, wielding a long sword that looked heavier than his skill suggested. His movement was quick, the blade cutting through the air with the intent of striking Nyara in the chest.

Nyara didn't move. She watched the boy's every movement with precision, her muscles tense. At the perfect moment, she dodged with agility her body shouldn't be capable of, but she was far beyond any human limit. The sword slashed past her, and in that same instant, Nyara reached out with blinding speed, grabbed the boy's wrist, and effortlessly disarmed him.

The crowd went silent, a chill running through the spectators. The boy, now disarmed and with his wrist immobilized, stared at Nyara with wide eyes.

"Wha... how..." he stammered, but Nyara paid him no mind.

She let go of him and took a few steps back, watching him calmly. The boy was panicking, clearly unsure how to react. He tried to regain composure, but his legs trembled, and sweat dripped down his face.

"Give up," Nyara said, her voice implacable. "You have nothing I should fear."

The boy, his pride wounded, tried to strike again, but this time Nyara didn't even bother dodging. She simply redirected his blade with a light motion of her hand. The impact sent the boy flying backward, landing flat on his back.

He was defeated, and the crowd, which had mocked her before, now looked on with respect—and a hint of fear.

Nyara glanced at him one last time before turning to face the audience, her gaze challenging and unreadable.

"This is for you, Liu Mei," she murmured.

The elder from the Liu family, watching from afar, muttered under his breath:

"This can't be... This can't be happening..."

Meanwhile, the tournament's presiding elder smiled in satisfaction. He raised his hand to declare Nyara's victory.

"Winner: Liu Mei!" he announced, and the crowd, still in shock, finally began to applaud—though reluctantly.

High in the stands, the atmosphere was tense. Elder Liu Yang of the Liu family wore a pale, wrinkled face, his eyes narrowed as he watched the arena with an expression of confusion and vague discomfort.

Beside him, Old Lady Duan, grandmother of Duan Meng, was fuming like an enraged bull. Her graying hair was tied tightly in a bun, though several strands had escaped in the heat of her fury.

"Liu Yang, you old bastard!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the stands. "Wasn't your daughter supposed to be a useless brat? How could she defeat my grandson? What kind of dirty tricks did you teach her?!"

She half-rose from her seat, ready to storm across the stands, but another elder gently grabbed her arm to hold her back.

Liu Yang sighed and leaned back with difficulty. His body was no longer what it once was, and neither was his patience.

"Oh, you grumpy old hag..." he said with irony, his eyes still fixed on Nyara below. "My family doesn't need dirty tricks to beat yours. But... not even I understand how she did that. Since birth, her core was a dead stone..."

He ran a hand through his long silver beard, thoughtful.

"Could she have gotten help from a powerful cultivator?" he muttered to himself.

"That would break the rules," growled Elder Gu, a white-bearded man in a deep blue robe from the Celestial Sky Sect, present as an observer. "But… if it was natural… then we may be witnessing an awakened talent. A diamond hidden in trash."

"Talented or not, she humiliated my grandson!" snapped Old Lady Duan. "This won't go unanswered!"

"If he was humiliated by a girl with a broken core," Liu Yang replied with a slight smile, "then maybe the problem lies with your grandson… not with Liu Mei."

A tense silence followed. Some elders held back laughter, others just shook their heads. But in many of their eyes, a spark of interest had begun to flicker.

Nyara had stepped down from the arena and was now sitting on a stone bench near the stands, away from the other participants. The sun filtered through the clouds, casting her shadow motionless on the ground. The other youths looked at her with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, unsure whether she was just a freak… or a real threat.

The next match was announced, and two new names echoed through the arena:

"Next match! Fang Mo, from the Fang family, versus Qiu Lian, from the Qiu family!"

Two youths climbed onto the stage. Fang Mo was a broad-shouldered boy, the typical blacksmith's son, with thick arms covered in calluses. He carried a simple iron sword strapped to his back and wore a determined expression. Qiu Lian, on the other hand, was thin, with braided hair and a worn bamboo staff in hand. Rumor had it she was the daughter of farmers, but known for her spiritual meditations in the hills behind the village.

The judge raised his hand.

"Begin!"

Fang Mo charged forward with brute force, swinging his sword with a roar.

"Let's finish this quick!"

Qiu Lian didn't back away. Instead, she planted her staff in the ground and spun around it, dodging the blow with agile grace. She used minimal effort, exploiting every opening.

Fang Mo attacked directly, but tired quickly. Qiu Lian waited for the right moments, and gradually he began to lose stamina. When he finally raised his sword for a slower strike, she grabbed his wrist with precision and unbalanced him, throwing him to the ground with a simple lever movement.

The judge didn't hesitate.

"Victory to Qiu Lian!"

The audience applauded—more in surprise than enthusiasm. A thin girl, with no real weapon, had defeated one of the village's physically strongest boys. Nyara watched in silence.

The second match was announced soon after:

"Wei Zhen, apprentice from the textile workshop, versus Long Fen, from the Long family!"

This time, two ordinary-looking boys entered the arena. Wei Zhen was a skinny kid, wearing simple cotton clothes and no visible weapon. Long Fen carried a polished wooden staff, inherited from his grandfather who had once fought in this very tournament.

"Begin!"

Wei Zhen darted to the sides, trying to avoid direct confrontation. He was fast, used to running deliveries across neighborhoods. Long Fen stayed in the center of the arena, spinning his staff with focus.

When Wei Zhen approached to punch, Long Fen dodged and swept his legs with the staff, knocking him down. Wei Zhen rolled, quickly stood up, and attempted a kick—but was stopped by a hit to the shoulder that sent him tumbling again.

The crowd laughed and applauded. It was a lighter match, not very dangerous, but it still showed the difference between someone who trained a little and someone who relied purely on luck.

"Victory to Long Fen!"