The lively celebrations of the previous night gave way to the tense, electric atmosphere of the morning. The boisterous banquet hall was abandoned, and the guests were all escorted to a different, far more imposing area of the clan. They entered a massive, open-air arena carved from the heart of the caldera itself.

The fighting stage was a vast, circular platform of polished obsidian stone, a hundred meters in diameter, that hovered over the slowly churning river of magma below. A shimmering, translucent barrier, the clan’s most powerful containment formation, surrounded the stage, its surface pulsing with a faint, powerful energy, ready to absorb the shockwaves of the coming battles.

Thousands of seats were carved into the sloping walls of the caldera, rising in tiers to provide a perfect view of the stage. The fifty young men who were to compete in the tournament stood in a designated area, their expressions a mixture of nervous excitement, arrogant confidence, and grim determination.

Their cultivation ranged widely, from a few older, powerful clan elders at the 2nd stage of Core Formation who were taking part for political reasons, down to the youngest, most prodigious geniuses at the 5th level of Foundation Establishment.

Li Yu, Cyra, and the various sect leaders were seated in a place of honor, a high balcony carved from the rock that offered the best vantage point. Mo Jian stood at the edge of the balcony, his voice amplified by his spiritual energy as he addressed the thousands of spectators and the fifty contenders below. “Welcome, friends and esteemed guests, to the marriage contest for my daughter, Mo Ling!” his voice boomed, echoing through the vast arena.

“Today, fifty of the finest heroes of our generation will compete for the honor of joining my Asura Demon Clan!” he continued. “The rules are simple. This will be a tournament of one-on-one matches. Victory is achieved when an opponent yields, is knocked from the stage, or is rendered unable to fight. Killing is forbidden!”

He then raised a hand, and a row of disciples brought out racks of standardized weapons—simple, unadorned steel swords, spears, and sabers. “To ensure that this is a test of true skill and potential, all personal artifacts are forbidden. Only these standard weapons may be used. Furthermore, as is common for such marriage tournaments, this arena’s formation will suppress the cultivation of all participants down to the 5th level of Foundation Establishment!”

This announcement caused no surprise, only determined nods. Of course, this wouldn’t make up for the vast differences in battle experience, the quality of one’s techniques, or the strength of one’s martial spirit, but it was about as fair as it was going to get.

The clan was not looking for the highest-level cultivator; they wanted a winner with the most potential, the best skills, and the sharpest combat instincts. The fact that all fifty participants came from families with strong backings was an unspoken but universally understood prerequisite for this partly political marriage. With the rules announced, the battles began.

The first few matches were a blur of activity, with disciples from smaller sects being quickly eliminated. Then, the first of the major contenders took the stage: Yan Huo of the Blazing Sun Sect. His opponent was a talented disciple from a mid-tier clan, but the moment the match began, the difference in their power was obvious.

Yan Huo was a creature of pure, arrogant offense. He didn't bother with defense. His martial spirit, a magnificent Sunfire Lion, roared to life behind him, wreathing his body in a blazing, golden aura. The fight lasted less than a minute.

With a final, triumphant roar, Yan Huo unleashed a technique that sent a wave of fire across the stage, blasting his opponent from the platform and into the waiting arms of the clan’s healers.

The next notable battle featured Tie Gang of the Stone Breaker Sect. His opponent was a lithe, agile disciple from a sect known for its speed-based techniques. The agile disciple was a blur of motion, but his quick strikes bounced harmlessly off Tie Gang’s earthen armor.

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After several minutes, his opponent, growing tired, made a single, tiny mistake. It was all the opening Tie Gang needed. He moved, his speed surprisingly fast for a man of his size, and caught his opponent’s sword arm in a grip of iron. With a single, brutal heave, he simply threw the man from the stage.

Then came She Li of the Whispering Fang Sect. His fight was the most unsettling yet. His opponent was a straightforward warrior who charged, his sword held high. She Li simply smiled his cold, snake-like smile and dissolved into the shadows, his Venomous Shadow Serpent spirit making him a ghost on the battlefield.

The warrior grew enraged, swinging his sword wildly, but he couldn't land a solid hit. He began to slow, a faint, green tinge appearing on his skin. He had been poisoned by the very air around him. After another minute, the warrior collapsed, his body convulsing.

She Li re-formed in the center of the stage, and after being declared the victor, he casually tossed a small, black pill to the clan healers who were rushing onto the stage. “The antidote,” he said, his voice a cold hiss. “He will recover in an hour.”

Li Yu watched all of this from the side, a cup of tea in his hand, his expression calm and analytical. He was impressed by their killer instincts and diverse fighting styles. He saw Yan Huo’s explosive but predictable attack patterns, Tie Gang’s impenetrable but passive defense, and She Li’s clever but overly reliant use of stealth and poison.

He saw their strengths, and he saw their weaknesses even more clearly. He found himself wondering how he’d fare up there, with his own full body strength and cultivation suppressed down to the 5th stage.

The first round of fighting, consisting of twenty-five matches, concluded by late afternoon. Mo Jian stood once more. “The first round is complete! The tournament will resume tomorrow morning. Until then, rest and recuperate!”

With the day’s main event over, the atmosphere in the arena relaxed. Disciples began to chat amongst themselves, excitedly discussing the battles they had just witnessed. And then, it happened.

It started with the weaker ones. A young serving disciple, who was collecting empty cups from the lower stands, suddenly stumbled, his eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious. A few people nearby gasped, but most assumed he had simply fainted from exhaustion.

Then another fell. And another. Within a minute, dozens of the mortal servants and low-level Body Tempering disciples in the audience had slumped over in their seats. Everyone was shocked about what was going on. Panic began to spread like a ripple in a pond.

Then, it escalated. A Foundation Establishment disciple who had lost his match earlier in the day suddenly went limp, falling from his seat with a heavy thud. Then more and more stronger disciples were falling down unconscious. The ripple of panic became a wave of terror. Poison? It seems like it. But what kind of poison could be so silent, so widespread? How was everyone affected?

Li Yu, who had been observing the chaos, suddenly felt a jolt of alarm. He didn't feel anything himself, no dizziness, no weakness. He turned to Cyra. “Do you feel anything?” he asked, his voice a low, urgent whisper.

Cyra’s face was pale, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “I feel a poison acting inside me. It’s cold, subtle. I’m using my cultivation to suppress it. It seems to be trying to make me go unconscious and nothing else, but I’m not sure. It’s not attacking my life force, just my consciousness.”

Everyone started to panic. The sect and clan leaders shot to their feet, their powerful auras flaring as they scanned their surroundings for a culprit. Several of them immediately began shouting, their fear turning to anger. The Sect Master of the Blazing Sun Sect glared at the head of the clan. “Mo Jian, what is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to poison us all?!”

Mo Jian’s face was grim, his own powerful aura pushing back against the rising tide of panic. “Calm yourselves!” he roared, his voice shaking the arena. “I have been poisoned too!” He was visibly struggling, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as he suppressed the foreign agent in his own body.

All around the main balcony, the other leaders were doing the same, their faces pale with effort. Many of them had already swallowed anti-poison pills, but the pills had no effect.

All eyes then turned to the leader of the Whispering Fang Sect, the foremost poison expert in the region. The sallow-skinned woman was sitting with her eyes closed, her expression a mask of intense concentration.

When she opened them, there was a look of genuine fear and confusion in her gaze. “I am poisoned as well,” she stated, her voice trembling slightly. “And I have never seen this type of thing before. It does not act like a normal venom. It bypasses the meridians, ignores the organs… it looks like it is attacking the consciousness directly, the soul.”