The meditation chamber lay in a deep, syrupy silence.

  The vast hall of dark stone kept its chill even at midday. The ceiling rose far overhead, held up by massive columns, each cut through with thin carved lines—remnants of ancient formations. At the center of the floor sat an intricate structure of silver and jade inlays. The lines intertwined, met, and split again, forming a closed pattern.

  Along the perimeter stood nine crystals—each a different color. Blue, scarlet, silvery, ochre, emerald, clear with a faint iridescence, violet, deep ruby, and a cold pale blue. Their light was muted, but steady. They didn’t blaze; they pressed softly, creating an even background.

  Arden sat at the formation’s center.

  Eighteen.

  Long black hair tied in a low tail, a few strands loose at his temples. His face had grown harsher, the lines sharper. The softness of childhood was gone. He wore dark training clothes—dense, but light. Not a single unnecessary ornament.

  His back was perfectly straight.

  His breath came steady.

  His awareness sank inward, slowly.

  In the Qi Gathering realm, a practitioner gains spiritual sense—the ability to feel their own inner structure. It isn’t sight.

  Only yourself.

  But sometimes that is enough to understand more than you would like.

  In his dantian, a vortex of many-colored qi turned.

  Fire flickered in sharp scarlet flashes. Ice held the edges of the current, not letting the flame spread. Metal guided the movement, keeping the flow from tearing apart. Water softened the turns. Earth gave weight. Wood steadied the rhythm. Wind thinned what needed thinning. Lightning sharpened the pulse. Blood bound everything together with a dense, stubborn thread.

  Nine elements.

  If his root hadn’t been heavenly, he would have stalled at the second stage. The streams would have ripped his meridians apart.

  But they obeyed.

  Slowly.

  With resistance.

  Every cycle demanded restraint.

  His meridians were wider now—tougher, more resilient. At the start of the path they had burned with pain, cracking under the pressure of разноцветные currents. Now the pain was gone. Only tension remained, like a blade held at the edge of a whetstone.

  Thin, rainbow-like veins ran through his bones—the result of the technique Heavenly Jade Bone. They reinforced the frame, making the body less “flesh” and more “foundation.”

  He felt the energy touch bone. Felt it sink in. Felt the body, little by little, stop being just a vessel.

  Fourth stage of the Qi Gathering realm. A steady middle.

  His pace matched an average spiritual root.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  And it irritated him.

  The Crimson Moon Clan had poured too many resources into him—pills, crystals, rare materials, personal instruction. Results were expected.

  But nine elements allowed no leaps.

  Every step required the consent of every stream.

  A thin тревога surfaced deep in his mind. Almost imperceptible.

  Not fear.

  Not doubt.

  As if something were watching.

  He opened his eyes.

  For a heartbeat, the green of his irises flared brighter—then dulled again.

  "Enough sitting."

  He rose.

  The training field greeted him with emptiness. Stone dummies stood in rows, riddled with cracks and scars from old blows.

  He stepped forward.

  "Ice Blade."

  A transparent blade formed at once. He took a step and cut diagonally. The dummy bloomed with heavy frost. Ice threaded into existing fissures, forcing them wider.

  A second strike—horizontal. Stone split with a dry, brutal crack.

  "Fire Fist."

  Flame flared in his palm, compressed, thickened—and tore forward. On impact it detonated. That was Stage One.

  A stage isn’t just a boost. It’s a deeper understanding of a technique’s essence. Mastering a stage is difficult. Even at the peak of Qi Gathering, most cultivators can’t do it quickly.

  He had secured Stage One of Fire Fist.

  He didn’t stop.

  Surge of Life made his body steadier. His muscles didn’t tire as sharply. Recovery came faster. Even the pace of movement felt cleaner—as if the body had learned to waste less.

  Blood Saturation let him store qi in the blood, increasing his effective reserve.

  A third spell. A fourth. A fifth.

  Six—steady.

  Seven—the edge.

  His veins tightened. A light dizziness brushed the back of his skull.

  He stopped.

  An ordinary cultivator at his level could throw three, maybe four techniques in a row.

  He could do more.

  Single-element cultivators would hit harder. Their progress would be more obvious.

  Their path was straight.

  His was not.

  And that was his advantage.

  When the sun touched the horizon, he finished.

  That evening, the reception hall was lit by the warm golden glow of fire crystals. The lacquered floor caught the light as if night itself had pooled there.

  Several maidservants moved without a sound, topping off cups and replacing dishes.

  Two people sat at the table.

  Arden sat with casual ease, leaning back slightly. A light, almost lazily pleasant smile rested on his lips. His gaze was calm—measured.

  Lucaris Crayne sat opposite, legs spread wide, one elbow on the table. He laughed loudly and openly, making no effort to hold back.

  "The road here was exhausting," he said, turning a cup between his fingers. "Too quiet. Even boring—until a beast decided to remind everyone the world still bites."

  He took a drink and continued with more relish:

  "A demonic beast the size of a wagon. Black fur, fangs like daggers. It hit the caravan before the pass. People started to scream, guards panicked…"

  He smirked.

  "I was already ready to step in. But my father beat me to it. One step. One gesture. An earth-rank spell—and the beast was gone."

  He said it with a hint of pride, but without tension—as if he were stating something obvious.

  "He doesn’t spare scrolls for me," Lucaris added. "Passed down a few earth-rank spells. Said: if you want to be someone, you can’t afford mediocrity."

  Arden dipped his head slightly.

  "Generous advice."

  "It’s normal," Lucaris waved it off. "If you’re a prince’s son, you don’t get to be average."

  A maid stepped close to refill the wine. The crystal-light brushed her face, highlighting smooth skin and a practiced calm.

  Lucaris fell silent for a moment.

  His gaze lingered.

  "Pretty," he said without the slightest embarrassment.

  He touched her wrist, stopping her movement—not roughly. Just confidently. Then he pointed to the cushion beside him.

  She lowered herself carefully.

  Lucaris drew her closer, an arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  "Better," he said, looking at her rather than Arden. "I don’t like beauty standing off to the side."

  He ran his fingers through her hair, weighing the texture, the length, the softness.

  "In the capital, you’d be noticed fast."

  The maid bowed her head. Lucaris was already talking again—more to himself than to her.

  "Have you heard of the Ice Palace?"

  "Only rumors," Arden replied evenly.

  "It’s far—near the border with the Ice Wastes. They accept only women. Their main technique is the Ice Fairy. They say it makes the body light, the movements silent."

  He smiled faintly.

  "The girls from there… are special. Pale skin. Cold eyes. They hardly smile. Hardly show emotion."

  He tightened his grip on the maid’s waist—just a little.

  "One of them is mine. Took a long time to teach her to be softer. Interesting experience."

  He laughed, but the laugh had weight now—the wine was starting to take hold.

  "There’s also the Eternal Spring Sect. I’ve never been myself—only heard from my older brothers. Far from the capital, almost at the empire’s edge."

  He took a drink.

  "Dual cultivation. The girls are open, pretty, smiling. Completely different. But…" He grimaced. "Almost none of them have kept their innocence. And that ruins the taste."

  The maid carefully slipped free on the pretext of refilling cups. Lucaris didn’t stop her. He was fully relaxed now.

  "The tournament will be easy," he went on, leaning back. "I’ve seen the level of the local youth. Fourth stage—that’s the limit for most."

  He looked at Arden more closely.

  "The fifth stage is untouchable."

  "At the Qi Gathering realm, the difference between stages isn’t so obvious," Arden replied.

  "Especially when a prince stands behind you," Lucaris smirked. "And when earth-rank spells are in your hands."

  He raised his cup.

  "Just don’t get knocked out in the first round. It’d be a shame if we never crossed."

  Arden’s smile twitched, barely.

  "I’ll try to live up to expectations."

  "Good."

  Lucaris drained his wine and stood.

  "To the arena."

  "To the arena," Arden repeated calmly.

  When Lucaris left, the hall didn’t empty—it simply grew quieter.

  The crystal-light continued to ripple across the lacquered floor.

  Arden lifted his cup and took a slow sip.

  The wine was good.

  The evening was long.