The Jin Clan's Grand Arena stood imposing in the morning light, its stone walls bearing the weight of countless historic duels. Today, the stands overflowed with spectators—disciples from all ranks, elders representing various factions, and representatives from allied clans. Tae-Won stood at the eastern entrance, Liu Feng beside him making final adjustments to his disciple robes.

  "The audience is larger than expected," Liu Feng noted, his voice betraying concern. "Representatives from three of the Twelve Noble Families are present, including the Zhao Clan's Second Elder."

  Tae-Won nodded, absorbing this information while scanning the crowd. Political implications expanded with each prominent observer. This was no longer merely a test between disciples—it had become a statement about Elder Jin's standing and the future leadership of the Jin Clan.

  "Young Master Jin Taekyung has arrived with his entourage," Liu Feng continued, gesturing discreetly toward the western entrance. "Seven disciples from his father's faction accompany him—all Core Formation."

  Across the arena, Jin Taekyung made his entrance with calculated showmanship. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with the easy confidence of someone who had never known defeat. His dark blue robes, emblazoned with the Jin Clan's silver phoenix, rippled around him as he acknowledged the crowd with a dismissive wave. The Core Formation disciples flanking him maintained formation with military precision, their synchronized movements emphasizing the disparity between their disciplined power and Tae-Won's solitary stance.

  Tae-Won's eyes narrowed as he got his first good look at his opponent. His jaw clenched involuntarily.

  "God damn it," he muttered under his breath. "That fucker Liu Feng was right. This bastard is pretty fucking handsome."

  The chiseled features, the confident bearing, the way even the light seemed to favor Jin Taekyung's angles—it was as if some cosmic sculptor had decided to make a perfect specimen just to irritate Tae-Won personally. Even the way Taekyung's hair caught the breeze looked rehearsed.

  "I believe I described him as 'jade carved by the heavens themselves,'" Liu Feng whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  "Yeah, well, he looks like he practices smiling in a mirror," Tae-Won grumbled, his annoyance only deepening when a group of female disciples near the stands visibly swooned as Taekyung passed. "Is he wearing scent? Who wears scent to a duel?"

  Liu Feng's lips twitched slightly. "Shall I include 'excessive handsomeness' in our intelligence report as a tactical disadvantage?"

  "Just make sure Min-Ji's contacts are positioned as we discussed," Tae-Won replied, pushing aside his irritation. "Whatever happens today, our network will capture the political fallout. Are they in place?"

  Liu Feng bowed slightly. "I have positioned Ho-Jin and three others at strategic observation points around the arena. Min-Ji's contacts are monitoring reactions from the servant quarters. Every significant reaction will be documented."

  Elder Jin waited at the center of the arena, his ancient figure somehow appearing taller than his actual height, power radiating from him in subtle waves that even non-cultivators could sense. Beside him stood Madam Liu and two elders Tae-Won hadn't previously met—likely neutral arbiters for the match.

  

  

  

  

  

  "It is time," Liu Feng said, stepping back as Elder Jin raised his hand in summons.

  Tae-Won walked forward, conscious of the hundreds of eyes tracking his movement. He maintained the precise gait Elder Jin had taught him—neither too fast nor too slow, projecting confidence without arrogance. The weight of Elder Jin's jade token hung against his chest, a physical reminder of his responsibility to represent his master honorably.

  As he approached the center, Tae-Won caught his first close look at Jin Taekyung. Handsome features arranged in an expression of amused contempt, eyes sharp with intelligence but clouded by entitlement. This was a young man who had never faced true hardship, whose talent had always been nurtured rather than tested.

  "Disciples, approach," Elder Jin commanded, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the arena.

  Tae-Won and Jin Taekyung moved forward simultaneously, stopping three paces apart. The difference in their cultivation was immediately apparent—Taekyung's aura pulsed with the concentrated power of Core Formation, while Tae-Won's, though unusually dense for Body Refinement, remained fundamentally different in quality.

  "Jin Taekyung, Core Formation Stage I, greets Grandfather," Taekyung announced, bowing respectfully to Elder Jin before turning dismissive eyes toward Tae-Won. "I have come as requested to evaluate your... disciple."

  Elder Jin's expression remained neutral. "Tae-Won, personal disciple of Elder Jin, will participate in this traditional assessment match." He gestured to the elders beside him. "Elder Zhao of the Zhao Clan and Elder Song of the Jin Clan will serve as impartial witnesses. This match will follow standard assessment protocols—no lethal techniques, no permanent injuries, victory by submission or incapacitation."

  Taekyung's mouth curved in a slight smile. "Of course, Grandfather. I would never dream of causing permanent harm to your... interesting choice of disciple."

  The emphasis on "interesting" carried unmistakable disdain, though his formal language maintained a veneer of respect. Elder Jin appeared to ignore the implied insult, turning instead to address both combatants.

  "Take your positions. Begin when the gong sounds."

  As Tae-Won and Taekyung moved to their respective starting positions, Elder Jin and the witness elders withdrew to an elevated platform at the northern edge of the arena. A heavy silence fell over the crowd, broken only by the occasional whisper quickly hushed by neighbors.

  Tae-Won settled into the Azure Dragon stance, channeling Qi through the meridian pathways he had been cultivating intensively. Across the field, Taekyung adopted a more aggressive position, flames already dancing subtly around his fingertips—a casual display of his fire affinity.

  The gong's deep resonance filled the arena.

  But instead of immediately attacking, Taekyung stood his ground, an arrogant smile playing across his lips. "Come," he called, gesturing lazily with one hand. "I'll allow you the first strike. It's only fair to give you some small advantage."

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd at this display of contempt. Taekyung was not merely confident—he was publicly humiliating Elder Jin's disciple before the match had properly begun.

  Tae-Won hesitated, recognizing the trap. Attacking first would force him to cross the open ground between them, exposing himself to whatever counter Taekyung had prepared. Yet refusing the "generous offer" would appear weak before the assembled witnesses.

  "What's wrong, slum rat?" Taekyung taunted, his voice pitched to carry. "Too afraid to seize an opportunity when offered? Perhaps my grandfather overestimated your courage."

  Decision made, Tae-Won launched forward, Qi flowing through his meridians as he executed Azure Dragon's Advance. The technique emphasized unpredictable movement patterns, making it difficult for opponents to anticipate the direction of the final strike.

  Taekyung observed the approach with detached amusement, making no move to defend until the last possible moment. When Tae-Won committed to his strike—an Azure Dragon Fang aimed at Taekyung's right shoulder—the Core Formation disciple simply shifted slightly, allowing the attack to pass harmlessly beside him.

  "Predictable," Taekyung commented, countering with a casual palm strike that caught Tae-Won squarely in the chest.

  The impact sent Tae-Won skidding backward, his defensive Qi layer barely absorbing the force. A basic attack, deliberately restrained—another insult wrapped in the guise of mercy.

  

  

  

  "Is this truly the best my grandfather could find?" Taekyung asked, advancing with unhurried confidence. "A slum rat with a few memorized forms?"

  Tae-Won remained silent, recovering his stance and recalibrating his approach. The gap in cultivation was even more pronounced in direct exchange than he had anticipated. Victory through direct confrontation was impossible; his only hope lay in strategic endurance and calculated counter-strikes.

  Taekyung launched a more complex sequence—three consecutive strikes targeting different vital points, each palm wreathed in strengthening flame. Tae-Won evaded the first, deflected the second with Azure Dragon Scales, but the third caught him on the shoulder, sending him sliding backward several feet.

  For the next several minutes, Taekyung methodically increased the pressure, each attack slightly more powerful than the last. He was toying with his opponent, demonstrating his superiority for the audience's benefit rather than seeking a quick victory.

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  "I expected more," Taekyung called between attacks, his voice carrying to the spectators. "The way my grandfather has been behaving, I thought he'd discovered some hidden prodigy. But this? This is disappointing."

  Tae-Won focused on survival, implementing the defensive strategies Elder Jin had drilled into him. Azure Dragon Scales, Azure Dragon Coils, Azure Dragon Retreat—techniques designed to absorb, redirect, and evade superior force. Each successful defense slightly surprised Taekyung, though not enough to shake his confidence.

  

  

  

  That moment came when Taekyung, growing impatient with Tae-Won's resilience, committed to a more powerful attack—a sweeping fire-enhanced kick that momentarily exposed his balance point. Tae-Won ducked under the strike and executed Azure Dragon Fang, directing a concentrated burst of Qi through his palm directly into one of Taekyung's lower meridian points.

  The impact was modest by Core Formation standards, but the precision of the strike disrupted Taekyung's Qi flow momentarily. He stumbled back, genuine surprise replacing his contemptuous expression.

  A ripple of astonishment passed through the crowd. Elder Jin's face remained impassive, though something like satisfaction flickered in his ancient eyes.

  "So the rat has claws," Taekyung said, his voice hardening. "Let's see how they fare against real fire."

  The air around him shimmered as he gathered power, his cultivation fully engaged now. The temperature in the arena rose noticeably as flames coalesced around his arms, forming intricate patterns that spoke of advanced technique and exceptional control.

  "Phoenix Wing Strike," he announced, launching forward with dramatically increased speed.

  Tae-Won recognized the technique from the jade slip records—a mid-tier Core Formation attack that combined physical impact with controlled flame projection. He shifted into Azure Dragon Coils, gathering his Qi for the defensive counter Elder Jin had specifically taught him for fire-attribute techniques.

  The collision of energies created a visible shockwave, rippling outward from the point of impact. Tae-Won successfully redirected the main force of the attack, though secondary flames scorched his sleeve and left his left arm tingling from the heat.

  Taekyung looked genuinely startled now, his eyes narrowing in calculation. "Impossible," he muttered. "Body Refinement shouldn't be able to withstand that technique."

  Taking advantage of Taekyung's momentary distraction, Tae-Won executed a quick sequence of strikes targeting key meridian points. None landed with full effectiveness, but the unexpected aggression forced Taekyung to adjust his stance.

  For the next several exchanges, Taekyung abandoned his showy techniques in favor of direct, powerful attacks. Each impact drove Tae-Won further into defensive positioning, the gap in raw power becoming increasingly apparent. Tae-Won's meridians strained under the continuous pressure, his Qi reserves depleting at an alarming rate.

  

  

  

  Tae-Won knew he needed to change approach. Continuing this exchange pattern would lead to inevitable defeat through attrition. As Taekyung prepared another powerful attack, Tae-Won deliberately left an opening in his guard—a calculated risk that invited a specific strike angle.

  Taekyung took the bait, committing fully to an overhead strike aimed at Tae-Won's exposed shoulder. At the last possible moment, Tae-Won executed a modified Azure Dragon Fang, channeling Qi through a secondary meridian pathway Elder Jin had helped him develop. The unusual energy flow pattern created a momentary blind spot in Taekyung's perception, allowing Tae-Won's counter to slip past his defenses.

  The strike landed solidly on Taekyung's chest, disrupting his Qi circulation and forcing him back several steps. For the first time, real pain registered on his face, quickly replaced by anger.

  The crowd's reaction was immediate—gasps and excited murmurs spreading through the stands. An onlooker unfamiliar with cultivation might have believed the match was turning in Tae-Won's favor, but those with knowledge understood the reality: it was an impressive moment of resistance against an overwhelmingly superior opponent, nothing more.

  Taekyung's expression darkened, pride wounded more than his body. "Enough games," he snarled, his calm facade cracking. "It's time I showed everyone why the Jin Clan's future belongs to true bloodlines, not street garbage."

  His Qi surged visibly, the air around him distorting with heat as he began forming hand seals in rapid succession. Tae-Won recognized the sequence from Jin Taekyung's cultivation records—the Three Heavenly Flames technique that Min-Ji had warned about.

  Tae-Won gathered his remaining Qi, preparing to exploit the 2.7-second formation delay the System had identified. It was a desperate gamble, but his only viable option against such overwhelming force.

  As the first tendrils of flame began manifesting around Taekyung, Tae-Won launched forward, aiming to disrupt the technique during its vulnerable formation phase. Taekyung's eyes widened in surprise at the direct approach—most opponents instinctively retreated from the Three Heavenly Flames, giving him time to complete the formation.

  Tae-Won's timing was precise, his strike aimed at the meridian juncture controlling the central flame pillar—the point the System had identified as requiring 31% more energy. For a moment, it seemed the gamble might succeed, his Qi-enhanced palm driving toward its target before the technique fully formed.

  But Taekyung was not a "heavenly genius" without reason. Recognizing the threat, he adjusted mid-technique, sacrificing the elaborate visual display for raw power. The flames consolidated prematurely, erupting in a chaotic wave that caught Tae-Won before he could complete his strike.

  The impact sent Tae-Won flying backward, his defensive Qi layer shattered by the overwhelming force. He crashed into the arena floor, meridians screaming in protest as he fought to maintain consciousness.

  

  

  

  

  Through blurred vision, Tae-Won saw Taekyung stalking toward him, satisfaction evident in his expression. The crowd had fallen silent, sensing the match's imminent conclusion. Across the arena, Elder Jin watched impassively, though a slight tension in his posture suggested concern.

  "A valiant effort," Taekyung called mockingly as he approached. "But this is the difference between true Jin Clan heritage and slum talent. Know your place, rat."

  Tae-Won struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he reestablished his stance. His body protested every movement, meridians dangerously close to collapse from the strain. The logical conclusion was clear—surrender now, preserve his cultivation base, and accept the inevitable defeat with dignity.

  Yet as Taekyung prepared another attack, something stirred within Tae-Won—a familiar pride that transcended rational calculation. If I had my previous strength, my imperial power, no bastard would dare speak to me with such contempt, he thought bitterly. As Emperor Reinhardt, he had commanded armies and challenged gods. Now, he stood struggling against a single arrogant noble.

  If only I had my true power, the thought burned through him. If only I hadn't lost everything...

  And suddenly, a memory surfaced with unexpected clarity—his old master's weathered face looking down at him with stern affection. Master Verpet, the legendary blade saint who had trained him before his ascension to the Latvarian throne.

  The mountain air bit cold against young Edward Reinhart's skin, his blond hair matted with sweat from the day's brutal training. The sun had begun its descent behind the jagged peaks, casting long shadows across the training grounds.

  Master Verpet stood before him, a mountain of a man, his massive frame silhouetted against the reddening sky. His beard moved gently in the mountain breeze as he looked down at his exhausted pupil.

  "What is your goal, boy?" Verpet asked, his voice gruff yet carrying an undercurrent of patience.

  Edward looked up in confusion, still trying to catch his breath. "What do you mean, Master Verpet?"

  "I mean what do you plan to achieve after you return to Latvaria?" Verpet's question was pointed, direct, as it always was during these philosophical discussions that followed physical training.

  Edward straightened, blue eyes blazing with conviction. "I wish to rule over this world and bring down the evil gods and deities." The answer came without hesitation, with all the certainty of youth.

  "Mhm," Verpet nodded, "a noble and grand goal indeed." The massive warrior knelt to look Edward directly in the eyes. "But tell me, Edward, what will you do when you fail? Or rather, lose your power? Maybe even die?"

  Edward's expression hardened immediately. "There's no way—"

  "That's precisely your fault," Verpet interrupted, his massive hand coming to rest on Edward's shoulder with surprising gentleness. "You are a clever boy, one brimming with unimaginable talent. But your ego is your weakness. You get stuck up with your current level of power or what you currently have, and when you are finally dealt defeat, you ponder about what could have happened if you had this or that."

  The words stung with their accuracy, but Edward's pride wouldn't let him acknowledge it. He opened his mouth to argue, but Verpet continued.

  "It can't be helped, after all. It is human nature to think and want things you do not possess." His voice had grown softer but more intense. "Ask yourself this—you hate nobles who flaunt and abuse their power, but you are of the same cloth. They abuse the power they have; you merely embody it, using it as a shield or a weapon for when times are tough."

  Edward flinched at the comparison, anger rising in his chest. But deep down, he recognized the truth in his master's words.

  "But remember this, Edward," Verpet continued, his voice now barely above a whisper. "When you are dealt with a situation where you can't rely on anything, don't ponder on what could have happened or what happened in the past. Fight. And fight. The past is merely a part of you. Do not get stuck up—and fight. Only then will you surpass your limits."

  Edward had looked away, unwilling to show how deeply the words had affected him. "I understand, Master."

  "No, you don't," Verpet had replied with a small smile. "But someday, when everything is taken from you, you will."

  The memory faded, but unlike before, Tae-Won held onto it, letting the wisdom of the God of Fists—for that was what Master Verpet had truly been—wash over him. This had been before he had challenged the throne, before he had dared to stand against gods themselves. When he was still learning the most fundamental lessons of true power.

  A small, bitter smile formed on Tae-Won's battered face as understanding dawned. What the fuck have I been doing all this time? The thought came with startling clarity. Getting stronger, expanding my forces, building networks... but it was all Edward Reinhart thinking, not Tae-Won.

  He staggered slightly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. I didn't even know what I truly wanted. I was just chasing the past, trying to become an emperor again, to regain what I lost. This old familiar pride... it's been holding me back.

  The realization hit him like a physical blow. He'd been internally denying the truth since he first awakened in this body. This wasn't Latvaria. Edward Reinhart held no power here. The courts, the nobles, the gods he knew—none of them existed in this world.

  Instead, Tae-Won does, he thought, straightening despite the pain coursing through his body. I could die here. I could fail. But one thing that never changed between Tae-Won and Edward Reinhart—neither of us gives up until the end.

  -End Of Chapter