Dust and qi from the earlier battles started to settle, and the arena shook with energy. Sharp and metallic, the smell of burned essence hung in the air. After wiping blood from their lips and bowing to the elders, the disciples withdrew to their respective clans. The roar of the crowd had not faded—it grew, feeding on victory, defeat, and the tension between.

High above, the Grey Shadow Hall elder raised his hand once more. His eyes shone with quiet authority, but his face was composed. The chatter abruptly stopped.

"Number Four," he said, his voice resonating like a bell of fate throughout the arena.

Immediately, one figure emerged from each of the five clans. Their fate for the next battle was indicated by the faint glow of their jade cards.

The audience stirred, whispering eagerly. "Number Four already… They are moving fast this year."

"No rest between rounds—Grey Shadow Hall's not holding back."

"Look, that is one from the Walker Clan—another spirit, root level three."

The first match was fierce but brief. A cultivator from the Brown Clan summoned powerful waves of earthen qi, creating defenses as solid as mountain walls. His rival from the Clark Clan struck back with fiery thrusts, his spear blazing with crimson flames—but it was not sufficient. The Brown disciple's endurance and calm precision prevailed, and when the dust cleared, the elder announced, "Victory—Brown Clan."

Cheers echoed from the eastern stands. The gold embroidery on the Brown Clan banners flickered in the light like sunlight on stone.

Moments later, the next stage came alive. The qi surged fiercely as two disciples, Walker Clan and Brooks Clan, faced each other. The tall, slender Walker fighter stepped forward, grinning like a wolf. His aura exuded the ruthless accuracy of their clan's style, burning white, violent, and sharp.

When the Brooks disciple lunged with his wind-forged sword, the Walker cultivator met it head-on. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he released his spirit root energy in a shockwave. The impact threw his opponent backward, and before the Brooks warrior could recover, the Walker's fist blazed with raw energy, landing squarely in his chest.

The clash ended in a single decisive strike. The crowd went silent for a heartbeat—then erupted.

"Walker Clan takes another!"

"they are unstoppable this year!"

Before the cheers faded, the elder raised his hand again, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Next—Walker Clan versus Osborn Clan."

A hush swept through the arena. All eyes turned toward the Osborn seats. One of their disciples stepped forward, his face calm but pale, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. Across from him, the Walker Clan's representative stood relaxed, confidence etched into his every movement.

When the signal came, both surged forward. Steel rang against steel, qi bursting in violent waves—but the difference was clear from the start.

Each blow from the Walker disciple cracked the air like thunder, carrying a crushing weight. Desperately, the Osborn fighter repelled one, two, and three blows, but the fourth completely broke his defense.

Within minutes, it was over. The Osborn disciple dropped to one knee, his breathing ragged, blood staining his sleeves. The elder's voice echoed, firm and final. "Victory—Walker Clan."

The Osborns stood silent. Disciples exchanged uneasy looks. Even Robert felt the sting—not of defeat but of realization. The difference in strength was vast. They had come from the Magical City, where cultivation was weaker and resources scarcer. Against the great clans of Celestial Brook, their spiritual foundation lagged.

Still, there was no despair in their eyes—only resolve.

They would fight. They would endure.

The matches continued, dust and energy filling the air once more. The final battle for Number Four came down to the Walker Clan and the Brown Clan.

Earth versus storm was a vicious, unrelenting battle. The Brown disciple formed layer after layer of defense with his golden qi, fighting like an unmoving mountain. But the Walker fighter was a force of nature—each punch was heavier, faster, and more precise than the last. When his final strike landed, the earth cracked beneath his opponent's feet, and the Brown disciple was thrown from the stage.

"Victory—Walker Clan!"

The crowd roared so loudly that the air itself seemed to shake.

The battles that followed went quickly. In the third round, the Clark Clan's stiff defense was surpassed by the Brooks Clan's nimble swordplay. As the final blow landed, the Clark disciple collapsed, gripping his side while the surrounding air shimmered with a fierce wind qi, slicing through the arena tiles.

The Walker Clan returned to their aggressive and uncompromising ways in the fourth match. Like a predator pursuing its prey, their fighter moved with primal speed, his blows slipping through his opponent's defenses. In a storm of qi and shattered stone, the battle was over in a matter of minutes.

By the time the dust settled, the standings were clear.

Walker Clan—two victories.

Brooks Clan—one victory.

Brown Clan—one victory.

Clark and Osborn—none.

The noise from the stands grew deafening. Excitement and tension mixed like fire and oil. Everyone knew what came next.

The early rounds had shown skill—but not power. The big names, the prodigies, the heirs, the true monsters of cultivation—had yet to take the stage. The whispers spread like wildfire through the arena.

"Harvey Walker has not fought yet."

"Neither has Robert Osborn."

"Even Paige Lee seems interested now…"

High above, Lady Paige's eyes narrowed faintly as she looked down upon the stages. The faint glimmer of curiosity touched her calm features. "The real storm is coming," she murmured.

Robert Osborn stood silent among his clan, the cheers and chants washing past him like wind. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, his gaze calm but burning. The losses did not shake him—they fuelled him.

Every clan knew it. Every heart felt it. The next matches would decide the future of the Celestial Brook City.

The preliminary clashes were over.

Now the true competition—the test of power, bloodline, and will—was about to begin.

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