Chapter Ten: A Drop of Blood, A Shift in Soul
Andras stood in silence, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow and measured. He wasn't meditating. Not quite. He was simply… still. Bracing himself.
Any second now.
The Bloodroot Tournament was about to begin.
The system was quiet. No instructions. No nudges. It had done its job—preparing his body, refining his spirit, awakening his flame. Now it waited with him, like a judge before the verdict.
He didn't flinch at the sudden, shattering roar from above.
It tore through the sky like a war cry, ancient and immense, rattling the bones of everyone inside the arena. The sound seemed to tremble through the stones themselves.
Andras's eyes snapped up—
And there it was.
A dragon.
Massive, obsidian-scaled, with crimson eyes like suns burning in reverse. It wasn't flying—it was hovering, as if the sky itself bowed to keep it aloft. With wings outspread and mouth open wide in a soundless bellow, it looked like a god made flesh.
John's mind went blank. The part of him still tethered to Earth, to city skylines and bus tickets, screamed inside.
"That's a DRAGON!"
This wasn't myth or metaphor. It wasn't fantasy written in a novel. This was real. Alive. Breathing.
And it was the signal.
The crowd roared back.
Trumpets blared. Bells rang from the high towers. The sky split open with sound and fury.
The tournament had begun.
Andras blinked—
And was shoved.
"Move, brat!" a guard snarled.
Hands struck his back, and before he could react, Andras was falling—shoved through the outer ring of the arena, down toward the blood-soaked pit below.
He didn't scream.
But John's voice broke through.
"Wait, what?!"
Hundreds were falling with him. Some dived in willingly, blades drawn and eyes gleaming. Others were pushed, like him. Some plunged with laughter. Others with silence. Weapons glinted. Qi sparked.
It was chaos.
Madness.
"Are they insane?! This is suicide!" John thought.
And then the red ground rushed up.
But it didn't hit.
Not as expected.
Instead of crashing into stone—
Andras sank into it.
The moment his body should have struck solid ground, it passed through—as if the earth itself swallowed him whole. His senses twisted. The blood-colored earth became liquid, then air, then nothing at all.
And then—
Impact.
He slammed against a tree trunk with a hard thunk, then crumpled to the dirt.
Leaves rustled. Birds—strange and skeletal—fluttered overhead. The sky was darkening.
He groaned and rolled to his side, spitting leaves.
"…Ah. What the fuck just happened?"
The sky had changed. It was now evening, not afternoon. The shadows were longer, redder, heavier. He looked around and saw gnarled trees, deep undergrowth, and the red surface of a pond behind him it was also quiet.
Too quiet.
The air was reddish, as if stained by the sky. Shadows bent oddly. Time felt… off.
System Note:"Tournament terrain confirmed: Sector 3B – Bloodroot Expanse. Environment is under temporal distortion. Daylight cycles may not match Verdant Standard Time."
Andras blinked.
"Temporal distortion? What is this place?"
He looked up—the sun hung low, casting long shadows.
But when they entered the pit, it had been afternoon.
Now it was evening.
Andras blinked at the liquid.
It wasn't water.
It was blood. Thick. Still. Viscous like honey.
He stood up slowly, muscles sore but responsive.
"This isn't just a pit. It's a gateway…" he muttered, thinking hard.
The tournament wasn't held in the arena. The arena was only the entrance. A launching point into a hidden battlefield beyond space and time.
John, buried deep in thought, was fascinated.
"A portal? Some kind of alternate realm? A sealed domain? That… that's insane. This whole world is insane."
Andras didn't answer.
His attention had already locked on a new presence.
Crunch.
A twig snapped.
Andras spun.
From the foliage, a figure emerged—young, grinning, with a lazy stride and too-white teeth.
He wore dark green robes, trimmed with silver, marked with the insignia of the Whispering Meadows sect. Known for their poison arts and blade work.
Deadly, Untrustworthy.
"Ah," the boy drawled, "look what we have here. A bug from the Bamboo Sanctuary. This'll be easier than I thought."
Andras raised his guard, silent.
He knew better than to underestimate poison users. A single scratch could be fatal. This wasn't a spar. It was survival.
The boy's grin widened as he pulled a thin sword from his back.
Andras turned and ran.
No warning. No words.
Just sprinted.
Fast.
Very fast.
Blades clattered behind him, but he didn't care. He wasn't afraid—he was calculating. Fighting now would only exhaust him, and poison specialists were too risky without preparation.
The trees blurred past him.
Branches scratched his face. Roots tried to trip him.
Still, he ran.
"Smart," John muttered. "Burn your strength fighting one guy now, and you're food for the next one. Keep moving."
He kept running for minutes—too long to be chased by someone truly strong.
He's not beyond Qi Gathering, Andras thought. If he was, he would've caught me.
He slowed.
Looked back.
Nothing.
A sigh escaped him.
And then—shffft!
The boy lunged from a tree above, slashing wildly.
Andras twisted—barely—but the blade kissed his shoulder. A shallow cut opened.
But the system notification came up:
[Alert: Superficial wound. No poison detected.]
"HA!" the boy cackled. "You're done for! Even if you run, you'll die in hours!"
Andras froze.
For just a second.
Eyes locked with the boy's.
Then, he panicked.
"No," he muttered. "No, this can't— not so soon—!"
He turned and ran again, faster, staggering like a wounded animal.
The boy's laugh grew manic as he lunged forward, reaching for his back—
Andras dropped.
Fell to the dirt.
The boy stumbled, overextended—
Andras turned, palm rising.
Black fire burst from his hand.
Silent. Cold. Pure.
It struck the boy's neck—
And burned through it.
No scream.
Just a gurgle.
The sword fell. The body spasmed. Eyes went wide, then glassy.
Andras shoved him aside and lay back in the dirt, chest heaving.
The system chimed:
Target Eliminated: Qi Gathering – 8th Stage
Congratulations 🎉 User!
Rewards:
– 4 Skill Points
– [Skillbook] "Tricking is not a sin, it is an art."
Trait Unlocked: First Blood – +2% Battle Awareness against unfamiliar opponents.
Soul Integrity: 52% → 48%
John felt sick.
They were… giving him rewards.
For killing.
Like a video game.
Like a fucking RPG.
"I just killed someone," John whispered inside.
And Andras?
He smiled.
He was still breathing hard. Still shaking slightly. But the flame within him pulsed with satisfaction.
"It was all a trick," he muttered.
The man hadn't been from Whispering Meadows. That robe? A disguise. An illusion of danger. Poison? Nonexistent. Just a bluff.
A bluff that almost worked.
Almost.
Andras sat up, staring at the charred body.
He had killed someone.
But more importantly, he had won.
Ten minutes passed.
Andras stood again, checking the cut on his shoulder. Minor. Already sealing.
The system pulsed softly with healing Qi.
He opened the reward screen again.
[Skill Points: 4 Available]
Use to improve existing skills, unlock affinity traits, or reinforce physical attributes.
He filed it away.
The Skillbook shimmered in his Inventory tab, a curious artifact. Probably useless, but maybe worth skimming.
Soul Integrity: 46%
Andras didn't notice.
Neither did John.
Because both of them were too busy thinking.
Too busy changing.
Andras looked down at his palm—still faintly singed with leftover flame.
One touch.
One perfect strike.
He had waited. Acted. Deceived.
He had used fear as bait.
It worked.
He whispered, "I should get one of those Whispering Meadow robes."
John didn't answer.
Because the truth was, a part of him agreed.