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Chapter 65: A HELD BREATH
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 04:38:41 +0000 UTCCHAPTER
65
A HELD BREATH
JIEYUAN
—∞—
Gleaming End drove deep into Xianjun’s throat.
Xianjun’s body jerked, blood spewing from his lips. His face flushed crimson, his body sagging, limp from the neck—or what was left of it, with the blade lodged there.
The strike was so clean, so precise, that though blood bubbled and swelled around the spear’s shaft, none of it gushed out.
Not all of the blade had gone through, but enough so that some of it must’ve come out on the other side—through the throat, past the spine, sticking out the nape.
The spear was the only thing keeping Xianjun upright.
In one smooth motion, Daojue snapped his spear free and held it to the side. The white cloth around the blade was soaked a deep crimson, the shaft near it splattered with blood.
Spearhead gone, a torrent of blood burst from Xianjun’s neck—a strong shower of it, gushing out in a spray at Daojue.
Xianjun’s body crumpled forward.
Daojue stepped back with a smooth, unhurried motion as the corpse hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Loosed by the fall, Xianjun’s head rolled several inches away from the body and came to a stop at Daojue’s feet.
Daojue lingered there for a moment. Jieyuan still couldn’t see Daojue’s face, but knowing him he probably wore no expression at all. It’d be like Daojue to just stare dispassionately down at the corpse as blood pooled around it on the brightgold floor of the stage.
Then Daojue jerked his wrist, giving Gleaming End a sharp flick, and the blood that coated its shroud splattered down onto the floor.
He then turned around, and strode off the stage with the same long, effortless strides he’d used to cross the arena not even half an hour before.
Jieyuan could see Daojue’s front now. Sure enough, his face was the same stony mask he always wore. Except now with a thick coating of blood spread over it—red droplets going as high as his forehead, stark against his pale skin, the space under his nose and around his jaw more red than white. His robes were stained much the same way, a dark splotch taking up the upper half of it.
Mid-step, a hazy shimmer flashed around Daojue—the brief flash of a cleansing ring in action. When it faded, all the blood was gone. Save for some slight ruffles in his clothes, some hairs out of place, Daojue looked just about pristine. Like none of the duel had even happened. Like it had all been a dream.
But Xianjun’s corpse, left lying behind Daojue, was definitely real.
For a good while, the only sound around was that of Daojue’s footsteps, the click of the metal of his greaves gliding along the brightgold floor. Down the stage, then across the arena floor back over to the entrance he’d come in through.
It was only then that Jieyuan managed to pry his eyes off the lower floor and look up.
The very first thing he noticed was that Envoy Guodan was gone, Sovereign Aoxin left standing by herself.
The second thing was that the envoy wasn’t gone after all, only somewhere else—over on the Xiyunfeng’s side of the floor, right beside the other sovereign protector, Sovereign Zhihao. Who was bent over the railing, shaking, wide-eyed, staring fixedly at the stage—at his son’s corpse.
The envoy had a hand around the man’s wrist, but he didn’t seem to notice the envoy or her grip on him.
That must’ve been the flurry of movement Jieyuan had caught earlier, when Daojue struck down Xianjun. Sovereign Zhihao attempting to intervene, with Envoy Guodan crossing to his side in a flash to restrain him.
The tension in the air hung heavier than gold.
The silence, save for Daojue’s footsteps, was deafening. Not so much as a murmur escaped anyone’s lips. Practically nobody so much as moved.
Nobody except Daojue, who was already halfway across the lower floor, his footsteps like thunderclaps.
Before, after Xianjun had tried to sneakily kill Daojue, the faces around Jieyuan had gone grave. They were still that way, but now in a frozen sort of way. Frozen stiff.
“Winner,” Sovereign Aoxin suddenly said, firmly, tonelessly, “Tianzijun Daojue, of the Gleaming Stone Sect.”
The proctor was still standing frozen halfway through the stage from when she’d rushed to stop Xianjun’s sneak attack. She hadn’t moved a muscle when Daojue had struck Xianjun down, and now she remained as silent and unmoving as everybody else. Apparently Sovereign Aoxin had seen fit to take charge.
The announcement set things in motion again.
Immediately Yuyan moved to stand right beside Jieyuan, gently but firmly pushing him back, positioning herself in front of him. “Stay back,” she said, not looking at him, eyes fixed over on the Xiyunfeng’s side. Her hand was now firmly grasping the hilt of the saber, ready to draw.
All over the upper floor, elders moved to position themselves near the front, pushing back disciples in much the same way. Everyone turned their attention to the Xiyunfeng’s side.
The Xiyunfeng clansmen, on the other hand, pretty much didn’t move at all. Most of them had gone considerably pale. Some disciples edged back or forward, murmuring uneasily, only to be held firmly in place by the elders around them. Much like everybody else, they all looked to where Envoy Guodan and Sovereign Zhihao were standing in their silent deadlock.
Depending on how the next few moments played out, the Xiyunfeng Clan might just face total annihilation.
Pretty much the moment Daojue vanished through the entryway at the end of the lower floor, Sovereign Zhihao took a deep, heavy breath, and pulled himself back from the railing, standing up straight.
But he still didn’t look away from his dead son. Envoy Guodan also didn’t release her hold on him.
“My son—” Sovereign Zhihao began.
“Is dead.” Envoy Guodan’s voice was cutting, merciless. “Is that a problem?”
Sovereign Zhihao inhaled sharply. He still didn’t turn around, still stared at the stage. “A problem? That boy killed—”
“I’d have killed him myself if Tianzijun Daojue hadn’t,” Envoy Guodan cut in. “And his death wouldn’t have been as quick.”
That got Sovereign Zhihao to turn around. But that was all he did—he said nothing. The man’s back was to him now, so Jieyuan couldn’t see what his face was like. But he suspected it didn’t look good.
“Tianzijun Daojue has been scouted by me,” Envoy Guodan continued, in a voice that left no room for argument. “It matters not that the scouting has not yet been made official. Everyone here is well aware he’s under my protection.”
“You—” Sovereign Zhihao tried, but Envoy Guodan didn’t let him get a second word in.
“I would have been willing to overlook your son’s repeated attempts to kill Daojue throughout their duel,” she said. “Daojue emerged unscathed, and perhaps Xianjun had intended to pull his blows. I’d have given him the benefit of the doubt. But what he did at the end cannot be tolerated. I don’t care what reasons he may have had—if he even had any, for he didn’t seem entirely possessed of himself at the end. After that last attempt on Daojue’s life, Xianjun’s death was inevitable. Daojue merely expedited the process.”
She then repeated her first question, “Is that a problem?”
Sovereign Zhihao’s response was barely audible. “No.”
Envoy Guodan let go of his wrist. “Then the matter is settled.”
Protector Yuyan, still standing in front of Jieyuan, finally moved her hand away from the hilt of her saber. But when she glanced back at Jieyuan, he saw she still looked serious. “Stay with the others,” he said, before setting off toward the Radiant Gold Sect’s side of the floor. Many of the other elders did the same—not just from the Gleaming Stone Sect, but also from the Viridian Death Cult.
This wasn’t anything unusual. After the last round of each day, some of the higher-ups of each sect would gather up for a meeting. Purportedly for some preliminary discussions of the current rankings, sometimes to strike some early deals based on the current state of things. Meanwhile the rest of the disciples would be lead back to their palace by the elders who didn’t take part.
It was a great deal more elders than usual that were attending the end-of-day meet-up today, though. And Jieyuan suspected he and the other disciples would be sticking around until those talks were over, rather than leaving early.
According to Palace Head Yiming those talks were already full of barely contained hostility on a good day—today’s should stretch the definition of contained.
The tension had eased up some, but it was still thick in the air, just shy of palpable. It didn’t matter that the Xiyunfeng Clan were unlikely to pull off anything with the envoy breathing over their shoulders as she was. What had just happened would still sour things a great deal.
Over on the Xiyunfeng’s side, Envoy Guodan walked off first. Sovereign Zhihao stared at her back, then back down at the stage, before looking over to a pair of elders. They both nodded and made for the nearby stairwell. Meanwhile Sovereign Zhihao set off after the envoy, taking the remaining Xiyunfeng elders with him.
Barely a second later, those same two elders appeared on the arena floor, arrived at the center stage as little more than blurs. Still moving unnaturally fast, they gathered the two parts of Xianjun’s corpse and stored them away inside a glyph-stretch pouch. A cleansing flash followed, vanishing all the blood.
The pair of elders were gone just as quickly as they arrived, leaving behind a spotless stage. It could’ve looked like it had never seen a fight if it weren’t for the gouges and scratches scattered throughout it.
The proctor finally got moving again, and followed the two Xiyunfeng elders back to the upper floor from a distance.
As murmurs and movement started up around him, Jieyuan turned back just in time to see Daojue stepping off the stairwell and onto the upper floor.
Daojue didn’t so much as glance about as he made straight for his original place by the railing, not far from where Jieyuan stood.
The disciples all stared at Daojue. And it wasn’t just them. Most of the departing elders paused to look—including Envoy Guodan and most of the Xiyunfeng.
But Daojue paid them no mind—didn’t even seem to notice, pace unhurried, expression blank—and heads turned away, feet kept on walking, though many disciples kept sneaking glances at him.
It wasn’t just that he’d killed Xianjun. Even if that hadn’t happened, the duel by itself would’ve been enough to warrant the attention.
No fourth-sign redsoul had any business being as good as Daojue was. Not nearly. Not by half.
Jieyuan was among the ones that kept staring at Daojue. He couldn’t help it. Everything else that happened today aside…
What in the Heavens am I supposed to do tomorrow?
What had happened today with Xianjun didn’t change the fact that Jieyuan wanted to beat Daojue tomorrow. So much it hurt. Meiyao and Daojue were the ones he’d been chasing after all along, from the moment he’d faced them on the entrance trials of the Gleaming Stone Sect and miserably lost. He’d already beaten Meiyao—sure, with Fatebloom Intuition, but he’d take it, a win’s a win—and now it was Daojue’s turn. More than that, he’d promised Yongyi he’d win this whole stupid tournament.
But all signs pointed to one thing—that he’d keep on hurting for it.
Jieyuan scowled and looked away from Daojue.
Even before Daojue and Xianjun’s duel, Jieyuan had worried that he wouldn’t be able to match Daojue tomorrow. Now that wasn’t just a worry—it was full-on certainty.
Back in the Gleamstone Valley, a third-sign Daojue had beaten a fifth-sign Qingshi. The gap between third-sign and fifth-sign was slightly larger than that between fourth- and sixth-sign. Not by much, but larger all the same. And Qingshi was just as skilled as Xianjun was, if not more so. That was all the clue anyone could ever need that Daojue didn’t play by the same rules as everyone else.
But then Qingshi had gone and revealed himself to be a sixth-sign Redsoul—meaning his aura would be boosting him twice as much as Daojue’s did. That wasn’t supposed to be the sort of gap that could be bridged. At all, even more so against someone as talented as Qingshi. But even then, Daojue had managed to hold on—not for long, sure, but he’d hung in there for a while before Jieyuan and Meiyao joined the fray.
Jieyuan had always thought what he’d seen that day was Daojue at his best. His limit. Certainly he hadn’t been in any position to hold back, struggling for his life like that.
But he’d failed to consider that it wasn’t only Daojue’s soulsign that could go up. Daojue’s technique had clearly improved since. And he seemed to have worked on his conditioning besides. It wasn’t to the point that, under the same circumstances—third-sign against sixth-sign—Daojue would’ve matched Qingshi. Not yet, anyway. But it was probably enough to let him last twice as long, if not more.
And Jieyuan still didn’t know what in the Heavens Daojue’s realmskill was. Maybe he’d been right all along, and Daojue’s realmskill did further boost his body, strength and speed, though without any of the light show or special effects that most other such realmskills had.
But no. That was too simple, too plain. He’d sooner believe Daojue had no realmskill at all.
Jieyuan was still lost in thought, trying to make sense of Daojue and puzzle out a way to win tomorrow, when he noticed someone standing all the way at back, on the mouth of the stairwell to the arena floor.
The robes were the first thing he noticed. Black, trimmed with green. Xiyunfeng Clan robes. But not the ensemble of members of the Core Court, like most of the Xiyunfeng Clan’s delegation. The robes were less elaborate, with only a simple light-green sash wrapped around the waist. An inner disciple.
Jieyuan only knew one Xiyunfeng Clan inner disciple worthy of note. And as he focused on the face, his suspicions proved right.
A woman—sharp-eyed, strong-jawed, with a prominent brow. Xiyunfeng Caoluan, his opponent in the fifth round.
The woman who had run him through with her sword.
Well, to be more precise, the woman on whose sword he had run himself through in order to win. But that was just nitpicking the details, and Jieyuan wasn’t really one for that.
Caoluan’s expression was inscrutable. And she was staring straight at him.
What’s this now?
The moment their eyes met, she gave him a small, subtle nod before disappearing down the stairwell.
Jieyuan cast a quick look around. It didn’t seem like anybody had noticed… His eyes fell on Meiyao.
She was looking at him. And frowning. She nodded to the stairwell, then gave him a questioning look.
So she’d also noticed Caoluan.
Unless he’d missed the mark, Caoluan wanted to talk. He didn’t know what about, but he’d long suspected the Xiyunfeng were up to something, and this was as good a lead as any.
He considered it. There shouldn’t be any danger to it, what with Envoy Guodan around. And it wasn’t like he had much else to do at the moment.
He shrugged at Meiyao, then headed for the stairwell.
