The sect's ceremonial elder, robed in pale-green silks threaded with shimmering protective sigils, lifted a single hand. The restless murmur of the crowd, the whispers, the nervous shifts, the collective held breath, drained away into absolute silence.
His sleeve swayed. His voice, calm yet sharp enough to sever anticipation, carried across the square:
"Begin."
The barrier surrounding the duel platform shimmered into full activation. A dome of emerald light sealed the arena, humming with contained power. The air within grew dense, pressure settling over the two figures like a physical weight.
Every eye, elder, disciple, guest, and hidden observer, locked onto the space inside that radiant shell.
The Elevation of Roots
Qin Shuren did not lunge. He did not flare his Qi in explosive display. He stood motionless, one hand folded behind his back, his gaze hooded with practiced disdain.
Then the ground beneath him stirred.
From the stone slab at his feet, a single thick root sprouted, coiling like a waking serpent before hardening and twisting upward. In one fluid motion, it raised Qin Shuren from the platform, lifting him until he stood a full man's height above Yan Shen.
The gesture was deliberate, a statement of superiority enacted not through words, but through elevation.
Disciples gasped softly. "He's standing above him…"
"That's not just positioning, it's an insult."
Around the elevated root, all other growths retracted. The fine cracks in the arena floor sealed, the whispering tendrils vanishing into the stone. The platform lay bare once more, save for Qin Shuren's living pedestal.
Then, without preamble, the floor erupted.
Thick, spear-like roots burst upward around Yan Shen, their jagged points gleaming with condensed, viridian Qi. They stabbed from all directions, front, back, sides, aiming to cage him in a forest of piercing death.
Simultaneously, vines materialized from the thickened air, weaving themselves into razor-edged whips that cracked like thunder. They lashed downward, targeting his head, his limbs, his center.
The arena filled with the cloying, resinous scent of sap and decay.
Yan Shen did not move with haste.
No protective Qi flared around him. No blazing aura rose to meet the assault.
He simply adjusted.
His foot slid sideways, his torso twisting just enough that the first root speared past his ribs, missing flesh by a hair's breadth. Another root shattered the stone where his heel had been a moment before, his leg lifting as if he had always known its trajectory.
The whips came next. He leaned back, his robe stirring as a lash tore the air where his chest had been. Another sought his shoulder; with a subtle roll of muscle, it slid past, striking empty stone.
Each motion was measured. Calm. Heavy with intent, yet effortless in execution.
One vine managed to loop around his ankle, but as it tightened, Yan Shen simply stepped forward. His weight came down, and with a sharp, dry snap, the vine tore like sun-brittled straw.
Another root thrust upward from below. He shifted, his heel pressing down upon it. The root fractured under his step with the dull, final sound of green wood beneath an axe.
A ripple of disbelief passed through the disciples.
"He's not even circulating Qi…"
"He's... He's walking through the technique!"
Yan Shen tilted his chin upward, his eyes locking with Qin Shuren, who remained poised upon his elevated root. A faint, deliberate curve touched Yan Shen's lips.
"Come now, Young Master. Let's measure strength properly, fist for fist."
The words landed like a thrown gauntlet.
For the first time, Qin Shuren's composure fractured. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his eyes. His lips twitched, restraining a snarl.
A single, corrosive thought wormed into his mind:
He is still only using his body.
Yet his techniques continued, branches snapping like blades, roots stabbing in relentless volleys. The air became a storm of whirling wood and condensed Qi, and still Yan Shen moved with the implacable rhythm of tide meeting cliff.
The crowd could no longer contain its murmurs.
"Is this truly Qi Gathering?" a disciple whispered, voice fraying. "This defies reason. Even an early Core Formation elder would be hard-pressed under such an assault."
"But he's only evading… with pure physicality…"
Their awe tangled with a dawning unease. Each of Yan Shen's movements, each calm negation of what should have overwhelmed him, widened the chasm between accepted doctrine and the reality unfolding before them.
On the elders' dais, Lan Xue's hands remained folded in her lap, but her gaze never wavered. Leng Xin's brow was drawn tight, her sharp eyes unblinking, as if attempting to peer into the very marrow of Yan Shen's bones.
It was the Alliance delegation's stand that next drew subtle attention.
Su Cheng sat unmoving, his posture as precise as carved jade, yet his gaze held a newly kindled sharpness.
"He contends with physique alone… he mused, the faintest curve touching his lips. Is he concealing his true cultivation depth? Or is his foundational density simply… abnormal?"
Around him, low debates passed among the other Alliance cultivators, speculations on power, latent talent, and risk assessment.
Su Cheng did not join them. His focus remained fixed on Yan Shen, analyzing the weight behind each step, the way offensive Qi shattered against the sheer density of his form.
High above, in the suspended observation pavilions reserved for the highest elders, Qin Yulan leaned forward, her sleeve brushing the carved rail. Her expression was placid, but a cold, calculating light burned behind her eyes.
The first elder beside her offered no comment, yet his attention was no less absolute.
Strategies were already being recalibrated in the silence of their minds.
On the platform, Qin Shuren's patience finally shattered.
The roots, the vines, it was no longer sufficient. His face hardened, his Qi swelling until the very atmosphere within the barrier grew viscous. Disciples in the front rows pressed hands to their chests, their breathing labored.
Behind him, a phantom tree began to manifest.
It was not the graceful willow of the sect's emblem, but a dark, towering growth. Its trunk was twisted, its branches gnarled, its leaves shadowed and veined with emerald mist. The space beneath it seemed to dim, as though light itself was being absorbed.
From its base, a single root of condensed Yin Wood essence began to form.
At first, it was slender as a finger.
Then it swelled.
Within heartbeats, it thickened to the width of a wrist. Then further, expanding until its girth rivaled the waist of a grown man. Dark-green energy pulsed across its surface in visible veins, dripping with an essence that promised containment and decay.
The arena floor beneath it cracked radially, stone splintering under the mounting pressure. The barrier shimmered violently, its formation scripts flaring white as they strained to contain the accumulating force.
A wave of shock tore through the square.
"This is his true technique…"
"Not even a Core Formation elder would receive that directly..."
Yan Shen had ceased moving.
He stood now at the center of the platform, his eyes half-lidded, his expression one of detached calm. Slowly, he lowered his arms, then opened them wide, as if in invitation to the gathering storm.
A smile touched his lips, quiet and utterly certain.
"Finally… you cease holding back. SHOW ME."
The words cleaved the air, clearer and more resonant than any shout.
Qin Shuren' colossal root reared back, the phantom tree looming behind him like a wrathful deity. With a sound like tearing earth, it launched downward, a mountainous spear of condensed wood and annihilating intent, aimed to impale Yan Shen through the heart and into the stone below.
The crowd erupted, cries, gasps, hands flying to mouths. Some turned away. Others stood frozen.
Within the barrier, Yan Shen did not move.
No aura erupted.
No defensive technique shimmered into being.
Only his body, arms open, awaiting the impact.
The colossal root descended, a torrent of force and finality.
And the world held its breath.