Triopals
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Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2024-10-15 01:44:03 +0000 UTC“You really are the embodiment of bad timing, Nate,” Zeryn sighed as the two of them rested during the weekend, just one week before the Outer Disciple Tournament.
Nathan paused, his water bottle halfway to his lips, and gave his friend a skeptical look.
“I honestly don’t want you to enter the Inner Sect,” Zeryn fanned his face. “At least, not at this time. Then again, when else could it be?”
“Speak like a human, would you?”
Zeryn, lost in thought, took a moment before he finally responded. “A year. It would be better if you entered the Inner Sect a year from now.”
“You speak as if I’m going to make it,” Nathan muttered.
“If your chances aren’t zero, then you need to consider every possibility, right?”
It was rare to see Zeryn this serious, so Nathan fell silent, listening carefully. Zeryn had been in the Inner Sect for a year now, so he likely knew more about the situation.
“The Inner Sect is both a paradise and a cesspool. It’s peaceful out here in the Outer Sect.”
Nathan shifted uncomfortably at Zeryn’s comment, making him laugh.
“I’m serious, even with your situation, things are relatively calm. You have to understand, the dropout rate in the Inner Sect is sky-high. If you don’t meet expectations, you’re kicked back out to the Outer Sect. If you rub the higher-ups the wrong way, you’re kicked out of the sect entirely. An injury that can’t be healed means you’re out, because no one will help you. And Nate, fighting in the Inner Sect isn’t just about breaking a bone or two. It can destroy your foundation.”
Nathan nodded thoughtfully.
“But hasn’t it always been like that? That’s not unique to Verdant Spire Sect, right?”
“True,” Zeryn shrugged. “I’m just reminding you what you’re about to get into. The crucial part is the timing. A lot of upheaval is coming soon. If you become an Inner Disciple this year, you’ll likely end up as a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“And I can’t rely on you?”
Zeryn blinked, surprised by Nathan’s trust.
“Of course you can,” he grinned. “What can’t the all-powerful Zeryn do? I’ll protect you, no worries!”
He laughed loudly, as if that would make Nathan forget everything he’d just said.
Nathan didn’t mind. He wasn’t afraid of being called weak. After two years in this world, he understood the rules. Strength rules all. Only the strong survive. Zeryn was one of the strongest people Nathan knew, aside from Orin. Nathan owed him a lot. Reaching Phase 2.5 was only possible thanks to the ‘Initial Advancing Pills’ that Zeryn had given him, prizes he earned from the Inner Sect. Zeryn could have traded those pills for sect points or useful items, but he chose to give them to Nathan, saying they were “nothing.” One or two pills might seem like a small thing, but five or six pills were worth 1,500 to 1,800 sect points—the equivalent of five or six months of work for Nathan. Different perspectives, but Nathan knew he had befriended someone incredibly generous.
Having shamelessly accepted Zeryn’s help, Nathan dared to ask if he could rely on him in the Inner Sect. Shame or hesitation wouldn’t help him. Only by becoming stronger, by achieving new heights, could he repay his debt.
“Let’s just take things as they come,” Nathan said, stretching out on the grass.
The sky was a deep blue, clouds drifting lazily by, indifferent to the world below.
“You’re just a magnet for bad luck, Nate.”
Zeryn lay beside him, drawing his sword and waving it in the air, using Sword Control Technique to sketch a picture in the sky with mana. It started with two circles and ended with a straight line.
Fortunately, there were no other disciples around, especially not female ones, because Zeryn’s drawing was… indecent. Nathan laughed, pointing at the picture and suggesting more details. The clearing echoed with their vulgar laughter.
For the remainder of the weekend, Nathan tested his endurance—or more accurately, his pain tolerance. Using his [Martial Art Mastery] skill, he discovered a way to redirect force from incoming attacks, minimizing damage to specific areas and reducing the overall impact. The key was timing: using mana not to attack but to circulate and channel the force to other parts of his body.
By gradually increasing the strength of the training dummies, he learned to endure hits equivalent to a Tier 1, Phase 4 disciple going all out. If an opponent underestimated him, Nathan could potentially turn that underestimation into an advantage. In theory, he could even withstand a single blow from a Phase 6 disciple. Dodging remained his priority, but it was comforting to know he had a backup plan if his reflexes failed him.
Absorbing essence and mana from the defeated dummies pushed Nathan’s cultivation forward, inching him closer to Phase 2.6. Though not a major leap, it was still progress, and when combined with stacking skills upon one another, it became a decent advancement. Despite his reluctance, the [Butthurt] skill was proving incredibly useful. It was the first skill he hadn’t found an option to upgrade—either because it was already fully developed, or he needed to reach a higher cultivation level to unlock new features. Regardless, the ability to reduce damage by 60% felt like cheating.
At first, he’d had the training dummy set to Level 4, and the experience was... humiliating. His butt wiggled awkwardly with each blow, but the pain was nothing more than a slight sting. A Level 4 attack, which should’ve left him with serious injuries, was reduced to a meager 1.6 in damage, even lower than his current Phase. Gradually, he pushed the intensity to Level 9, where the damage was reduced to 3.6. Though the pain was excruciating, it only left bruises—an easy fix with a bit of ointment. By channeling the impact, Nathan could take a hit without leaving any permanent injuries.
Having had the system for nearly a month, Nathan sometimes felt like he was turning into a bizarre parody of himself. He was certain that he’d use [Butthurt] during the tournament, though the thought of it made him cringe.
With [Butthurt] and four other skills, he steadily accumulated 25 credits per day. As Zeryn became busier, opportunities to use [Bad Mouth] dwindled. That skill required a victim who could hear the insult, and without Zeryn around to take the brunt of it, Nathan had only managed to collect 494 credits so far. On the other hand, [Martial Art Mastery] never seemed to register as an activated skill—perhaps because it was constantly active, unlike the others.
With the tournament so close, Nathan refrained from rolling for more skills, choosing to save his resources. Having an extra skill without time to practice it would only disrupt his strategy. After observing his opponents, he’d consider using a roll if it seemed advantageous.
Finally, the day of the tournament arrived.
The Outer Sect Tournament was one of the most anticipated events of the year. Not only did it capture the attention of the entire Outer Sect, but it also attracted members of the Inner Sect, including the older generations and several elders. By the quarterfinals, Inner Sect elders and even the Sect Leader himself would be in attendance to observe the sect’s future prospects. This was why each regional tournament had to be held in different seasons, ensuring the leadership could oversee each one. Nathan’s southern region would hold its tournament in the fall.
The training grounds where disciples had been evaluated the previous month had been refurbished for the event. Wooden stands, large enough to seat five thousand spectators, were erected in tiers. The seating, built into the mountainside near the path to the Inner Sect, reserved the highest rows for honored guests, with a handful of luxurious seats set aside for the elders. At the very top was a throne-like chair, intricately carved from polished wood, exuding both grandeur and ancient authority.
The arena itself had been reinforced with massive stone slabs, ready to withstand the upcoming destruction. Booths were strategically placed around the arena for first aid and waiting areas.
The sun blazed overhead, and the heat warmed Nathan’s skin as he arrived at the grounds.
A staff member approached him, handing him a sticker with the number three on it and ordering him to affix it to his chest. Before he could ask anything, the staff member had already moved on to another disciple.
Though confused, the lively atmosphere soon distracted him. The stands were not yet full, but the noise of conversation and cheers echoed through the air, especially in the area furthest from the entrance. A large group had gathered, no doubt the betting section. Strangely, Zeryn was nowhere to be seen, though this kind of excitement was right up his alley. Normally, bets were handled through PsiLink, but for larger events like this, where stakes included items as well as sect points, it required in-person management. The sect turned a blind eye to these events, even sending a supervisor to oversee things and claim a portion of the earnings after the event.
Nathan didn’t bother to check his odds. With only 11 sect points to his name, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway. Instead, he headed to the waiting area for registered disciples. As he surveyed the gathering crowd, his heart raced and sweat dripped down his forehead uncontrollably.
There were so many people! Nathan marveled.
There must have been several hundred participants spread across the four corners of the arena. Most of them looked nervous, with only a few appearing excited. First-time participants were rare—after all, injuries incurred during the tournament still required sect points to heal. Most Outer Sect disciples who passed their evaluations preferred to watch, with the remaining competitors fearing for their future, just like Nathan.
The groups gathered in clusters, murmuring among themselves about something Nathan couldn’t make out due to the ambient noise of the crowd. Ignoring it all, he tried to steady his nerves and waited for the event to begin.
As more and more people arrived, a few Outer Sect elders took their seats in the third row from the top in the honored section. The second row remained empty.
Below them, a handful of Inner Sect disciples, recognizable by their crimson robes, casually took their seats. Zeryn had told Nathan that the Inner Sect was rife with factionalism, and this event was also an unofficial recruitment ground for those seeking to grow their influence. Being aligned with a group was crucial to success in the Inner Sect, especially when it came to completing difficult missions. Without backing, finishing tasks and earning rewards became a near-impossible feat.
At exactly nine o’clock, a large bell rang, silencing the entire crowd. Even the noise from the betting section died down as everyone turned their attention to the arena. A figure soared from the Outer Sect elders’ seating area, landing gracefully in the middle of the stage, his eyes sweeping the audience with an imposing gaze.
Nathan, standing in the shadow of a nearby pavilion, could feel the pressure radiating from the man. It was stronger than anything he’d felt from the elder who had overseen the evaluation a month ago.
Clad in flowing white robes with fiery patterns embroidered along the hem, the elder’s voice boomed across the arena. “Disciples of the southern region! The time has come—let today’s event begin!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, especially from the gamblers who were already swept up in the excitement.
“That's the spirit!” the elder continued, his voice full of energy. “Cheer for the disciples who will compete today! As always, the top thirty-two disciples will be granted entry into the Inner Sect. The top four will earn the chance to become personal disciples of the Inner Sect elders—possibly even the Sect Leader himself!”
A wave of gasps and murmurs swept through the audience, not just from the spectators but from the waiting disciples as well. The Sect Leader was notoriously elusive and hadn’t accepted a personal disciple in years, likely due to his responsibilities. The idea that he might choose a disciple this year was nothing short of shocking. Becoming the Sect Leader’s personal disciple came with untold benefits, including influence even over some of the Inner Sect elders. It was said that such a disciple could be groomed to inherit the Sect Leader’s position one day.
Nathan frowned as he recalled Zeryn’s warning. Inner Sect politics were stirring, just as his friend had hinted.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” the elder’s voice rang out again. “But don’t forget—today’s Outer Sect tournament is only the beginning of your journey. Only those with exceptional skill will be worthy of such privileges. Now, without further delay, I declare the start of the southern region’s Outer Sect Tournament!”
“Green grows the spire through blood and fire!” the crowd chanted, echoing the sect’s motto with fervor. “Green grows the spire through blood and fire!”
As the chant filled the air, vines erupted from the four corners of the arena, intertwining with one another until they formed a bright red flower at the top. Fire ignited around the flower’s edges, sending it into the sky, where it burst into shimmering embers.
The dazzling display had an almost magical effect, stirring the blood of the participants. Nathan felt it too—a mix of excitement and anxiety as he stared up at the sky, dreams of glory flickering before his eyes.
With a clap of the elder’s hands, the noise fell silent again. “This year’s format will be different,” he announced, and Nathan’s senses sharpened at the unexpected words.
“Instead of the traditional randomized pairings and seeded matches, this year’s tournament will be a free-for-all.”
A cold shiver ran down Nathan’s spine.
“The arena will be divided into four regions,” the elder explained. “Don’t worry about space—our Inner Sect elders have generously provided spatial artifacts for the event. Each region will house its own pocket dimension, large enough for all of you to battle freely. The rules are simple: each region will start with roughly 160 disciples. You will fight until only eight remain, making up the top thirty-two who will enter the Inner Sect. You’ll be eliminated if you surrender, lose consciousness, or fall out of bounds. Now, if anyone wishes to withdraw, speak up.”
No one moved or made a sound. Those who wanted to quit had already done so long before today. The remaining competitors had all steeled themselves for the trials ahead.
Nathan, however, stood frozen in place, his ears ringing from shock. The murmuring of the crowd, the shuffling of the other disciples, all faded into the background. It seemed like no one else was surprised by the announcement. They must have heard about it through PsiLink or in whispers over the past few days. But Nathan, isolated in his training, had been completely unaware.
His eyes darted toward the stands, and there, sitting among the Inner Sect disciples, he spotted Zeryn. His friend’s expression was one of guilt and panic, confirming Nathan’s suspicion—Zeryn had learned of this too late. Without PsiLink to communicate, Nathan had been left in the dark.
Around him, disciples were already forming groups, whispering to one another and nodding as alliances were made. Nathan quickly realized that many of them were planning to band together to increase their chances. In the Inner Sect, cooperation often led to forming future teams for missions, and this tournament seemed to be an early stage for that.
Looking down at the number three sticker on his chest, Nathan finally understood its meaning. Some of the disciples bearing the same number shot him predatory glances, as though he were fresh meat. To them, he was clearly the weakest link—a Phase 2.6 who would be the first to get tossed out.
Without a doubt, forming an alliance was not an option for him. But withdrawing? Not a chance.
“The participants,” the elder called out again, “head to your designated regions based on your number. Collect your chosen weapons at the armory before entering.”
Above each region, numbers floated in the air from 1 to 4, glowing faintly.
There was no time left to wallow in self-pity. Nathan followed the elder’s instructions and headed toward Region 3, where other disciples were already gathering. Most of them grabbed their preferred weapons—swords, spears, staves—while Nathan opted for a pair of iron gauntlets, pulling them snugly over his hands.
As he crossed the invisible boundary into Region 3, the space around him expanded dramatically. The disciples he’d seen moments ago were now distant, the arena stretching out in every direction. The pocket dimension truly was vast, giving everyone room to strategize and avoid early skirmishes. Curious, Nathan stepped back toward the edge, and the arena returned to its normal size. The crowd could still see them, but from outside, the dimension appeared empty—an illusion of isolation.
Back in the expanded space, Nathan surveyed the groups around him. More than ten teams had already formed, their numbers ranging from five to eight members. One group, however, stood out with twenty members, led by a disciple Nathan vaguely remembered from last year’s evaluation. That disciple had been a Phase 6 back then, and judging by his aura, he was likely Phase 8 or 9 now. It wasn’t hard to guess that his team had promised lesser disciples some form of protection in exchange for cooperation. Their plan was likely to eliminate everyone else first and then deal with internal competition.
Nathan counted the remaining disciples—about seventy stood alone like him. Most had scattered, trying to avoid early conflict. His original plan to blend into the chaos seemed more and more impossible. Small teams were still forming, and no one had even glanced his way.
Blending in was no longer an option, at least not at the start. Nathan adjusted his plan—Step 1: run.
The words “READY?” appeared in the air above, followed by a countdown.
3... 2... 1...
“START!”
An explosion signaled the beginning of the free-for-all, and chaos erupted immediately. Teams charged toward their pre-selected targets. Nathan was among those marked for early elimination.
Three disciples targeted him. Two split off from nearby teams, agreeing to work together for now. Nathan had hoped his low Phase might make him seem unimportant, but it seemed his size and rank had only made him a convenient target. They thought they could knock him out of bounds with a single hit when the time came.
Nathan’s instincts kicked in, and he bolted toward the far eastern edge of the arena. The three disciples chased him at full speed, but two soon broke off, targeting other lone disciples. The remaining pursuer was fast, clearly intent on eliminating Nathan personally.
The disciple quickly closed the distance, his Phase 4 strength propelling him forward in three powerful strides. On the last step, he leapt into the air, aiming a high kick at Nathan.
But Nathan had been ready. His body twisted like a snake, narrowly dodging the attack. His hands shot out, grabbing the disciple’s leg. Using the momentum of his attacker, Nathan pivoted, redirecting the force. The disciple’s eyes widened in shock as he found himself flung out of the arena’s boundary, crashing hard onto the ground outside the pocket dimension.
Disoriented, the disciple tried to reenter but slammed into an invisible barrier. As he looked around, he saw a few other unlucky souls who had already been eliminated, just as bewildered as he was. Glancing up at the hovering screens, he saw his name light up, signaling his disqualification. Stunned, he slumped back in disbelief, unable to comprehend how a Phase 6 disciple had just been outmaneuvered by someone in Phase 2.6 in a single exchange.
Nathan, on the other hand, couldn’t help but grin. His opponent had no idea that Nathan had been able to read his every move. The way the disciple had channeled his energy, the telegraphed movement—it had all been clear to Nathan, thanks to his extensive training.
Experience beats raw power every time.
Back outside the arena, MC Emily’s eyes widened in surprise.
“What just happened, ladies and gentlemen?” Her voice echoed through the crowd, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. “This year’s tournament is already off to an exciting start! We’ve got someone to keep our eyes on!”
At her cue, William, the co-host, gestured, and the massive screens around the arena flickered. The screens now displayed the scene of Nathan running toward the boundary of the pocket dimension, followed by the moment when he flipped his attacker out of the arena.
“Before you boo, hold on a moment!” Emily teased with a grin. “Here’s the kicker, everyone!”
The screens below the main display zoomed in on the stats of the two disciples. One was a Phase 6.3 disciple, while the other—Nathan—was listed as Phase 2.6.
The crowd, which had started murmuring, now erupted in full force.
“No way, a Phase 2.6?”
“How useless is that Phase 6 guy, then?”
“Useless? Are you blind? That kid, Nathan, read him like a book!”
“How did a Phase 2.6 even make it through the evaluation?”
“What’s his betting odds? Someone tell me!”
The betting area was suddenly in chaos, as gamblers scrambled to adjust their stakes.
In the spectator section, Zeryn leaned back with a satisfied grin and whistled a long, loud note. “Go Nate! Kick their asses!”
The other Inner Sect disciples near him, noticing Zeryn’s enthusiasm, stood and bowed in respect. Zeryn waved them off casually, his eyes already scanning the crowd with mischievous intent.
“Who’s betting on that kid?” he asked, loud enough for the disciples around him to hear.
“Nathan?” one of them asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yep, that’s right. I’ll handle your bets, promise it’ll be a good payout.”
A few nervous chuckles followed, as the Inner Sect disciples weren’t sure if Zeryn was serious. His laid-back attitude was well-known, but placing bets on a disciple like Nathan? They weren’t convinced.
Most placed their bets with the assumption Nathan would eventually lose. Zeryn, on the other hand, confidently bet on his friend’s success. In his eyes, there was no fun in only betting on sure outcomes. Life was about the risks.
“I’ve staked my fortune on you, Nathan,” Zeryn whispered with a grin.
Meanwhile, inside the pocket dimension, Nathan focused on his next move. The elimination of his first opponent had been a small victory, but he knew this was just the beginning. He needed a plan to survive the chaos that was rapidly unfolding around him.
