The final round of the Blood Refining Assembly began at dawn.
Twenty-five cultivators stood in the eastern plaza, arranged in a loose semicircle before the elders' pavilion. The air was cold and damp, carrying the scent of coming rain. Above them, the sky was the color of bruised steel.
Cain stood near the back of the group, his posture relaxed, his eyes half-closed. He had slept little the night before—not from nerves, but from planning. Elder Shen's words echoed in his head: "I am willing to look the other way when you make your move."
He knows I'm going for the forbidden zone. He's not stopping me. But he's not helping me either.
That means I'm on my own.
Su Yao and Xiao Lian were in the observers' section, seated on wooden benches that had been erected the night before. Through the progenitor bond, Cain felt Xiao Lian's alertness—and Su Yao's focus. She was watching the crowd, not him.
Good. She's learning to look for threats.
The journey east had been more than travel. Su Yao had spent her evenings practicing—not healing, but listening. She had discovered that if she channeled her wood energy through her ears rather than her hands, she could perceive things her eyes could not. Heartbeats. Intentions. The subtle shifts in a person's qi that preceded movement. She had mentioned it to Cain three days ago. He had simply nodded and said, "Keep practicing."
Now, sitting in the observers' section, she put that practice to use. She closed her eyes and let the energy flow. The crowd became a symphony of pulses. Most were ordinary—fast with excitement, slow with boredom, irregular with nervousness. But a few stood out.
Three rows behind the elders' pavilion. Grey robes. Faces hidden.
Their heartbeats were wrong. Too steady. Like they were controlling their pulses deliberately.
She opened her eyes and filed the information. Not WARLORD. Not Blood River Sect. Someone else.
Elder Shen stepped forward. His crimson robes were immaculate, his weathered face unreadable.
"The final trial will be a ranked tournament. You will fight in single elimination. The top ten will be offered positions in the Blood River Sect. The top three will receive spirit stone prizes and access to our library's first floor."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"The bracket is posted. Your first match begins in fifteen minutes."
Cain found his name in the fourth bracket—mid-tier, unremarkable. His first opponent was a woman named Liu Mei, a Foundation stage cultivator with a serpentine whip and cold eyes. He watched her warm up. Her movements were fluid, practiced. The whip was coated with something that glittered faintly—spirit venom, probably.
One touch and my regeneration would be compromised. But I can't let anyone see me regenerate.
The match began.
Liu Mei struck first—the whip snapping toward his legs.
Cain jumped. The tip grazed his calf. He landed in a roll, felt the venom burn through his trousers. But he had already clenched the muscle beneath, sealing the wound before a single drop of blood could escape. His blood nucleus went to work, neutralizing the poison where no one could see.
Too close.
He circled left, forcing her to adjust her grip. The whip was a reach weapon—deadly at range, useless up close. He needed to close the distance.
She saw what he was doing. The whip retracted, then lashed out in a wide arc, driving him back.
Cain feinted left. She bought it. Then he dropped low and sprinted forward.
Liu Mei's eyes went wide. She tried to bring the whip back—too slow.
Cain caught her wrist. Iron grip. The whip clattered to stone.
"Yield."
She stared at him. Nodded.
The crowd applauded—polite, unenthusiastic. Cain walked out of the ring.
From a darkened corner of the compound, Qin Shuang watched.
The WARLORD's new Seeker leaned against a wooden pillar, her curved blade hidden beneath her grey-and-red cloak. She had arrived the night before, traveling alone to avoid attention. Han Xian's replacement. Let's see if this one lasts longer.
She had watched Cain's first match. Efficient. Controlled. He was hiding his true strength—any fool could see that. But what she needed to know was how much he was hiding.
Mid-grade blood purity. Four wins. No blood techniques.
Either he's weak, or he's playing a very long game.
She touched the hilt of her blade—newly forged, coated with blood-sensitive alloy. Han Xian had relied on his dagger's hunger. She would rely on patience.
Wait. Watch. Strike when he's alone.
She melted back into the shadows.
Cain's second opponent was a man named Zhou Hu—wiry, fast, carrying twin daggers. His cultivation was Qi Refining peak, unremarkable. But his energy was nervous, twitchy.
The match lasted longer than Cain wanted. Zhou Hu was slippery, always moving, never committing to an attack.
He's stalling. Wearing me down.
Cain changed tactics. Instead of chasing, he stood still.
Zhou Hu circled. Paused. Circled again.
"Why aren't you moving?" he called out.
"I'm waiting for you to make a mistake."
Zhou Hu's eye twitched. He lunged—too fast, too straight.
Cain sidestepped, caught his leading arm, and twisted. The dagger clattered to stone. A palm strike to the chest sent Zhou Hu stumbling out of the ring.
The crowd applauded again. Cain walked out.
The third match was different.
Cain's opponent was a woman named Bai Su—tall, calm, carrying a spirit sword that hummed with cold energy. Her cultivation was Foundation mid-stage, higher than anyone else in his bracket.
This one I can't beat without using blood.
The match began. Bai Su didn't move. She simply stood there, her sword point-down, watching him.
"You're not Foundation stage," she said quietly. "Your body moves like someone who's been fighting for centuries. But your qi says otherwise."
She knows. Or she suspects.
"Does it matter?" Cain asked.
"Not to me." She lowered her sword. "I can feel what you're hiding. It's deep. But it's there. And I'm not stupid enough to be the one who drags it out."
She turned and walked to the edge of the ring.
"I forfeit."
The crowd erupted in confusion. Elder Shen's eyes narrowed.
Bai Su looked back at Cain. "Whatever you're here for—good luck. You'll need it. And if you survive... maybe we'll meet again."
She walked away.
Cain stood in the ring, unsure what had just happened. She sensed something. She chose not to fight. Why? And why did she speak to Elder Shen afterward?
He filed the name: Bai Su. Possible ally. Possible threat. Either way, someone to watch.
While Cain fought, Su Yao slipped away from the observers' section.
Her senses—sharpened by the wood energy she had cultivated since childhood—caught something. A cluster of heartbeats in a restricted area behind the elders' pavilion. The signatures felt old, rigid. Conservative elders. And they were speaking in low, urgent tones.
She crouched behind a stack of supply crates, closed her eyes, and listened.
"—the blood pool needs more essence. The participants are weak this year. We'll have to supplement."
"Supplement how?"
"The usual method. After the tournament, when they're exhausted. No one will notice a few missing."
"The reformists will notice."
"The reformists are too busy watching Elder Shen's pet projects. They won't look down."
Su Yao's blood ran cold.
They're planning to harvest the participants. Use their blood to feed the forbidden zone's pool.
She committed the voices to memory and retreated.
Cain's fourth and final match of the day was against a man called Iron Mountain. Foundation early stage. No weapon. Just fists like sledgehammers and a smile that said he enjoyed breaking things.
The bell rang. Iron Mountain charged.
Cain dodged the first swing. The second clipped his shoulder, spinning him sideways. Pain flared—real, sharp. His regeneration would fix it, but not fast enough to matter in this fight.
I can't use blood here. Too many eyes.
Iron Mountain came again. This time Cain didn't retreat. He stepped into the charge, caught the massive arm, and used the man's own momentum to throw him off balance. A palm strike to the kidney. Iron Mountain grunted but didn't fall.
Tough bastard.
The next swing was slower. Cain caught the arm, twisted, locked the elbow. Iron Mountain's face went red. He tried to power through—and felt his joint strain to the breaking point.
"Yield," Cain said.
Iron Mountain's eyes bulged. He nodded once, and Cain let go.
The crowd applauded—louder this time. Four wins. A clean record.
Cain walked out of the ring, his shoulder throbbing. One more match and I'm in the top ten. But I don't care about the ranking.
Tonight. The forbidden zone.
As Cain returned to the compound, Su Yao found him.
"The conservative elders," she said quietly. "They're planning to harvest the participants' blood after the tournament. Feed it to the forbidden zone's pool."
Cain's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"
"I listened. With my wood energy." She touched her ear. "I've been practicing. I can hear heartbeats now—and conversations, if I'm close enough."
She's growing faster than I expected.
"Anyone else know?"
"The grey-robes might. I saw one of them near the elders' pavilion during the conversation. He was holding a jade slip—recording."
Tianjian Sect. Collecting evidence.
"Don't approach them," Cain said. "Just watch. If they're recording, they have their own agenda."
"What about the conservative elders?"
"We deal with them after I get what I came for."
The tournament officials announced an unexpected change: the fifth round was cancelled due to "an irregularity in the bracket." The top ten would be determined by the judges' discretion.
Cain didn't care. He had done enough to avoid attention—and not enough to draw it.
As he walked back to his quarters, he felt eyes on him. Not Elder Shen's this time. Someone else.
Qin Shuang. The WARLORD woman. Watching from the shadows. She's been here the whole time.
He didn't acknowledge her. He simply walked inside and closed the door.
At midnight, Cain left the quarters.
The compound was dark, the torches guttering in the damp air. His blood sense stretched ahead of him, mapping the patrol routes he had memorized over the past three days.
Two guards at the eastern gate. One at the inner wall. Three disciples patrolling the perimeter.
Gaps every twelve minutes. Enough time to cross.
He moved.
The forbidden zone was marked by a wall of black stone, carved with sealing formations that pulsed faintly in the darkness. The gate was iron-bound, locked with a spiritual seal that would alert the elders if breached.
But he wasn't breaching it.
He pressed his palm to the seal. His blood nucleus pulsed—not the surface layer he had used for the blood test, but the deep core. The Ancestor's blood.
The seal flickered. Not breaking—recognizing.
The altar had read what he released. The seal only needed to know that the bloodline existed—not how pure it was.
The gate swung open.
Cain stepped through into darkness.
Behind him, in the shadow of a collapsed pavilion, a grey-robed figure lowered a jade slip. The figure's heartbeat never changed—steady, professional. The slip had captured everything: the blood resonance, the opening gate, Cain's face.
The figure melted into the night, heading east.
And from a different shadow, Qin Shuang watched the grey-robed figure leave. Her hand rested on the curved blade at her hip. The metal was cold, patient.
Two birds, she thought. One stone.
She moved, circling through the darkness toward the forbidden zone. Cain wasn't the only one hunting tonight.