The Dugu Clan compound had transformed overnight.
Banners hung from every building, deep crimson silk embroidered with golden swords that caught the morning sunlight. Disciples rushed through the courtyards wearing their finest robes, polished weapons strapped to their sides. Servants carried trays of food and wine toward the gathering grounds. Music drifted from somewhere in the distance, stringed instruments playing melodies that felt both celebratory and tense.
It was the Annual Clan Gathering.
Long Chen stood near his quarters, watching the activity from a distance. His servant robes had been replaced with plain gray disciple attire. Nothing fancy, but clean and presentable. Demon Dweller hung at his waist, the cursed blade wrapped in its frayed sheath. Dragonfang remained sealed on his back, still waiting.
Two days of preparation had led to this moment.
He'd drilled his sword techniques until his arms ached. Meditated to stabilize his breakthrough to Stage 5. Familiarized himself with Demon Dweller's weight and balance, felt the faint whisper of killing intent that still lingered in the blade even after his bloodline suppressed it.
But none of that was what made his chest tight.
It wasn't the duels with other disciples that worried him. It wasn't Dugu Shenlie's inevitable challenge. It wasn't even the elders watching from their elevated seats.
It was what came after.
Dugu Jian.
The original protagonist of this world. The Young Clan Master. He was at the peak of Qi Gathering Realm, on the verge of breaking into Foundation Establishment. A genius who'd already comprehended Sword Intent at seventeen.
Aiden had created his character. Every strength. Every technique. Every advantage.
And now Long Chen would have to face him.
'Not yet,' Long Chen reminded himself. 'First, survive the gathering. Then worry about the monster I created.'
He took a breath and started walking toward the gathering grounds.
The dueling platform dominated the center of the clan's main courtyard.
It was massive, easily fifty meters across, constructed from reinforced stone slabs carved with protective formations that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Four pillars stood at each corner, topped with glowing spiritual crystals that would activate barriers during fights to protect the audience.
Stands surrounded the platform on three sides, already filled with disciples, servants, and clan members. The fourth side held an elevated pavilion where the elders sat in ornate chairs, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly interested.
And at the center of the pavilion, in a seat larger than the rest, sat the Clan Master.
Dugu Han.
Aiden had written him too. A King Realm cultivator, middle-aged but still in his prime, with sharp eyes and an aura that made the air feel heavier just from his presence. He wore deep red robes trimmed with gold, and a sword rested beside him. The sword was a half-step saint rank treasure, the highest in the clan.
The Clan Master's gaze swept across the gathering grounds, and for just a moment, it paused on Long Chen.
Then it moved on.
Long Chen exhaled slowly.
The Clan Master stood, and the crowd went silent.
"Another year," Dugu Han's voice carried across the courtyard without effort. "Another harvest. Another victory. Another year in which our clan has stood strong, our blades sharp, and our geniuses unwavering."
Cheers erupted. Disciples pounded their fists against their chests. Even the servant's hands moved as they clapped.
Dugu Han raised a hand, and the noise died immediately.
"Today, we celebrate our prosperity by testing our youth. Let the strong rise. Let the weak learn. And let every strike honor the legacy of our ancestors."
He sat down.
An elder stepped forward, Elder Gan, the same man who'd overseen the Tower of Trials. He held a jade tablet that glowed faintly.
"The rules are simple," Elder Gan announced. "Each participant has been assigned a number. And the matches are randomized. Victory is achieved by forcing your opponent to surrender, knocking them unconscious, or throwing them from the platform. Killing is forbidden."
He paused, letting that sink in. "We begin now."
Long Chen pulled the token from his sleeve. A small wooden disc with the number **27** was carved into its surface.
He waited, as the event began.
Two outer disciples, both Qi Gathering Stage 2, exchanged clumsy strikes for three minutes before one of them slipped and fell off the platform. The crowd barely reacted to their fight.
The second match was slightly better. A Stage 3 disciple with a spear technique that looked impressive but lacked power. His opponent—a Stage 4 swordsman—ended it in thirty seconds.
Long Chen watched from the sidelines, studying each fight. Every technique. Every footwork. How people moved when pressured and how they reacted to feints.
The third match made the crowd come alive.
Dugu Shenlie stepped onto the platform.
He moved with the kind of confidence that came from never losing. His robes were pristine, his sword polished to a mirror shine. Qi Gathering Stage 7. One of the clan's top disciples.
His opponent was a Stage 5 outer disciple who looked terrified before the fight even started.
It lasted ten seconds.
Shenlie's blade moved in a blur, each strike faster than the last. His opponent blocked the first three, barely, then stumbled on the fourth. Shenlie's boot caught him in the chest and sent him flying off the platform.
The crowd roared.
Shenlie didn't even look winded. He sheathed his sword, bowed politely to the elders, and walked off the platform like he'd just finished a light warm-up.
Long Chen looked really relaxed.
'Stage 7. And he's holding back.'
The fourth match brought Dugu Feng—the Second Young Master.
Tall, composed, and precise. Qi Gathering Stage 8. His sword techniques were cleaner than Shenlie's, more refined. He didn't waste a single movement. His opponent, a Stage 6 disciple, lasted almost a full minute before Feng disarmed him with a flick of his wrist.
Polite applause followed.
Then Long Chen felt it.
A presence approaching from his left.
He turned.
Dugu Jian stood there, hands clasped behind his back, wearing robes of deep blue trimmed with silver. An empty sword scabbard hung at his waist, a reason Long Chen knew . His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, calm, focused.
The Young Clan Master.
Peak Qi Gathering Realm. Seventeen years old. Already a legend in the making.
"Long Chen," Jian said with a faint smile.
Long Chen bowed slightly. "Young Clan Master."
"I heard about the tower." Jian's tone was conversational, not condescending. "Thirteen floors on your first attempt. Impressive."
"I got lucky."
"Luck doesn't carry you through thirteen floors." Jian studied him for a moment. "You've changed. Two months ago, you had no cultivation. Now you're at Qi acquisition Stage 5."
Long Chen said nothing.
Jian's smile widened slightly. "I wanted to congratulate you. Breaking the curse of being rootless… that's no small feat."
"Thank you, Young Clan Master."
They stood in silence for a moment. Long Chen could feel the weight of Jian's presence pressing against him, not hostile, just… present. A reminder of the gap between them.
"You know," Jian said quietly, "out of everyone here, you're the only one I consider a real opponent."
Long Chen's eyebrows rose slightly.
Jian chuckled. "Shenlie is strong, but predictable. Feng is skilled, but cautious. The others…" He waved a hand dismissively. "They're good, but still useless."
He looked at Long Chen directly. "You're different. I can feel it, more experienced."
Long Chen met his gaze. "I'm still just Stage 5."
"For now." Jian's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "But you'll grow. That, I know. I shall be looking forward to our match."
He turned and walked away before Long Chen could respond.
Long Chen stood there, his chest tight.
'He's just being polite,' he thought. 'There's no way he actually sees me as a threat.'
Dugu Jian was at the peak of Qi Gathering Realm. He'd already comprehended Sword Intent—something most cultivators didn't achieve until Saint realm. His techniques were flawless. His foundation, unshakable.
Even the current Long Chen, with all his advantages, couldn't hold a candle to that.
Not yet.
"Number 27! To the platform!"
Long Chen's head snapped up at the call of his number.
He walked toward the platform, hand resting on Demon Dweller's hilt. The crowd murmured as he climbed the steps. A few disciples pointed. Whispers spread.
"That's the servant who climbed the tower."
"Stage 5 already?"
"How is that possible?"
Long Chen ignored them. He reached the center of the platform and turned to face his opponent.
Then he stopped.
Zhang Wei stood across from him.
The servant supervisor. The man who'd tormented him for months. Who'd mocked him, humiliated him, assigned him the worst tasks and laughed while doing it.
Zhang Wei's face went pale. His hand trembled slightly as it moved toward his sword.
Long Chen's expression didn't change.
Elder Gan raised his hand. "Begin!"
Zhang Wei drew his sword and charged immediately, desperation written all over his face. He swung wildly, hoping to land a lucky strike before Long Chen could react.
Long Chen didn't move.
The blade came within an inch of his face.
Then Long Chen's hand shot out. He caught Zhang Wei's wrist mid-swing, Qi flaring around his fingers, stopping the blade dead.
Zhang Wei's eyes widened. "Wait—"
Long Chen twisted.
Crack.
Zhang Wei screamed. His sword clattered to the ground.
Long Chen didn't let go. He pulled Zhang Wei forward and drove his knee into the man's stomach. Once. Twice. Three times.
Zhang Wei tried to speak, tried to surrender, but Long Chen didn't give him the chance.
A fourth strike to the ribs. A fifth to the chest.
Zhang Wei coughed blood.
"Stop!" someone in the crowd shouted. "He's done! Stop the match!"
Long Chen ignored them. He released Zhang Wei's wrist, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the ground.
Their faces were inches apart.
"This is for every insult," Long Chen said quietly. "Every task, and every year you made my life hell."
Zhang Wei's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Long Chen threw him.
Zhang Wei's body sailed across the platform and crashed into the barrier at the edge. The formation flared, absorbing the impact, but Zhang Wei slumped to the ground and didn't move.
The same time the crowd went silent.
He was unconscious.
Long Chen stood in the center of the platform, a heavy presence around him.
Elder Gan stared at him for a long moment. Then he raised his hand. "Winner: Long Chen."
The murmurs started immediately. Disciples leaned toward each other, whispering. Servants exchanged shocked glances.
And in the elder's pavilion, every single elder was now paying attention.
Including the Clan Master.
Dugu Han's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Long Chen.
"Interesting," the Clan Master murmured.
Long Chen descended the platform and walked back to the sidelines, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the weight of dozens of gazes pressing against his back.
His hands were still shaking.
Not from fear.
From immense satisfaction while he may have not suffered years of torment like the original Long Chen, just the few days of insults were enough to make him feel resentful.