225. A Friendly Competition

Alistair frowned at the faint wisp of Red’s aura. It was barely visible; just a trace. He wondered if the elders had noticed it in the brief moment Red had passed it to him, just before being dragged off to the Discipline Hall.

The last three weeks, he had been singularly busy earning merit points and winning favor with Elder Wen. 

All for this. With 10,000 merit points, he purchased a Profound Aura Sight Potion. But that wasn’t all. 

Alistair realized a potential cheat code with [Karmic Battery]. While he himself couldn’t use up the banked Karma, he could give it to others. 

With Elder Wen’s help, he created a pill that would alter one’s ocular meridians to be receptive to large batches of Karma. Specifically, detecting connections between different auras that were hidden deep within entangled Karmic ties. 

Alistair and Pristine sat inside his dorm room. Fuhao looked over them, concern heavy on her face. The sect had announced that Red was going to be executed for his crimes in less than three days. Even with all their merit points pooled together, the Karmic Inundation Unraveling Pill was not perfect in its construction.

Pristine downed the pill and potion in one swift motion. When she opened her eyes, they were glowing with the colors of the rainbow. Alistair used his own aura to control the tiny piece of Red up to her line of sight. “I see…”

Red’s scheduled execution was supposed to take place after “showing the elders where the bodies were.” While you might have expected it to be the talk of the sect, a rival piece of news spread like wildfire.

Elder Da Siar Ka had left her hundred-year seclusion, emerging as a Peak Visionary. Apparently, she was in a quite magnanimous mood, offering free lessons in the sword, gravity, or severance affinity. 

“Elder Da Siar Ka?” Pristine questioned. “That’s where the signature leads.”

But she’s been in seclusion for a hundred years? How could she be the one who framed Red? 

As Alistair considered the possibilities, Pristine corrected herself. “Wait. Now that I look closer, I see something else. There’s a relay point within the Discipline Hall.”

“Couldn’t that just be resonance with Red?”

“No,” Pristine said. “It’s different. I can sense another presence.”

“Who?” Alistair asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this before. It feels wild and bestial. Definitely someone powerful.”

Alistair cocked his head. “Elder Shan? The werewolf of the Discipline Hall?”

“That sounds right,” Pristine said. “Now that you say it, it’s a perfect fit. You think Elder Shan did it?”

“I don’t know,” Alistair said. “But Red wouldn’t have given his aura signature to me without a reason. We just have to trust in him.”

---------------------

With Pristine’s potion and Karma to last for another hour, they went directly to Elder Aylesfort in the Contribution Hall. The classroom of ledger books seemed to be his actual office. He sat behind his desk perusing some ledgers when they came in. 

Alistair told the story, Pristine demonstrating how they determined Shan Mok as the culprit.

“This is a grave accusation,”  Elder Aylesfort said upon taking everything in. “If you are wrong, you are courting death. For an outer disciple to speak out against an elder is an irregular thing.”

“I understand, Elder Aylesfort, but the proof is clear,” Alistair said. “As a Visionary, can’t you confirm what she’s seeing?”

“I can confirm the accidents, but it does not prove Elder Shan’s guilt,” Elder Aylesfort said. Alistair felt a sense of dread rise in his stomach. “However, you have been a great asset to the sect and have never given me any reason to distrust you. If this is what I must do, then I shall do it. I shall take the leap of faith.”

With no warning, Elder Aylesfort spread his presence among the three outer disciples. The void between worlds opened, and they were inside the Discipline Hall.

Specifically, the luxurious personal quarters of Elder Shan, a bedroom fit for the richest of medieval kings. The werewolf, slumbering in a half-wolf form, shot out of his bed with a fright. “Huh? Elder Aylesfort? What is the meaning of this?”

“We need to discuss certain irregularities regarding the evidence against Disciple Harmonia,” Elder Aylesfort said calmly. “Would you care to explain why you have a copy of said disciple’s aura signature?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Elder Shan said. “It’s already been decided what will happen to Disciple Harmonia. You and Elder Yan agreed to this.”

“Then you won’t mind explaining why you have an active relay formation pinning the blame on Elder Da Siar Ka?” Alistair asked directly. “The same formation that was used to plant a foreign aura signature at the scene of the disappearances?”

A flash of panic crossed Elder Shan’s face, quickly replaced by fury. “You dare accuse an elder? Your arrogance knows no bounds, foreign trash!”

Elder Aylesfort raised a hand. “Calm yourself, Elder Shan. If there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding!” Elder Shan roared, his form flickering as his rage increased. Fur sprouted across his body as his face elongated into a snout, claws extending from his fingers. 

Elder Aylesfort stepped forward, placing himself between the werewolf and the disciples. “Control yourself, Shan. You’re only making yourself look more suspicious.”

“I don’t answer to you, Verryn!” Elder Shan snarled, his voice deeper and more guttural. “Since when did you run things? Last I checked, you’ve only been here a thousand years, and yet you think you know everything?”

A pulse of Dao energy rippled through the room as Elder Aylesfort restrained Shan Mok, who was an entire realm his inferior. “Any further action shall be considered betrayal of the sect and tacit admission of your own guilt.”

The door to Elder Shan’s room burst open, two figures stepping inside—Elder Da Siar Ka, the splitting image of her twin sister, and Elder Yan Shiwu, his face contorted with barely controlled rage.

“Elder Aylesfort! How dare you!” Elder Yan shouted, his eyes darting between Elder Aylesfort and the suspended form of Elder Shan.

“These disciples have discovered evidence suggesting Elder Shan framed Disciple Harmonia and falsely implicated Elder Da Siar Ka,”  Elder Aylesfort explained. “He hasn’t given me a single explanation.”

Shan Mok refused to meet his superior’s eyes. Elder Yan cursed, an aura of evolutionary conflict taking over and seizing the werewolf by his scruff.

“SPEAK, BOY!” Elder Yan bellowed. “I clothed you. I recruited you. I gave you everything. This is how you betray me? Is what Elder Aylesfort says true?”

“Elder Yan, you have to understand,” Shan Mok pleaded. “It’s not what it seems. Let me—”

Before the werewolf could finish his sentence, his head fell to the ground with a thud. With one swipe of his hand, Elder Yan had killed his subordinate. 

For a moment, no one said a thing, as the corpse of the Profound realm felt frozen in time. 

“Heavens, Elder Yan,” Elder Aylesfort said. “We should have questioned him first.”

Elder Yan let go of his anger, visibly deflating as he internalized what had just happened. “He dishonored the Self-Defense Division. The shame... I couldn’t control myself.”

Elder Da Siar Ka stood silently, her expression unreadable as she studied the scene. “I was only just informed of what has happened in my absence, but I believe that Disciple Harmonia is owed an apology.”

Elder Aylesfort sighed. “Indeed. I’ll do it myself. Disciples, your work was invaluable in uncovering Shan Mok’s treasonous actions. You’ll be properly compensated with merit points. All I ask is that you do not reveal what happened to your peers. You understand the stakes.”

Alistair felt conflicting feelings. They were trying to protect the reputation of the sect. They would come up with some cover story for Elder Shan’s disappearance. At the end of the day, it was the Clear Water Sect’s fault for accepting a man like Shan Mok to the position of elder. They had paid the price for their inadequate screening—no, it was more accurate to say that poor Boris Mayguard and Torbak Estrelli had paid the price. Xiao Zhenyu had paid the price.

He remembered meeting Sect Leader Boswann. Her sect was supposed to be different. Supposed to eschew the tropes of arrogant nobles and self-serving cultivators. 

No one man or woman could control everything, but perhaps they weren’t as aligned in their ideals as he had thought. 

As always, the solution was the same: get stronger.

-------------------------

Three days later, Red was officially exonerated and released. The sect’s official statement attributed the disappearances to a rogue beast that Elder Shan had been secretly harboring.

It was a convenient explanation that preserved the sect’s dignity while accounting for both the missing disciples and Elder Shan’s sudden “death during training.” Shan Mok was allowed more dignity than he deserved, taking on the reputation of an idiot rather than a traitor.

Despite the relief of having Red back, Alistair couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as he stared at his Quest notification that remained stubbornly incomplete.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Alistair murmured to his friends as they sat in a quiet corner of the training grounds. Fuhao and Pristine also received the Quest once they became involved in freeing Red. “Elder Shan was guilty, but… what was it that he was saying before Elder Yan killed him? It’s awfully suspicious that Elder Yan killed him right before he could spill the beans.”

“I felt like Elder Yan’s indignation at his own elder committing crimes was real,” Pristine offered. “He could have been faking it, but I don’t think he was involved.”

“We can’t assume that,” Fuhao replied. “He’s still who I suspect the most.”

Alistair remembered the feeling of Lesser Vipassanā and Lesser Samatha. “It’s not much, but I agree with Pristine. We’ll just have to keep investigating. Did you learn anything while you were locked up, Red?”

“Not really.” 

“Come on. I always feel like you have preternatural knowledge. Can’t you just do your magic and figure it out? You really didn’t learn anything?”

“That’s not how it works.” Red laughed. “I just read patterns in the Dao.”

Seeing as there was nothing they could do, everything returned to normal. Or as normal as things could be. That all changed at the end of Alistair’s fourth month at the sect.

He had reached level 117 and made it to rank #3,755. The compensation from exonerating Red leapfrogged him above even Yan Zheng. This new rank brought more challengers. His ridiculously fast pace brought him his first defeats. 

Alistair had finally almost caught up to his “real” ranking. He guessed that with using Dev'rox and having such a polished finishing Skill, he could probably shoot up to the 2,000s, but in practical terms, he was more of a match for the 3,000s. 

Yan Zheng became a consistent sparring partner. The soulfire-wielding cultivator was a good match for him. Most of Alistair’s opponents were brawlers or at least quite physically capable. Yan Zheng relied on range and evasion, peppering opponents from afar. 

So far, they had two matches, one win and won loss for either side, and he was certain that neither had used their full abilities.

The only one besides Yan Zheng that kept up with him in pace was Pristine, surprisingly. The woman was almost as lazy as Red, yet somehow she leveled up just as fast as him. If he was being paranoid, it almost felt like she was keeping pace with his leveling exactly, but how would that be possible?

His alchemy also improved a lot—the benchmark for his skill, a Foundation Moon Meridian Pill, reached 75% purity at Grade-3A.

Riyord, out of the kindness of his own heart, tutored him. Alistair swore to himself that he would repay the boy one day. Unfortunately, he realized that getting his alchemy to a point where it would assist his progression was a long way away. 

The other thing he began working on was a long-term project—upgrading his Skills with the assistance of technique crystals. 

That led into the sect-wide announcement a month after Red was freed. In an unusual circumstance, the entire outer sect was called to the Training Grounds, where they merged several arenas to create an enormous seating arrangement for all ten thousand of them. 

Elder Exotropay, the Head of External Affairs, floated high above the ground. As Alistair now realized, she flew without aid, while Elder Yan had to use that floating platform due to his hypothesized geas. 

The elder was a tall woman with voluminous brown hair that cascaded down below her feet. Unlike many of the other elders, she wore simply designed stillwater robes with a platinum trim. 

“Outer disciples of the Clear Water Sect, I thank you for joining us today. I bring exciting news from afar. Due to the importance of the parties involved, we chose not to give advanced notice. But today, I present to you, the Endless Horizons Sect!”

In an overly dramatic fashion, the arena walls blurred, and seated directly opposite to them were thousands of young cultivators in white and black yin-yang robes. Alistair knew the name.

The Endless Horizons Sect was one of the four peak sects of the Empire. Endless Horizons, Frozen Droplet, Divine Sword, and Thousand Scales Dominion—those sects represented a qualitative difference from the fifth-best sect. In terms of collecting young talent, not even the great corporations could compare. 

The Endless Horizons was also considered the most powerful of the four in recent memory, having won the last five Mira Laketor Memorial Tournaments in a row. It became a virtuous cycle signified by the addition of Leofric Berengar, “Future of the Disputed Shard.” 

But that wasn’t all. Alistair had done precursory research on all the top sects’ disciples, and there were two other rising stars of the most recent cohort. 

The sudden explosion of talent in the Final Frontier Empire befuddled him. By all accounts, such a confluence was statistically impossible. When he asked Red about it, he only got one explanation. 

“I don’t think it’s wrong to say that the multiverse itself has a mind,” Red had said. “We are the immune system. If the antibodies are building, it can only mean that dark times are coming. We have to be strong to fight the supervirus.”

The other two were outshone by Leforic, for sure, but impressive in their own right.

First was a familiar name. Xanathar of the Heliotrope Union, the winner of the Felons vs. Fellows. Alistair remembered the cyborg well, who came from an uninitiated society far more technologically advanced than Earth, though yet to discover the Dao. 

The one year of tutelage under a Visionary realm of the Endless Horizons had transformed him. Having the complete attention of a Visionary at the level of Elder Aylesfort or Elder Yan was unimaginable. Resources, tricks, instruction in one’s path—for an entire class of disciples, such a thing was impossible, but to uplift an individual, it was simple.

The other was a woman named Deus Kor Grace, a Trexian mage hailing from one of the most powerful extant Progenitor Clans, along with the Tiarvon. While the fief was presided over by the Princely Corinthius Belor Clan, the Deus Kor were considered more powerful. 

The truly elite clans like Tiarvon, Deus Kor, or Portolon typically kept their sons and daughters close to the hearth, but in this generation, the Deus Kor had chosen to mix their lot with the Endless Horizons Sect. 

It wasn’t a bad bet, given their meteoric rise. Elder Exotropay’s powerful voice interrupted these analytical daydreams.

“It is an honor to host the prestigious Endless Horizons within our humble sect. Joining us are not only the entire outer sect, but several inner disciples, and two elders. May I have the pleasure of welcoming Elder Ju and Elder Break Lars.”

The two elders from the Endless Horizons Sect approached and took their places beside Elder Exotropay. 

Elder Ju was a stern-faced woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, her white and black robes adorned with subtle cosmic patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Elder Break Lars stood with an imposing presence—a mountain of a man with deep bronze skin and a thick beard streaked with gray. Unlike Elder Ju’s refined appearance, his robes seemed deliberately tattered.

“Disciples of both sects,” Elder Ju began, her voice clear and commanding despite her petite stature, “we’ve come to propose a challenge that will test your mettle and forge bonds between our institutions. Thanks to the wonderful diplomacy between your Sect Leader Boswann and our patriarch, Sect Leader Lushan, we can provide this unrivaled opportunity.”

Elder Exotropay nodded. “Our sects have maintained a respectful distance for centuries, but there is no doubt that the changing tides of the Empire require forging new relationships. What better way to grow in understanding than through honorable competition?”

Elder Break Lars laughed, a booming sound that reverberated through the training grounds. “My fellow elder has always had such a silver tongue. What she means is that you will experience uncertainty. You will have to think quickly on your feet. And don’t forget, good old bloodshed.” Several of the Endless Horizons disciples chuckled, clearly accustomed to their elder's blunt manner.

The air shifted as a new presence filled the arena. Alistair felt the pressure immediately—the absolute sublime perfection of one so suitably named—the Perfect. She appeared out of nowhere, descending from the clouds like an angel from Heaven.

“This competition,” the Perfect announced, her voice carrying effortlessly across the massive gathering, “will span three months and encompass all of Selvitari.”

To her left was Elder Yan, on his signature platform, and to her right, Elder Aylesfort. Seeing them in their full glory, their Visionary auras flaring with enough power to level continents without hesitation, was a jarring contrast to the restraint they maintained in the sect’s daily life.

“The six of us,” Elder Yan said, “Myself, Elder Exotropay, Elder Aylesfort, the Perfect, and our esteemed guests Elder Ju and Elder Break Lars—will impose our collective Dao over the entire planet. None of you will face true death in this trial, though the consequences of defeat will feel quite real.”

Elder Aylesfort continued the explanation, his normally warm demeanor replaced with solemn gravity. “All ten thousand disciples from each sect will be distributed among teams led by the top one hundred inner disciples of both the Clear Water Sect and Endless Horizons Sect.”

“Of course, to ensure fairness,” Elder Ju interjected, “Endless Horizons has declined to send our ten most powerful inner disciples and fifty most powerful outer disciples. We believe this creates an equitable challenge.”

Elder Break Lars grinned. “Each team will be tasked with missions across Selvitari: getting items, protecting VIPs, capturing and holding strategic locations, and more. Your performance will be measured not just by completion but by how you do it. Sometimes, that’s the key, at least for you whelps growing into your own.”

“All deaths during this competition are ‘permanent,’” Elder Exotropay clarified, “meaning that once eliminated, you will be removed from the game and returned to normal sect life. Your performance, however, will be recorded and will affect your standing within your respective sects.”

The Perfect raised her hand, and a massive holographic map of Selvitari appeared above the arena, showing the planet’s sprawling underwater metropolises and the vast oceans between them.

“The competition will progress in three phases over three months,” she explained. “After the first month, the remaining teams will be consolidated into ten new teams. After the second month, these will further consolidate into three final teams on each side for the ultimate challenge.”

“I can see your little brains churning,” Elder Break Lars said with a predatory smile. “Don’t worry. There will be so much conflict that half of you won’t even make it past the first week. These numbers have been chosen deliberately, knowing the amount of violence you’ll be subjected to.

“The sect that comes out on top gets the good stuff. You know, blank technique crystals, restricted heritages, and chances usually locked behind inner disciple status. And straight up merit points, lest I forget. The losers won’t walk away empty-handed, but don’t expect nearly as much. You’ll receive your rewards based on your ranking, plain and simple.  Not the sect rankings you’ve grown used to, but a separate competition-only ranking. You’ll all start out on equal footing, and then receive a number based on your actions, with an inner and outer leaderboard, of course.”

Elder Aylesfort clasped his hands behind his back. “The only restricted areas during this competition are the grounds of the Clear Water Sect itself. Everything else on Selvitari is fair game. Further details will be revealed as the competition progresses. The hallmark of a cultivator is adaptation and growth. Show us the power of the new generation.”

The Perfect raised her hands. “The competition begins... now.”

Before anyone could react, Alistair felt the familiar sensation of spatial displacement. It felt like a hybrid of the system’s instant teleportation and Bakrav’s more amateur work. 

The Training Grounds dissolved around him, and he found himself standing in a dimly lit alleyway. The walls were made of some kind of iridescent material that cast faint blue reflections across the cavernous passage. The scent of salt and something indefinably alien filled his nostrils; he was in one of Selvitari’s underwater cities.

Around him appeared ninety-nine other disciples, looking quite disoriented. Among them, he felt Riyord’s aura, none of his other friends present.

Standing at the entrance to the alleyway was a familiar figure—Norman Goldhair, his golden locks shimmering even in the dim light. The inner disciple’s expression was unreadable as he surveyed his assigned team.

“Listen up,” Norman announced, not wasting a moment. “I’m Norman Goldhair, the eighth-ranked inner disciple. You guys are honestly pretty lucky you got me, someone who is both very highly ranked and isn’t going to let you all die to get my own rewards. But don’t expect handouts either. If we both want to profit, you need to listen to my orders absolutely and expeditiously. You are now Team Goldhair, and I have high standards for my flock.”

He gestured toward the bustling street beyond the alleyway, where the sounds of a city in motion echoed. “Our first task is the same for all teams. We must engage and eliminate one enemy team in these city streets. This initial phase will reduce the number of teams by half within the first few days.”

Norman’s eyes scanned the group, lingering momentarily on Alistair before continuing. “We’re in the western slums of Proctori, the third largest city on Selvitari. We’re not allowed to leave this region until we either win or lose.”

“What about the civilians?” Alistair asked. Every single head turned toward the outer disciple who dared speak up. “Won’t there be a lot of collateral damage?”

“Unnecessary collateral damage will disqualify you, good question,” Norman said. “That was supposed to be in my speech, my bad. If you do something really bad, the elders will probably reverse it, but I doubt they would care about a few deaths here and there. But all of you are in my team, and Team Goldhair does not kill civilians. If we can help it.

“First step, we’re going to split up. If the Endless Horizons are anything like their reputation, we need to play this smart. They’ll destroy us in sheer firepower, but they don’t have one thing we do—my sensory abilities. I’d bet I’d beat every inner disciple of any sect in the Empire. Even beyond. I’ll attach my gold dust to each of you, so I know all of your positions. The dust can move around in your body, so I’ll impart a set of instructions so that you know what to do when I signal things. I doubt that the enemy will be able to muster such a cohesive unit, no matter how strong those Endless Horizons bastards are. Oh, sorry, I should have asked for permission, but we really have no time—I already gave you the dust right when we spawned in.”

Norman used the gold dust to move the outer disciples around. Alistair found the commands he gave to be both light and innately understood. 

“Ranks 46, 155, 246, 355, 446, 555, 646, 755, 846, and… Disciple Tan, you will be our squad leaders. Those bunched around you are your troops. After I finish my sentence, we will split and run as far away from this point as possible. Cloak yourselves to the best of your ability and follow the gold dust’s guidance.”

Alistair started taking count of his squad as soon as Norman separated them all. In an auspicious coincidence, Riyord Fen was a part of his team, along with eight other disciples he had never interacted with. Still, he had the 955th-ranked outer disciple in his squad, which had to count for something. 

Right as the gold-haired man finished, he felt an intense tug directing him to climb out of the alley. His teammates followed suit without question—it seemed Norman’s brief speech had been enough to enforce some discipline.

Scaling the alleyway wall, Alistair’s squad emerged onto the rooftops of some ramshackled buildings, the strange bioluminescent architecture creating an alien landscape of peaks and valleys. 

Through Norman’s gold dust, Alistair had a vague sense of the other squads spreading throughout the city. He signaled his team to move west along the roofline in accordance with the dust, keeping to the shadows cast by towering crystalline spires.

As they silently traversed the alien cityscape, Alistair felt a pulse from the gold dust—Norman was deploying all teams into strategic positions around the western slums.

The plan felt clear. Establish a perimeter, locate the enemy, then collapse on them with multiple units before hiding once more, relying on instant communication to achieve victory.

They were crossing a narrow bridge between two structures when Alistair froze, signaling his squad to halt. Below them in the street, illuminated by the plant-like city lamps, proudly walked a group of white and black robed disciples. 

The Endless Horizons team moved with practiced coordination. Their leader seemed to be a woman with calculating eyes wearing a thick jade pendant, who scanned the surroundings methodically. 

Alistair slowly pressed himself against the bridge’s surface as the gold dust vibrated with new instructions. 

Eliminate the target.