The Heavenly Trial Grounds fell quiet after the conclusion of the third stage.
Not the quiet of peace—but the quiet of something holding its breath.
Participants were escorted back to their assigned residences within the imperial capital, each enclosed in layered formations meant to prevent spying, sabotage, or assassination. On the surface, everything appeared orderly.
But Siddharth felt it the moment he stepped across the threshold of his temporary quarters.
A ripple.
So faint that even most Rishi-rank cultivators would have dismissed it as ambient spatial fluctuation caused by the massive imperial formations.
But Siddharth did not.
His consciousness brushed against the void instinctively, the second part of the Beast Transformation Art responding on its own.
Space… bent.
Not violently. Not openly.
But deliberately.
Someone is observing, he realized.
Not with divine sense.
Not with prana.
With something older—and far more insidious.
That night, Siddharth stood alone near the open balcony of his residence, gazing down at the capital. Endless lanterns glowed like fallen stars, streets humming with subdued excitement as rumors spread about the competition.
Behind the spectacle—
Something rotten moved.
He closed his eyes.
Spatial perception expanded.
Not outward in a burst, but inward—folding around his awareness like overlapping layers of silk.
Then he sensed it.
A thin tear, no wider than a thread, momentarily opening and sealing itself three streets away. Another near the western guest quarter. Another—dangerously close—beneath the imperial coliseum itself.
Residual gateways, Siddharth concluded.
Crude. Hidden. Temporary.
But unmistakably Asura-origin.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly.
The Asuras were not supposed to be here.
Not inside the imperial capital.
Not during an event protected by layers of ancient formations and overseen by beings who could annihilate mountains with a thought.
Yet the distortions existed.
Which meant—
"They have help," Siddharth murmured.
Elsewhere in the capital, shadows gathered where no light should fall.
In an abandoned underground chamber sealed centuries ago, three figures knelt before a faint crimson sigil carved into the stone floor.
The sigil pulsed—weakly.
"Patience," one whispered, his voice layered, distorted, neither fully human nor fully Asura. "The seeds are planted."
"The bloodlines are ripe."
"The betrayal has already begun."
A thin laugh echoed, then silence returned.
The sigil dimmed.
And the chamber vanished from perception—as if it had never existed.
Back at the Trial Grounds, the next day unfolded with ceremonial calm.
Imperial officials announced a brief intermission before the Final Phase of the competition. Rankings were displayed. Teams reshuffled. Alliances whispered into existence.
Siddharth walked the crowd unnoticed.
Yet everywhere he passed, space felt… wrong.
Not everywhere.
Only near certain individuals.
A young cultivator whose shadow lagged half a breath behind his movements.
A sect disciple whose prana circulation stuttered unnaturally whenever imperial formations flared.
A noble scion whose eyes reflected light a fraction too slowly.
Marked, Siddharth realized.
Not possessed.
Not yet.
But touched.
He cataloged them silently.
Names. Faces. Habits.
Targets.
That evening, as twilight painted the capital in hues of gold and violet, a familiar presence brushed against his perception.
Refined.
Controlled.
Dangerous in its subtlety.
Siddharth turned down a quiet garden path lined with ancient spirit trees, their leaves whispering secrets older than the empire itself.
She was already there.
The Fifth Princess of Kosala Desh stood beside a moonlit pond, dressed not in regal attire, but in a simple cultivator's robe. No attendants. No guards.
Only a faint imperial seal concealed beneath her sleeve.
"You sensed them too," she said without turning.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Siddharth replied calmly. "Asura remnants."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"So it's true," she murmured. "The imperial diviners detected anomalies, but nothing concrete. The emperor suspects an internal breach—but no proof."
She finally turned to face him, eyes sharp despite her composed expression.
"How many did you sense?"
"Enough," Siddharth answered. "And not all are participants."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she exhaled slowly. "This competition was meant to select humanity's future pillars."
"And instead," Siddharth said softly, "it has become a hunting ground."
Her gaze hardened. "If panic spreads, the empire fractures. If the truth surfaces without proof, sects will turn on one another."
"Which is exactly what the Asuras want," Siddharth finished.
She studied him closely.
"You are far more dangerous than the reports suggest," she said quietly. "Not because of your strength—but because you see the board."
Siddharth did not deny it.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
The Fifth Princess hesitated.
Then bowed—slightly.
A gesture no imperial blood should make lightly.
"Discretion," she said. "Cooperation. And silence."
Siddharth's eyes narrowed faintly. "And in return?"
"I will ensure," she said, meeting his gaze, "that no investigation—imperial or otherwise—ever points toward you. Whatever you do in the shadows… will remain unseen."
A calculated offer.
Not submission.
An alliance between equals.
Siddharth considered.
Then nodded once. "Very well."
Relief flickered across her expression—but only for an instant.
"There is more," she said. "The final day. The top ten participants."
"Yes," Siddharth replied. "That is when they will strike."
She stiffened. "You're certain?"
"They need blood," Siddharth said calmly. "Talent. Fate. And chaos. The top ten provide all three."
The Fifth Princess closed her eyes briefly.
"When the time comes," she said, "will you act?"
Siddharth looked up at the moon, its reflection trembling faintly on the pond's surface—distorted, just like the space around the capital.
"Yes," he said.
"But not openly."
After she left, Siddharth remained in the garden.
He extended his perception once more.
This time, deeper.
Spatial lines unfolded before him like threads of fate, some taut, some fraying, some already stained faintly red.
He marked the most unstable points.
Then he withdrew.
So this is the stage, he thought.
An imperial competition on the surface.
A silent war beneath.
The Asuras believed they were unseen.
They were wrong.
And when the board finally flipped—
They would never understand how they lost.
Far above the capital, clouds drifted silently.
And within the shifting space between them, something ancient stirred… unaware that it had already been noticed.