Ken Renzo, spiraling upward on a cyclone of vapor, rose with effortless grace beside Seymour's rippling current. Prince Edward's veiled mist coiled like smoke around him, concealing all but the outline of his figure. And I drifted between them, weightless and calm, my floating cloud array pulsing with quiet light in the spiritual plane.
Below us, Calvin craned his neck, muttering, "Show-offs, the lot of you."
The marble floor and the watching Emperor fell away. Light swallowed everything. The air above was neither air nor sky, but a vast ocean of radiance—each breath humming with secrets.
For the briefest instant, I caught sight of the others: Seymour gliding as if swimming through the heavens, Ken enveloped in wind qi, Edward's mist trail, then the golden fog thickened, I felt my floating cloud array shiver from an unseen pressure above, as if the heavens themselves waited to judge what we had truly learned.
As I ascended, my senses heightened by the Ember Coil bond, the first thing that struck me was an intoxicating blend of scents and flavors that seemed to be coming from just beyond the golden mist, the air was filled with the a delicate fragrance of blooming lotus flowers, a scent that was both sweet and slightly spicy, evoking images of tranquil ponds and hidden gardens. Beneath this, there was a subtle undertone of sandalwood and jasmine, a rich and earthy note, that was distinctly feminine.
Her taste, as I perceived it through my enhanced senses, was a symphony of flavors that danced on the edge of my perception. It was like the first drop of rain on parched earth, cool and refreshing, yet with a hint of warmth that lingered on the palate. There was a sweetness to it, reminiscent of ripe peaches and honey, but also a sharpness, like the tang of citrus, that kept the experience from being overly cloying. The flavors were complex and ever-changing, shifting from moment to moment like the tides of an ocean, leaving me both intrigued and slightly dizzy from the sensory overload.
Suddenly Felicity grunted, "I don't like the look of this Ash."
But I didn't hear her, the combination of these scents and tastes created an almost overwhelming sense of presence, it was a taste and smell that spoke of both serenity and strength, of beauty and danger, I found myself captivated, by the profound and mystical qualities that drifted on the air.
Then the light consumed everything. The golden fog thinned, parting like gauze before sunlight.
I blinked against the brilliance as I and the others climbed up and onto the steps of a vast arena. The floor beneath our feet was smooth and mirror-bright, reflecting not sky but eternity. Around the edges, the vapor curled upward into delicate arches, as though the heavens themselves had bent down to watch.
In the center stood a woman.
She wore white—an ensemble both regal and strange: a short mini-skirt over gleaming leggings, the fabric seeming to shimmer between white and gold. A bridal veil draped over her head, obscuring her face, its fine mesh trembling in an unseen breeze. Beneath it, her eyes were sharp emerald fire, her expression unreadable, poised between serenity and challenge.
The four men slowed their ascent, exchanging uncertain glances. None spoke. The air was heavy with the hum of divine pressure; this was no ordinary cultivator before them.
Then a familiar voice, rich and resonant, filled the air—every syllable seeming to strike from all directions at once.
"Behold," the Emperor said, unseen yet omnipresent, "my greatest treasure—my daughter and the champion of Mystic Central: Herja Ichikawa."
Herja lifted her gaze, veil rippling like a banner in celestial wind. Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Welcome, finalists," she said, her voice even, sounding neither happy nor sad.
The arena pulsed beneath their feet. The clouds stirred like a living sea. The final trial had a heartbeat. Prince Edward stepped forward first, his royal composure barely masking the disbelief flickering across his face. "So this is it, then?" he called toward the sky, his voice echoing through the mist. "You wish us to do battle with one another—for your daughter's hand in marriage?"
A silence followed, long enough for the clouds themselves to seem uncertain. Even Herja tilted her head slightly, a faint note of amusement glinting in her eyes beneath the veil. Then the Emperor's laughter rolled through the heavens—a deep, unhurried sound like thunder made of silk. "No," he said, his tone carrying both warmth and warning. "You are to face off against the bride herself." For a moment, no one moved. Calvin's mouth fell open. Ken Renzo actually took a step back, as if checking that he'd heard correctly. Seymour blinked several times, expression slipping somewhere between awe and dread.
Herja Ichikawa struck a graceful defensive stance revealing the calm certainty of one who had already seen the outcome of this battle. "Do not trouble yourselves," she said softly, as though offering comfort before the storm. "I will not be tamed by any man."
My gaze, intensified by the Eye of Heaven, pierced through the layers of illusion and enchantment that veiled Herja. As I focused my kingly intent, her clothes seemed to dissipate, revealing her naked form. The Eye of Heaven, at its maximum strength, allowed me to see not just her physical appearance, but her unique Qi—a vibrant and distinctive aura that set her apart from anyone I had ever encountered.
Herja, a vision of beauty that I had never beheld before, was entirely unbonded. This rarity, combined with her stunning appearance, left me awestruck. I marveled at the secrets she held, secrets that were now laid bare before me.
Herja, sensing the weight of my gaze, locked eyes with me. Her gaze met mine, a clash of gold and blue against her own captivating emerald eyes. In that moment, she felt as if all her secrets were exposed, stripped away by the intensity of his stare. Instinctively, she covered herself with her hands, feeling naked and vulnerable, as if her deepest secrets were now laid bare before him.
A mix of emotions surged through Herja: attraction, confusion, and a pang of rage. She blushed deeply, her cheeks flushing with a combination of embarrassment and anger. "This boy just inspected me!" she thought, feeling a strange violation, yet also a strange pull towards him. The encounter left her both intrigued and unsettled, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.
She was radiant — but not merely beautiful. Her spirit was unbound. No contracts, no ancestral fetters, no demonic seeds or divine pacts. A cultivator utterly free, yet wholly concealed.
My breath caught. "She's… untouched, an unbonded cultivator?!
Herja's head tilted ever so slightly. Her composure cracked. A faint blush rose on her cheeks, part fury, part startled fascination.
The arena seemed to still. Their gazes locked — not as rivals yet, but as two beings who had glimpsed the other's soul for a heartbeat too long.
I smiled faintly, Herja's lips curved in something between a warning and a dare.
I was standing slightly apart from the group, and couldn't help but overhear the lighthearted banter of my fellow finalists. Seymour, the Endless Ocean Path cultivator, known for his fluid and adaptive nature, suggested they settle the order through a simple game. Prince Edward, ever the composed and regal figure, nodded in agreement, his royal demeanor barely concealing a hint of amusement. Ken Renzo, with his usual calm and collected demeanor, merely shrugged, indicating his willingness to go along with the plan.
The three of them gathered in a small circle as they prepared to play rock, paper, scissors. Seymour's fingers twitched with anticipation, ready to strike with the swiftness of a tidal wave. Prince Edward's expression remained neutral, but his eyes held a glint of determination. Ken Renzo's posture was relaxed, yet there was an underlying tension in his stance, suggesting a keen awareness of the stakes.
I watched from a distance, a mix of curiosity and amusement playing across my face. As the game began, Seymour's hand shot out first, forming a fist—a rock. Prince Edward countered with a flat hand—a paper. Ken Renzo, with a subtle smile, revealed his choice—a pair of scissors. The order was decided It would be Ken, Prince Edward, followed by Seymour and I would face Herja Last.
The arena trembled faintly as Ken Renzo stepped forward, the sigil of Cloud Continent gleaming like molten silver across his robes. The air around him shimmered—Qi pressure, smooth and bright as a mirror's edge. He was known for precision and velocity, his techniques often compared to lightning that strikes before the thunder is heard.
Herja Ichikawa remained in that same graceful defensive stance no flare of power, and her eyes under the veil—placid, almost bored—didn't even flicker toward Ken.
Ken tilted his head slightly, a trace of amusement curling at his lips.
"You've no crystal, no bonded beast. And your the champion of mystic central?"
Herja met his gaze, voice soft as falling snow.
"I'm enough."
The referee's sigil flared—BEGIN.
Ken moved first. His Qi ignited in a flash of blue-white light, condensing into the "Cloud Tempest Steps." He vanished, reappearing at Herja's flank, palm already extended. "Piercing Rain Palm!"
The air detonated around her. A thousand razor-thin lines of condensed Qi screamed through the space where she stood—
—but the light dimmed mid-strike.
Every bolt of Qi simply… unwove.
Like threads losing their weave, Ken's attack disintegrated before touching her skin. He stumbled backward, eyes wide.
Herja's voice came quiet but resonant, "You hit like a girl."
Ken tried again, summoning his spirit beast—a colossal avian of cloud and thunder—but even its wings began to fray into vapor as it neared her.
He could feel it then: her Qi wasn't pushing back.
Herja raised one hand, almost lazily.
"Return to balance."
The thunderbird dissolved. Ken's knees hit the stone floor as the entire arena fell silent.
Herja didn't smile.