CHAPTER 66: COLD!!

As the host’s voice echoed across the arena — "Begin!" — a wave of stillness settled over the crowd.

Then, in a blink, Sora Veylen moved.

Her movements were smooth as silk, her footwork barely disturbing the dust beneath her. She darted in a blur, drawing close to her opponent in a heartbeat — launching a quick series of open-palm strikes aimed at Sayaka’s upper body. Her precision was evident, each strike calculated to test Sayaka’s balance and reaction time.

Sayaka Nozomi didn’t flinch.

She stood like a pillar of ice as Sora’s first strike came in — then with a single, elegant pivot, she redirected the blow, her sleeve trailing like a wisp of snow in the air. She responded with a swift, rising knee, catching Sora mid-motion and forcing her back with a sharp gasp.

The crowd reacted instantly.

"Whoa—did she just redirect that without even looking?"

"She’s colder than stone—didn’t even blink."

Sora recovered quickly, gritting her teeth. Her wind-step footwork flared to life — she leapt, spun mid-air, and dropped low with a sweeping kick meant to knock Sayaka off her feet.

But Sayaka stepped back precisely one inch — enough to let the kick pass harmlessly. Then she moved. Her strikes were minimal but efficient: a palm to the chest, a sweep of the arm, a rotation of her heel that forced Sora to stumble back.

Sora narrowed her eyes, sweat now beginning to form.

She activated Sylph’s Spiral Form — a graceful chain of sweeping and spinning attacks that circled Sayaka like a whirlwind. Her robes spun with her movements, slicing the air as she executed a flawless combination of kicks and arm drags. The arena gasped in admiration.

"That’s Sylph’s clan technique—’Endless Spiral!’ No one’s countered it in years!"

Sayaka, however, was still.

She waited.

Then, just as Sora’s final spin attack came — Sayaka shifted her stance.

Ice Fang Stance.

Her right foot anchored, left shoulder dipped, and both arms moved in a rhythm that almost resembled falling snow — slow, silent, deadly.

Sora’s blow came down.

Sayaka’s hand rose — and met it with a firm grip. Then, in one fluid move, she twisted Sora’s arm and redirected the momentum. The next moment, Sora was on the ground, breathless.

The crowd gasped again.

Sayaka didn’t move. She didn’t even step toward her fallen opponent. She simply stood, arms at her side, pale eyes gazing forward without a hint of pride or cruelty.

"She’s like ice cold..." someone whispered.

Another replied, "No... colder than that."

The Clan Supreme

, seated at the top dais, narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. She rested her chin on her hand as she watched her disciple in silence.

"She’s improved," she muttered under her breath. "But her heart is still snowed in... even victory doesn’t melt her."

Sayaka bowed toward Sora respectfully, then turned without awaiting any applause. She walked back to her side of the arena with mechanical grace, like the match had been nothing but a formality.

Sora, still on one knee, gave a weak smile of respect. She had fought well — but Sayaka was on another level.

The host rose once more, voice firm:

"Winner of the second semifinal—Sayaka Nozomi of the Snow Women Clan!"

A burst of applause rang through the arena — though it was a strange kind of celebration. Less joyful, more stunned. Awed.

"She didn’t even sweat..."

"Does she ever smile?"

"No wonder Snow Women Clan is so feared..."

Sayaka stood still, facing the center of the arena, her expression frozen as ever — a silent sentinel carved in ice.

And the stage was now set.

Two clans remained.

One flame. One frost. The final awaited.

Host (with ceremonial poise)"Announcing the final challengers for the Martial Arts Succession Contest—"He raised a hand as the spotlight shifted to the arena floor. "From the Snow Women Clan: Sayaka Nozomi." Muted claps echoed around the arena." And from the Phoenix Clan—your Young Master, Miles!"

A louder cheer rose this time—equal parts intrigue and excitement.

He raised his voice to the crowd, "The final match will be held... tomorrow!" Cheers erupted, a few standing applauses broke out across clan sections.

The host’s voice softened, "May the best warrior inherit the will of the Five Clans."

With that, the event was called to a close. The buzz of whispered speculation swirled as the crowd slowly began to disperse. People filed out through the archways of the arena — some excitedly chatting about the final match, others still stunned by the cold brilliance of Sayaka or the fluid power of Miles.

One by one, the elders stood and left their seats, long robes trailing with graceful dignity.

Up on the center dais, the Clan Supreme stood last, eyes quietly following the retreating figure of Sayaka as she exited the arena. Then her gaze shifted — far across to where Miles had just turned to leave — and something unreadable flickered in her eyes.

At the Phoenix Residence...

The warm glow of lanterns lit the hall. The stars outside blinked gently over the mountain’s edge.

Miles entered through the carved wooden gate of the residence. His footsteps were still, unhurried — but as soon as the door creaked open—

"Big brooooo!"Hope and Asher came charging down the hallway.

Miles barely had a second before both kids collided with his legs in full-speed hugs. Laughing, he bent and scooped them both up — one perched on each shoulder like twin victory flags.

"Thanks, little soldiers," he grinned, turning to head inside. "You two enjoyed the match?"

"You looked so cool!" Hope beamed, legs swinging happily. "You’re gonna win the finals, I know it!" Asher clenched a tiny fist. "Just like a hero!"

Miles gave a soft chuckle, nodding as he bumped their foreheads gently. "Yes I will."

The scent of food drifted from the kitchen. Miles walked toward the dining room, the twins still clinging to him like medals. At the long wooden table, Daniel was already pouring drinks while Elena came down the stairs.

Daniel gave a short nod, his voice calm and proud. "You did well today. Your technique was good."

Elena walked over, her eyes scanning her son carefully. "You worried me a bit..." she admitted quietly. "You let him push you too long without fighting back."

Miles smiled, gently lowering the kids. "It’s not a life or death contest, Mom. Just a tradition. I’ll be fine."

"Just one last match tomorrow," he added, trying to ease her tension.

She stared at him for a second more — then finally nodded, sighing and brushing his arm. "Alright."

They all sat together at the table. Platters of fresh mountain herbs, grilled meats, and warm broth were served. The conversation was light — drifting from the match, to how good the food was, to Hope asking if martial artists could really break bricks with a smile.

Miles laughed.

Outside, the night grew quieter. The clan grounds dimmed. Torches along the paths flickered in the gentle breeze, casting shadows across the stone courtyard.

Dinner wound down. The family retired to their rooms one by one, Hope and Asher sleepily hugging Miles again before Elena carried them off to bed.

And Miles? He stood a while at the balcony after, eyes up at the moon. Tomorrow, everything would come full circle.

The night had settled softly over the ancient mountain, casting a quiet stillness across the vast Phoenix Clan estate. Inside the gently lit residence, Miles stood by the balcony for a moment, the distant shimmer of lanterns dotting the lower paths like glowing stars on the ground.

He pulled out his phone and made the call.

"Yes, boss?" June’s voice came through, crisp and reliable even through the static.

Miles leaned on the railing, the night breeze brushing past his hair. "How is everything going?"

June responded without missing a beat. "Boss, we’ve completely converted Stone Enterprises back into Sterling Enterprises. All their subsidiaries, joint ventures — absorbed. The new board is clean, functional, and effective. We’ve removed the ones unfit and placed capable people in charge, all under Miss Monica’s guidance."

Miles nodded slightly, pleased. "That’s good. And... Gibson and Elfric?"

June’s tone dropped subtly, colder. "The news is already out — their escape from prison is public knowledge. But don’t worry, Monica made sure that leak was intentional. They won’t be getting any easy time behind bars again. What’s waiting for them... they earned it, boss."

Miles smirked slightly, "I trust her."

June hesitated for half a second, then teased with a lilt in her voice, "So, how’s it going up there? I heard from a few sources that you joined the Martial Succession Contest... are you planning to come back married, boss?"

Miles chuckled quietly, walking slowly back into his room. "I’m coming back in a few days. Don’t worry, June. I won’t bring home a bride... yet."

A light, amused breath came from the other end. "Good to know."

Miles walked over to the table and set his phone down. "Good night, June. You’ve done enough. Take some rest. And thank you."

"Good night, boss," she said gently. "I’ll hold the fort."

The call ended with a soft beep.

Miles sighed as he pulled off his shirt and folded it neatly. The moonlight pouring through the window framed him in silver as he stepped toward the bed. The mountain breeze outside whispered faintly through the paper walls, carrying scents of pine and distant embers.

He pulled the covers over, eyes falling shut as the weight of the day finally sank into his bones. Behind his lids, the echoes of the coming match stirred. And far away, in the silence of the night, the mountain waited.

Tomorrow, the final battle would decide more than just victory — it would decide legacy.

The sun rose high over the mountains, casting a golden sheen across the polished stone of the ancient arena. The banners of the five great clans fluttered in the breeze — red for the Phoenix, silver for Snow Women, teal for Sylph, dark blue for Kraken, and electric yellow for Raijū.

The stands were already brimming with people, a vibrant mixture of clan members, spectators, and visiting martial artists. Drums thundered once to mark the occasion, sending tremors through the eager crowd.

On the upper platform, the eleven elders of the Phoenix Clan were seated, along with the five clan leaders — all observing with measured calm... except for the Raijū clan leader, who chuckled while taking sips from a bamboo flask. A few elders leaned toward one another, whispering, laughter slipping through their composed expressions as they casually placed light-hearted bets.

"Five silvers on the Snow girl," muttered one.

"Ten on the Sterling boy — he’s fast," said another.

Amid the anticipation, Miles sat at his designated place in the lower area, calm and focused. He wore the traditional Phoenix Clan robe over his usual black martial attire — light, breathable, functional. Beside him, Sayaka Nozomi of the Snow Women Clan sat motionless, her posture perfect, eyes forward, unreadable as ever. The snowflake emblem shimmered faintly on her shoulder.

From the family section nearby, Hope and Asher waved excitedly from their seats, bouncing with energy."Big brooo!" Asher shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth."You got this!!" Hope chimed in.

Daniel sat beside them, arms folded, a quiet pride on his face.Elena, still slightly nervous, tried to keep her composure — her fingers intertwined tightly in her lap as she whispered, "Please don’t get hurt..."

Clarissa stood behind them, her arms crossed, lips curled into a knowing smirk. She was confident. Too confident.

Then — the loud echo of a mic flicking on broke through the hum.

The host’s voice rang across the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Elders and Honored Guests. Welcome back to the Final Match of the Five Clans Martial Succession Tournament!"

The crowd roared in anticipation, clapping, whistling, the stone arena buzzing with energy.

"Today’s final will be between two outstanding fighters... One, a master of grace and precision — a prodigy from the Snow Women Clan..."

He gestured toward Sayaka, who stood calmly and bowed slightly. Her presence alone brought a hush — cold, poised, and lethal.

"...and the other, a storm in silence — the hidden card of the Phoenix Clan. The one chosen to carry the future of their legacy... MILES!"

The cheers for Miles were thunderous. His name echoed off the stone, banners waving as some chanted, "Young Master! Young Master!"

Miles stood slowly, bowing toward the leaders’ dais. His gaze crossed briefly with Clarissa’s father, the former Patriarch, who gave a small, firm nod.

Sayaka walked toward the arena stage without a word.

Miles followed.

The anticipation was electric.

The host lifted his hand.

"Let the final battle... begin!"