Chapter 144: Chapter 144: The Sect Tournament [7]
The tournament continued through matches ten and eleven without incident.
A fire cultivator defeated a wind cultivator. A spear user dominated a sword user.
Nothing worth noting.
Then Elder Alder’s voice rang out again.
"Match twelve. Mia Nightrider versus Vance Ironwood."
Mia rose from her seat beside Mio.
She didn’t bounce like her sister. She didn’t grin or crack her neck or show any sign of excitement.
She just stood up, smoothed her dark blue robes, and walked toward the stage with the quiet, measured steps of someone who had already calculated the outcome.
Vance Ironwood was already waiting.
He was a core disciple, Earth Spirit Realm Ninth Level, built lean and fast. He carried twin short swords, both of them glowing with wind affinity inscriptions.
He had a reputation in the sect for exactly two things: speed and early endings.
Matches against Vance Ironwood rarely lasted more than a handful of exchanges.
He was the kind of fighter who closed distance before his opponent had finished settling their footing, and struck before they had finished drawing breath.
His wind affinity weren’t decorative.
They were tools, precision-cut channels for spiritual energy that let him move at speeds most Earth Spirit Realm cultivators couldn’t track with the naked eye.
He was proud of that reputation in the careless, easy way of someone who had never genuinely been tested.
He watched Mia approach across the stage with a confident smirk already settled on his face, his twin short swords hanging loose at his sides, the wind inscriptions along their edges flickering faintly as his spiritual energy began to circulate.
"Shadow cultivator, huh? I’ve fought your type before. You’re fast, but I’m faster."
Mia didn’t respond.
She just stepped onto the stage and stopped in the center, her hands empty, her posture relaxed.
Elder Alder raised his hand.
"Begin."
Vance moved first.
He was fast, faster than most cultivators at his level. His wind technique propelled him forward in a blur, both swords extended, aiming for a quick, decisive strike at Mia’s shoulder.
He covered half the stage in a heartbeat, boots barely kissing the stone as his wind technique carried him forward in a near-invisible streak, twin blades angled for a clean, confident finish.
The crowd leaned in, breath held, already anticipating the sound of steel finding its mark.
Then Mia vanished.
Not a blur. Not the telltale shimmer of a speed technique pushing a body faster than the eye could follow.
There was no afterimage, no disturbance in the air, no lingering footprint of displaced spiritual energy.
She simply ceased to exist in that space, like a shadow swallowed whole by deeper, hungrier darkness.
One moment she was standing there, still with hands empty at her sides. The next, there was nothing but the flat grey stone of the stage where she had been.
Vance’s swords cut through empty air.
His momentum carried him two stumbling steps past the point of no return before his mind caught up with what his body already knew — that something had gone terribly, fundamentally wrong.
He spun, both blades snapping up in a defensive guard, eyes darting across the stage with the first real flicker of alarm he had probably felt in years.
"Wha—"
A cold blade touched his throat from behind him.
Mia’s voice came out soft, almost gentle, right next to his ear.
"You’re are dead."
Vance froze.
The dagger against his throat didn’t tremble. Mia’s hand was perfectly steady, her breathing completely calm, like she had just walked across a room instead of crossing a stage in an instant.
Elder Alder blinked.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Winner... Mia Nightrider."
Mia withdrew the dagger and stepped back.
She didn’t look at Vance. She didn’t acknowledge his stunned expression or the murmurs spreading through the crowd.
She just walked off the stage, her deep purple hair swaying behind her, her face carrying that same quiet, reserved expression she always wore.
She reached Damon and stopped in front of him.
Her eyes lifted to meet his and there it was.
That same look Mio had given him.
The wide eyes. The slightly parted lips. The silent, desperate need for approval.
Her whole face was screaming praise me. Tell me I did good. Tell me you’re proud.
Damon looked down at her.
The quiet twin. The natural assassin. The woman who had just ended a fight before it even started.
He didn’t raise his hand to pat her head.
Instead, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear.
His voice came out low, rough, meant only for her.
"I will punish you later. In bed."
Mia’s breath caught.
Her body went rigid for a split second.
Then her breathing changed.
It became rough, uneven, her chest rising and falling faster as a deep flush spread across her cheeks.
Her lips curled into a smile, not her usual shy, guarded expression, but something else.
Something hungry.
Her eyes glazed over with a hazy, perverted light, her pupils dilating as she looked up at him with an ecstatic face that bordered on worship.
She didn’t say anything.
She just licked her lips slowly and nodded.
Mio, sitting nearby, leaned over with a knowing grin.
"What did he say to you?"
Mia didn’t answer.
She just slid onto the bench beside Damon, pressing her thigh against his, her breathing still rough, her body trembling with barely contained anticipation.
Mio raised an eyebrow at Damon.
"What did you say to her?"
Damon’s lips curved slightly.
"Nothing..."
Mio squinted at him.
Then she looked at her sister’s flushed face, her heavy breathing, the way her fingers were gripping her own robes like she was holding herself back from climbing onto Damon right there in the stands.
Mio’s eyes widened.
"Oh."
She grinned.
"You are such pervert, Damon"
Damon didn’t respond.
He just turned his attention back to the stage, where Elder Alder was already calling the next match.
But he could feel Mia’s eyes on him.
Burning into his side.
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