My breath hitched slightly, mind racing. I knew the limits of my Spiritual Qi against her now. It was purely additive, radiant, overwhelming—but my mental energy, the deep currents of thought and intention, were inherently subtractive, negative. A dangerous combination. A thought struck me like lightning: What happens if I unleash my Glacial Soul Eye?
My right eye, glacial blue, flared brilliantly, the color like condensed frost and raw mental intent fused together. A beam of icy, negative energy shot forth, slicing through the humid air of the arena, leaving a shimmering frost trail in its wake.
Herja's green eyes widened, the first flicker of surprise crossing her face. She reacted instantly, hands flying to her temples, her third eye chakra glowing violently. "Mystic Eye Oracle Beam!" she roared, and a searing, radiant column of subtractive Qi shot forth from a glowing third eye symbol on her forehead, meeting my glacial soul beam midair!
The collision was catastrophic. The subtractive mental energy of my glacial soul eye clashed against Herja's subtractive qi, creating a horrific, detonating blast. Light bent unnaturally, ice crystals exploded outward while raw negative energy contorted the air itself.
Every Spirit Palm from my earlier volley had been absorbed by Herja's field, but this… this was different.
Herja staggered slightly, hands still pressed against her temples, third eye glowing like a fractured emerald. My glacial soul eye pulsed in rhythm with the Red Rope of Rahab tugging faintly at my fate. It seemed to shimmer in response to the duel.
Even the floating arena groaned under the strain, as if it recognized the unnatural energies being forced upon it. Every cultivator in attendance, every observer felt the oppressive tension—a battle not just of skill or power, but of fundamental laws of energy itself.
The blast threw a shockwave through the arena, the air crackled with raw energy, glacial soul ice and Mystic subtractive qi particles scattering in chaotic arcs. Frost formed along the edges of the arena floor, delicate but jagged, etching the scars of their clash.
Herja's hands trembled faintly, but her stance remained unbroken. The third eye on her forehead glimmered with a pale, penetrating light as she whispered under her breath, almost to herself, "So he has cultivated prodigious mental energy"
Herja's gaze met mine, calm but measured. "You dare test me?" she asked, voice low but cutting.
I let a grin slip past the tension. "I do, and I've waited my whole life for this," I said, voice steady. Herja's green eyes narrowed, faint frost forming along her veil, signaling that her patience—and her Qi—was at their limits. The air between us shimmered, charged with anticipation. Every movement now mattered. One misstep, one lapse of focus, and the battle could swing irrevocably.
I exhaled through my nose, letting the glacial pulse of my right eye settle into a steady rhythm. Additive Qi in my body radiated outward, hundreds of Spirit Palms still suspended in potential around me, while the cold, negative mental energy coiled around the beam of my glacial soul eye.
Herja's aura flared once more, subtle but undeniable—a warning, a challenge, a promise. The duel wasn't over; it was about to enter a phase where strategy, ingenuity, and the fine manipulation of Qi would determine victory.
The floating arena itself seemed to lean in, silent witness to a clash of energies unlike any before, a meeting of mental and subtractive mastery poised on the knife-edge of absolute control.
Suddenly, the roar of the arena fell away. My consciousness seemed to stretch, elongating, and I was no longer bound to the floating platform. The world around me blurred and reformed into the cosmic mountain—the Pillar of Heaven, the threshold outside the gates of where Heaven and earth met.
I hovered at the base of the colossal pillar, a spiraling tower of pure energy reaching endlessly upward. Around it, a tumult of Wills collided, titans, and primordial forces all seeking entry into the Pillar to ascend. Each was a torrent of power, raw and unshaped, yet deliberate, like rivers fighting for their own channel.
Among them, two figures caught my eye immediately a towering Tiger-stripped man, muscles coiled with raw cataclysm qi, long silver hair spiked into thousands of feathered crowns atop his head, his eyes blazing with predatory precision; and a Siren Sylph with ethereal wings at her head, wrists, and ankles, her golden harp glowing as its strings hummed with the resonance of the sea, her melody slicing through the chaos like a blade. They were locked in battle with forces far larger: a mountain titan Will, whose rocky form erupted in jagged pulses, and the deep-sea primordial I had witnessed in the Mystic turquois sea!
Ka'rink'ka!
Then I heard it—a voice, deep, resonant, and unyielding: "You gotta yank off her veil, kiddo!"
It was the Will of the Beast Vein Continent, a living consciousness stretching across time, land, and spirit. Its words weren't merely heard—they were felt, vibrating in every synapse of my mind. Images and sensations rushed over me: the sprawling plains of my home, the clans, the beasts, the unbroken mountains. Everything coalesced into a single point of clarity.
I looked at the figures battling around the Pillar, the chaotic torrent of wills, and realized the truth: Herja's veil wasn't just a symbol. It was a barrier, both literal and metaphysical, blocking these 'powers' path, and I had to aid them and myself by stripping Herja of her veil, both physically and in the realm of intent.
The wild beast Jinmen-Ju bellowed, his crown of silver feathers flaring as he struck at a swirling vortex of power. The Siren Sylph Shakina's harp strings pulsed, drawing out harmonics that seemed to push Dor'mon'du back, while Ka'rink'ka's tentacles lashed out, fracturing the energy around them.
I inhaled, feeling my additive Spiritual Qi flare and my subtractive mental currents coil like serpents, both drawn to the message. Even here, amidst the cosmic chaos of wills and forces beyond comprehension, a single truth remained: Herja's veil could be undone, if only I could find the moment, the intent, the pressure point.
The Pillar of Heaven trembled as more wills surged, but I felt grounded—my consciousness tethered back to the arena by the Red Rope of Rahab, tugging faintly, reminding me that fate itself had a hand in the duel.
And suddenly, clarity struck: all I had to do was pull her bridal veil off, and everything else would follow.
The vision faded, the chaos of the Pillar of Heaven collapsing like mist as my consciousness snapped back to the arena. Herja's green eyes regarded me, calm but piercing, and the frozen air still hummed faintly with residual subtractive Qi. My mind raced, the words of Jinmen-Ju echoing in my head: "You gotta yank off her veil, kiddo!"
I let my vision sweep over the arena, scanning Herja's posture, the subtle flows of Qi through her body, and the ever-present shimmer of the Red Rope of Rahab tugging gently at my fate.
I cross-referenced the message with the Philosopher's Stone's archives, letting the latent knowledge of centuries pour into me. Within the texts, dusty and obscure, I found ceremonial records from different family line—rituals, codices, and bridal rites passed down for generations, most long buried and sealed by imperial decree.
One passage made my pulse skip:
"The bridal veil of a cultivator in formal dueling ceremonies is both a symbol and a shield. To remove the veil in accordance with ritual, is to claim honor over her form, Qi, and intent—revealing her energy to the challenger. Only the Emperor may sanction the revelation of such rites; the unwary will remain blind to the custom."
A bitter chuckle escaped me. Emperor Ichikawa had kept this secret tightly, lest any challenger exploit it in courtly duels or martial contests. But with Jinmen-Ju's advice ringing in my mind, and the Red Rope tugging faintly, the path was clear.
A surge of determination flared through me. My Glacial Soul Eye pulsed faintly blue, my additive Qi began to hum in preparation, and my mental energy curled like a coiled serpent, ready to strike. The veil would not merely fall—it would be a breach in the fortress of her subtractive mastery.
I shifted my stance slightly, feeling the fabric of the arena beneath me and the airflow subtly bending around my Qi. Herja's gaze flicked at me, suspicious, and I allowed a faint grin to slip past the tension.
Time seemed to slow. Herja's emerald fire eyes burned into me, her subtractive Qi coiling like living chains, ready to erase anything that dared approach. Every Spirit Palm I had launched, every Fire-Fly Mirage, had been absorbed or nullified. My mind raced. This was no longer about strength or speed—it was about ingenuity.
A spark lit inside me. Across all the countless arts, disciplines, and techniques I had learned on the Vorpal Path, instead of focusing mental energy into a focused vorpal blade or lance, I would need to diffuse it into a field around my hand and body. I would need to create the 'Vorpal Touch.'
My aura rippled subtly, as I flooded it with intent, an almost imperceptible vibration designed to penetrate her subtractive field without triggering its defense. Every muscle, every qi pathway, every pulse of my intent was aligned, synchronized, like a fine instrument waiting for a single perfect strike. I stepped forward, activating Fire-Fly Mirages. Copies darted around me in a symphony of motion and distraction. Each echo of me drew threads of her attention, splitting the purity of her subtractive Qi. Herja's brow furrowed slightly, tracking the mirages, unaware of me silently approaching at her left flank.
My hand hovered, fingers coiled like spring-loaded steel, and the subtractive mental layer hummed faintly—cold, deliberate, precise. One motion, one touch, and the veil of her subtractive mastery would begin to peel away. The technique wasn't brute force—it was a scalpel, slicing through intention and nullification simultaneously.
A whisper of clarity reached me through the Red Rope of Rahab: "The veil is your doorway. Focus. The Vorpal Touch will show you what her subtractive field hides."
I leaned into the motion, closing the last meters with perfect timing, feeling the heat of her Qi—and the cold absence within it—like a living barrier. My glacial right eye pulsed faintly as I aligned the strike. This was no longer a duel of reflexes or power—it was creation in combat, a new martial truth being forged in real time.
Herja's eyes widened slightly—not from fear, but recognition. She sensed the difference, the unique signature of this new energy, for the first time, I felt a crack in her otherwise perfect defenses, and I knew: the Vorpal Touch would reach her.
The air quivered around me as my hand surged forward, a faint blue shimmer dancing along my fingers—the subtle glow of subtractive intent riding atop my normal additive Qi. Every step I took was measured, a rhythm perfectly synced with the subtle tug of the Red Rope of Rahab, guiding my motion like a cosmic conductor.
Herja's green eyes tracked me, sharp and unyielding, her subtractive arrays flaring in response. The Fire-Fly Mirages continued to dart in chaotic arcs, siphoning fragments of her attention, but this was no trick or distraction. My Vorpal Touch hummed, a concentrated spear of subtractive mental energy overlaid with the warmth of my intent, seeking the perfect opening.
I closed the last meters in a heartbeat. Herja's aura hit me first—cold, precise, a living wall designed to erase any additive intrusions. Normally, I would have been shredded before I even touched her. But the Vorpal Touch wasn't meant to smash through—it was surgical, folding subtraction into subtraction, slipping like water through cracks.
The moment my fingers brushed the edge of her bridal veil, I felt it—a pulse, a resistance like the subtle vibration of a tuning fork. My subtractive layer coiled into the array, matching its frequency, dissolving the locks one by one. Threads of her protective Qi unraveled silently, almost imperceptibly, until the veil lifted from her face in a fluid, graceful motion.
Time seemed to slow. The veil drifted upward, and the arena's frost-thin air seemed to shiver with anticipation. For the first time, I saw her fully:
Sun-fire hair, strands of molten gold and crimson, cascading asymmetrically across her shoulders, catching the light like flames frozen in midair. Emerald fire eyes, fierce and radiant, each flicker of Qi within them a living pulse, a mirror of her skill and strength. The delicate sweep of her jaw, high cheekbones, fair skin and her asymmetric beauty was a weapon as much as her subtractive mastery.
Her aura wavered slightly, not broken, but exposed, revealing the intricate lattice of her Qi pathways. My Vorpal Touch hummed against the resonance of her energy, a perfect counterbalance—subtractive meeting subtractive, but guided by intent.
Her lips parted in a soft, almost involuntary breath. "Clever little..." her voice trailed off. There was no fear—only recognition and the faintest trace of intrigue.
I didn't pause. Every motion of my hand and arm maintained the delicate pressure of the Vorpal Touch, keeping her arrays unraveling, yet not harming her. This was both combat and revelation—a ritualized duel where skill, precision, and etiquette intertwined.
Even the arena seemed to hold its breath. Observers saw the veil lift, the sun-fire hair gleam, and the emerald fire eyes flare. A hush fell over the floating platform, the frost still lingering in the air like an echo of the previous duel's subtractive mastery.
I knew then: this was the turning point. The veil gone, her defensive arrays slightly disrupted, and her true form revealed, the duel was no longer just about raw Qi—it was about intent, understanding, and the mastery of the Vorpal Path itself.
I held the veil gently between my fingers, the moment frozen—electric, ceremonial, and filled with the raw tension of two prodigies testing the very limits of cultivation.
Herja's gaze met mine fully now, unmasked, luminous, and deadly, and for the first time, the ritual duel felt like something almost… intimate.
A collective gasp rippled through the royal audience, echoing off the floating arena's obsidian pillars. Whispers turned to shouts, and shouts to cheers. The impossible had happened: Herja Ichikawa had been claimed.
I stood, still in my langot, the stolen bridal veil in one hand, my chest rising and falling from the intensity of the duel. The Red Rope of Rahab shimmered faintly around my finger, a subtle reminder of fate's hand in the ceremony.
From above, the Emperor materialized, stepping onto the arena platform as the golden mist parted. His eyes, sharp and discerning as ever, softened with a rare warmth. "Ashriel of Beast Vein Continent… my son-in-law," he said, voice carrying like the tolling of a great bell, "you have earned your bride with courage, ingenuity, and unmatched mastery. Congratulations."
Herja's gaze drifted downward, her emerald fire eyes flickering with amusement and something sharper, almost predatory. She arched one brow, the sun-fire strands of her hair spilling across her shoulders in brilliant asymmetry.
"Don't you think," she said, voice smooth as silk and edged with mischief, "you should put on some clothes?"
A ripple of laughter ran through the audience. Even the normally stoic Emperor allowed himself a faint, wry smile. Ashriel felt heat rise to his cheeks, realizing that victory came with both honor and… a very pointed reminder of social decorum.
Herja stepped closer, brushing a finger against my arm lightly, as if to mark the moment. The Red Rope of Rahab pulsed once, then stilled, binding us together in ceremony, triumph, and a shared understanding that the duel was only the beginning.
The floating arena seemed to shimmer with a new resonance, as if acknowledging the union of two prodigies whose destinies had been written among the stars—and whose story was far from over.