The Arena of Broken Stars was not meant for petty duels.
It had once hosted legendary battles between sect elders, grandmasters, and wandering prodigies. The arena was an open sky platform built atop a shattered floating cliff—suspended by ancient formations long forgotten and half-failed, the stones cracked and veined with lightning-shaped fissures.
Every fight on this platform was witnessed. Every secret spilled here had ears in high places.
So when news spread that the disgraced Elder Luo Feng would face a challenge here, the Sect didn't try to silence the rumors.
They encouraged them.
Luo Feng arrived the day before the duel.
He stood at the edge of the ancient platform, the wind tugging at his robe, his arms behind his back. A-Yan and Bai Xueyin followed silently behind him. Neither spoke. Even the wind was respectful here—cold, but not cruel.
The arena's surface stretched before them like a scar—massive, circular, its floor engraved with faded constellations, many broken or incomplete.
A symbol of something long glorious… and long dead.
Much like himself.
Ding! Arena site registered. System alert: Suppression formation detected beneath the platform. Signature aligned with Elder Mo's energy. Likely intent: limit Host's spiritual flow and passive techniques by 40% during combat. System Recommendation: Begin adaptation training immediately.
Luo Feng's jaw tightened.
They weren't coming to test him.
They were coming to cripple him.
That evening, the trio set camp in a nearby cave—one carved into the cliffs beneath the platform's edge. It was damp, cold, and had barely enough flat space for three mats.
But it was enough.
A-Yan huddled close to a fire, trying to warm her hands. Bai Xueyin sat in meditation, frost trailing from her breath as she regulated her internal qi. Luo Feng sat between them, eyes closed—but mind racing.
He remembered the scroll the spy had brought. The momentary flash of dark talisman fire. The soul-brand. The challenge. The seal embedded into the arena platform.
The Sect didn't just want to beat him.
They wanted to make a statement.
Cripple him—again. Humiliate his disciples. Send a message to every peak: this is what happens when you defy the order.
He opened his eyes and stared at the flickering firelight.
He wouldn't let that happen.
"You're thinking too loudly," Bai said, eyes still closed.
Luo Feng raised a brow. "That's a skill now?"
She opened one eye. "You're making the fire flicker without touching it."
A-Yan giggled. "Master's nervous."
"I'm not nervous," Luo Feng muttered.
"You're definitely nervous," A-Yan said. "You only pretend to snore when you're anxious."
He sighed. "You've been here five days. How do you know that?"
"I listen."
She puffed her cheeks and blew toward the fire, trying to bend the flame like she'd seen her master do. Nothing happened, of course.
Bai, now seated upright, stretched one arm and exhaled slowly. "You're not wrong to worry," she said. "The Sect wants you destroyed. This isn't a fair match."
"No match is fair," Luo Feng said. "But that doesn't mean we don't fight."
A long pause settled between them.
Then Bai spoke again.
"I don't want you to lose," she said quietly.
Luo Feng looked at her.
She didn't meet his gaze.
"You're the first person who's ever looked at me without fear or pity," she continued. "If they humiliate you tomorrow, they'll think you're weak. And they'll try to take us too."
A-Yan nodded, surprisingly serious. "You're our foundation."
Luo Feng's throat tightened.
He wasn't just fighting for pride anymore.
He was fighting for a family.
Hours later, while the girls slept—Bai upright and still, A-Yan snoring lightly with her arm flung over her scroll—Luo Feng stood at the mouth of the cave.
The stars above the platform glimmered faintly, reflected in the broken stone as if mourning their own fracture.
Luo Feng summoned his system panel and focused on the suppression glyph.
Arena Suppression Field: Active.Limiting passive spiritual techniques, pressure aura, and movement abilities within designated range.Host Adaptation Available: "Phantom Core Anchoring" — channeling movement techniques through muscle memory and qi compression only. Requires advanced stamina control.Warning: Intense fatigue may result.
Luo Feng exhaled and nodded.
"Do it."
Adaptation sequence initiated…
Pain bloomed in his limbs.
Not stabbing or burning—but dull, heavy, and endless. His entire body suddenly felt like it weighed five times more. His steps dragged. His breath thickened. He stumbled forward, knees locking under pressure.
But he didn't stop.
He moved into stance.
Then another.
And another.
Flicker. Shift. Anchor. Drag. Recover.
Each motion became slower—but cleaner. Crisper. More defined.
He trained through the night, sweat soaking into the stone, joints screaming, blood pooling beneath cracked skin.
When the sun rose, he was still moving.
The morning of the duel came with fanfare.
Spectators lined the cliffs and lower plateaus surrounding the arena—disciples from all branches of the Sect, elders, and even a few rogue cultivators from nearby sects who'd caught wind of the match.
Gossip bloomed like wildfire.
"Luo Feng's really showing up?"
"They say he has two disciples now. One's a child. The other… some noblewoman with ice qi."
"Li Yun's bringing a secret technique. Flame-class. Forbidden grade."
"Then Luo Feng's done."
On the opposite end of the platform, Li Yun arrived with a proud gait, his crimson robes embroidered with golden phoenix patterns, his hair tied neatly with a bone clasp that radiated faint fire energy.
His hands were clasped behind his back.
But his smirk said everything.
He wasn't here to test.
He was here to burn.
Luo Feng arrived in silence.
He wore plain black robes, unadorned. No outer symbols. No Sect colors.
His hair was loosely tied, and his eyes… calm. Clear. Sharp like the edge of a honed blade that hadn't yet drawn blood—but would.
A-Yan and Bai remained at the edge of the platform, silent sentinels.
The platform pulsed beneath their feet.
Arena formation active. Suppression initiated.Host spiritual flow limited. Passive bonuses reduced.Adaptation: Phantom Core Anchoring – activated.
Luo Feng stepped forward.
Li Yun bowed, mockingly low.
"Elder Luo," he said with a grin. "Or do we call you 'Instructor' now?"
Luo Feng didn't blink. "Call me whatever you like. It won't matter in ten minutes."
Li Yun's brow twitched.
The elder overseeing the match stepped forward, raising a glowing jade tablet.
"This duel is recognized by the Celestial Dawn Sect. One-on-one. No lethal blows permitted unless agreed upon. Begin—"
But the last word was still leaving his lips when Li Yun attacked.
Fire exploded across the platform, conjuring a wall of crimson flame that twisted upward like a serpent. The audience gasped. Even Bai Xueyin tensed.
"Flame Binding Technique—Fourth Seal!" Li Yun shouted, his palm erupting in a golden-red sigil. "Try dodging this, coward!"
Luo Feng stepped forward once.
And disappeared.
Flicker. Shift. Anchor.
He reappeared behind Li Yun, palm raised—
—and struck.
Not hard. Not showy.
Just fast. Just clean.
Li Yun stumbled, coughing, fire flickering wildly around him.
"What—?! How?!"
"I taught you something today," Luo Feng said calmly. "You're not as strong as you think."
Ding! Critical counter achieved. System reward pending…