Chapter 19: The Vanguard of the Outer Court
The roar of the crowd assaulted Li Shen's ears as he stepped into the colossal Outer Court Grand Arena. Stone tiers, carved directly into the mountainside, stretched into the sky, forming a vast amphitheater that could hold ten thousand disciples with ease. Today, it was nearly full. Outer Court disciples packed the seats shoulder to shoulder, their eyes brimming with anticipation. Elders in flowing robes occupied the elevated tiers, silent and watchful. A few Inner Sect disciples, their auras cool and imposing, stood apart from the rabble, eyes narrowed with interest—or disdain.
Banners fluttered in the morning breeze. Each bore the sigil of a prominent faction or an exceptional disciple: snarling beasts, blossoming lotuses, unfurling scrolls of flame. They snapped in the wind like battle standards, adding flashes of color to the slate-gray stone. The atmosphere was thick—no, charged—with excitement. The air itself seemed to hum with spiritual energy, a reflection of the sheer number of cultivators present.
Li Shen stepped onto the stone walkway leading to the competitor's staging area, his robes billowing gently. He was alone in the crowd. Quiet, almost invisible—but not unaware. His senses, sharpened by both instinct and his Blade Intent, caught every flicker of Qi, every whispered speculation from the stands.
"There he is… the one who made it onto the board with one duel?"
"Qi Condensation Stage 8. How did he even qualify?"
"Doesn't matter. If Wei Han gets him in a match, he won't last three breaths."
Li Shen didn't flinch. He didn't need their approval. He didn't even need their doubt. What he needed… was the battlefield.
The arena's center was divided into multiple dueling platforms, each large enough to host ferocious one-on-one battles but small enough that evasion couldn't drag a fight forever. Runes shimmered faintly along the edges—protection formations, to keep bystanders safe and prevent deaths during the competition. Though even those weren't foolproof. There had been deaths before.
A thunderous voice boomed out, layered with spiritual Qi. It rang across the arena, cutting through every conversation and murmur like a blade through silk.
"Contenders! The moment has arrived! Will the Top 20 Outer Disciples please step forward!"
The noise from the crowd surged like a crashing wave, then settled into a hushed reverence as twenty figures stepped forward.
They came from all directions—some walking slowly, others striding with purpose, all of them exuding a presence that silenced the murmurs around them. The raised circular platform at the heart of the arena was theirs, reserved for those who had clawed their way to the peak of the Outer Court.
Li Shen's eyes narrowed. This was the real beginning.
The Top 20 Outer Disciples assembled in a loose formation. Some stood tall and proud, others with arms folded or weapons slung across their backs, all basking in the awe of the spectators. Their auras formed a storm of pressure at the heart of the arena, each unique but unmistakably powerful.
At the center stood two figures that immediately drew all attention.
Gao Lei—ranked number one. Towering and broad-shouldered, his mere presence made the arena seem smaller. His aura was solid, immovable, like a mountain rooted deep in the earth. Earth Spiritual Root, they whispered. Almost invulnerable. He wore no weapon, only thick bracers on his arms—he didn't need anything else. Foes were crushed with his fists alone.
Next to him was Ling Xia, graceful as a swan, her sword sheathed in a patterned scabbard that shimmered with formation lines. Her movements seemed choreographed, her gaze distant yet piercing. If Gao Lei was a mountain, she was a storm cloud—elegant, beautiful, and deadly. Her sword techniques were said to dance like illusions, overwhelming her opponents with sheer precision and speed.
They were both already at Foundation Establishment Stage 2, perhaps even nearing Stage 3. The Inner Sect likely already had their names penned down.
Li Shen didn't linger long on them. They were distant stars. He was here for the moon that loomed closest.
His eyes shifted. There—ranked third.
Wei Han.
A head taller than most, with corded muscles and a thick frame built for war. A massive greatsword rested on his back, its width rivaling a door. Even sheathed, it radiated a suppressive force, the weapon attuned to its wielder's sheer brutal intent. Wei Han stood with arms crossed, chin tilted slightly upward, basking in the attention with the confidence of one who knew no equal in raw strength.
Foundation Establishment Stage 1, but with a level of physical reinforcement that bordered on unnatural. Rumors said he could split boulders with a single swing. That his duels rarely lasted more than a dozen moves. That he once broke a man's arm through his spiritual shield.
Li Shen didn't need the rumors. He could see it.
Wei Han's Qi wasn't refined—it was wild, surging, like a raging tide barely held in check. And yet, there was precision in the chaos, a controlled ferocity. He was not a beast. He was a weapon forged to break other weapons.
Then, as if sensing Li Shen's attention, Wei Han's gaze shifted.
Their eyes met.
For a breath, the world seemed to narrow. The crowd vanished. The banners stilled. Even the spiritual hum of the arena dulled.
Wei Han's expression didn't change. It didn't need to. His disdain was naked—his message clear: You don't belong here.
And behind that disdain… the shadow of another.
Zhou Tai.
Li Shen turned his gaze slightly, just enough to spot him among the crowd. He stood just behind the competitors' viewing area, his arms folded, a smirk plastered on his sharp features. His Qi Condensation Stage 9 aura was like a flickering torch compared to the bonfire of the Top 20, but the arrogance in his posture made it clear—he believed he already owned this arena.
Owned the results.
Owned Wei Han.
Zhou Tai's eyes didn't even linger on Li Shen. It was worse—he looked through him, as if Li Shen were already discarded. Irrelevant. Dealt with.
Li Shen's expression remained calm.
He returned his gaze to the Top 20. The rest of the lineup was no less impressive.
Ranks 4 through 10 were a gallery of the Outer Court's most consistent elites. He recognized some by name.
Mu Ying, ranked fifth, was known for her dual-dagger wind arts—fast, lethal, and nearly impossible to pin down. Sun Tao, ranked sixth, was a fire specialist with a penchant for long-range barrages. Others had strange talents—spiritual beasts, formation traps, even one who used sound techniques.
Then came the bottom half—Ranks 11 to 20.
They were hungrier. New Foundation Establishment cultivators and elite Qi Condensation disciples alike. Their gazes held no serenity, only ambition. One or two of them looked at Wei Han with a predator's glint, as if fantasizing about knocking him down a peg. The rest glanced at Gao Lei and Ling Xia with awe—or fear.
Li Shen remained silent, committing each face, each aura, to memory.
These are the vanguard.
This was the Outer Court's true power. Not the inflated reputations. Not the whispered politics or the name-dropping sycophants. This was the battlefield. This was the measure of worth.
And now, he stood at its edge.
Within his Dantian, his Qi swirled—not wildly, but tightly, like a coiled spring. Condensed. Refined. Nearing the threshold of Stage 9.
His Blade Intent hummed gently beneath his skin, a razor's edge of awareness. At Stage 3, it no longer merely sensed motion or killing intent. It anticipated it. Saw angles before they formed. A dance of death etched into the folds of every battle.
He was still Qi Condensation Stage 8.
He didn't care.
Li Shen's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
Let them underestimate him. Let them think he was a fluke, a mistake, a lamb walking into a den of wolves.
He was not here to prove them wrong.
He was here to make them remember.
---
A gong rang out, deep and reverberating.
An elder in crimson robes floated down into the arena, his presence calming and immense. A silence swept the stands as he raised a single hand.
"The preliminary duels begin now. Matches will be drawn by spiritual lot. Winners advance. Losers are eliminated. Outer Court rankings will be reshaped by victory and defeat."
He swept his gaze across the Top 20, then to the rest of the competitors.
"Your cultivation, your techniques, your courage, your cunning—everything will be tested here. Only the strong shall rise."
Another boom echoed—this time, the sound of the competition formations activating.
One by one, names began to flare across floating spirit screens.
Match after match appeared.
And then—
"Match Seven: Wei Han vs. Ji Fen."
Gasps echoed. Ji Fen was rank 10.
Wei Han cracked his neck and stepped forward, his greatsword glinting in the light.
"Match Nine: Li Shen vs. Bai Rong."
Another murmur. Bai Rong—ranked 18. A new Foundation Establishment cultivator, known for her feral combat style and beast-linked arts.
Zhou Tai's smirk widened.
Li Shen exhaled slowly, stepping forward.
The blade in his heart had already been drawn.
It was time to carve a path.