A month passes quickly. The Reed family's annual grand tournament arrives once again.
The martial arena is packed with people, the noise deafening. Though none of it concerns you, you simply find a quiet corner, lean against a tree, and let out a lazy yawn.
Up on the high viewing platform, all the old figures of the Reed family sit in their seats. Your father, Damian Reed, is among them. But the one who stands out most is Julian, dressed in white.
The supreme bone truly is a remarkable thing. In just one month, he's nearly broken through to the middle stage of the Emperor Realm. That old fool of a grand elder has practically put him on a pedestal, granting him the honorary status of guest elder, treating him better than his own son.
Meanwhile, your sister in name only, Chloe, trails behind him like a little follower, chin held high, basking in everyone's admiring stares.
Quite the eyesore.
"Silence." Grand Elder Marcus rises to his feet, his voice booming like a war drum. "The tournament begins. Same rules as always. The final winner enters the martial arts pavilion's third floor and picks a profound grade technique."
The moment he finishes, chaos erupts below. Dozens of arenas ring out with clashing blows.
Of course, Julian himself won't be competing. He's far too distinguished now to bother with such petty scuffles. You glimpse him seated on the high platform, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, landing on you at last like a blade. He then shoots a look at a hulking, muscular man beside him, a silent signal.
The man catches on immediately and leaps onto an arena, knocking out his opponent in a handful of moves, then snatching the referee's amplifying horn. He bellows in your direction.
"What bad luck! Some people without even a bone still dare show up to this tournament, filthy up this place."
His voice booms so loud the entire arena falls silent instantly. The next second, countless eyes stab into you like needles. Mockery, glee at your misfortune, every reaction imaginable.
"Isn't that Ethan? He still has the nerve to show up."
"I heard he got demoted to a side branch. Cultivation pitifully weak. What's he even doing here?"
"If I were him, I'd have gone into seclusion long ago."
On the arena, the man named Brock, seeing you show no reaction, grows even more smug. "Ethan, I'm talking about you. Got the guts to come up here and fight me? Don't worry, I'll hold back. You'll only walk away with a few light injuries."
Faced with this blatant insult, you don't even bother lifting an eyelid. Trash like this doesn't even deserve a glance from you.
"Ha, just as I thought. Too scared to accept the challenge." Brock's laughter grows even more arrogant.
Up on the platform, Julian smiles with satisfaction. This is exactly the effect he wants. Grinding you underfoot, making sure you never rise again. Even Chloe only frowns slightly, then goes back to her indifference, probably thinking you brought this on yourself.
But just as everyone assumes you'll stay silent forever, you suddenly move.
You rise unhurriedly, completely ignoring Brock's taunts on the arena, and walk straight to another corner where a side branch boy named Miles watches the arena with envious eyes. The kid trains hard. Unfortunately, he's poor, talentless and pitifully weak.
You walk up to him and casually pull out a tattered manual from your robe. You toss it to him.
"Your bones and physique aren't bad. Your technique's just too ordinary. Here, make do with this Thunder Strike Fist manual."
Miles fumbles to catch it. He's stunned. "Ethan, you're giving this to me?"
The people around them are equally stunned.
"The Thunder Strike Fist? Isn't that the most basic common technique on the first floor of the martial arts pavilion?"
"Haha, this is hilarious. One weakling with no cultivation to speak of, handing an ordinary technique to another weakling with no cultivation. What kind of show is this?"
Brock on the arena doubles over laughing. The whole crowd bursts into laughter with him. Miles's face turns liver red with embarrassment, clutching the shabby manual, not knowing what to do.
But you pay him no mind. You turn and walk back to the tree, lean against it again, and close your eyes.
That's when a voice only you can hear rings out in your mind.
Ding. The low-grade yellow tier Thunder Strike Fist you gifted has been fully accepted. Ten-thousandfold critical rebound triggered. Congratulations, player. High-grade profound tier technique acquired. The Sky-Piercing Finger.
The Sky-Piercing Finger. One finger commands heaven and earth. Two fingers shatter the stars. Three fingers annihilate gods and demons.
A massive stream of information floods instantly into your mind. You absorb this terrifying finger technique without a flicker of expression. The mockery around you is nothing but the buzzing of a swarm of flies.
Up on the platform, the contempt in Julian's eyes deepens. Still putting on that act. He shoots Brock another look, this time laced with killing intent.
Brock lets out a savage grin and leaps down from the arena, cracking his knuckles. He strides toward you, unleashing the full pressure of his cultivation onto you. "Since you don't dare come up, I'll come down here and drag you up myself."
The entire crowd tenses instantly. Everyone waits eagerly for the show.
Brock's massive shadow completely engulfs you. He reaches out a hand the size of a fan palm leaf, grinning savagely as he grabs for your collar. "Get up."
But his hand freezes midair, because you've opened your eyes.
In that instant, the entire world seems to fall silent. Your gaze is calm, like a bottomless ancient well. And yet that very calmness sends a chill straight through Brock, numbness spreading from his scalp down to his heels. He feels like he's not facing a person, but an ancient awakened beast.
"What did you just say?" Your voice is soft, yet it lands on his heart like a hammer blow.
Brock's teeth chatter. He can't even form a complete sentence. "He said," he stammers. "He wants you roughed up a little, dragged onto the arena."
A cold voice calls down from the platform. It's Julian, trying to goad Brock into action and curious just what tricks you're really playing.
The words do their job. Brock, as if suddenly juiced up, bellows with false bravado. "Ethan, stop pulling this act." He forcibly breaks free from the aura pinning him down, steps back twice, and points at the nearest arena. "If you've got the guts, come up and fight me."
"Fine. As you wish."
Your answer leaves everyone stunned. Under the crowd's shocked, disbelieving stares, you walk calmly, step by step, up onto the arena. Your hands rest behind your back. You don't even bother to take a fighting stance.