Three days later, Lu Chen stepped out of the medical center.
His injuries had fully healed, and his cultivation had stabilized at Level 33. More than that—under the dual reinforcement of The True Manual of Demon Suppression and The Azure Wood Art, his physical body had reached a terrifying threshold. According to the testing device Zhao Feng brought over, his peak punching force measured at 3,500 kilograms, on par with an ordinary Level 35 martial artist. His neural reaction speed had even brushed the threshold of Level 40.
More importantly, the foundational framework of the Purple Palace within his dantian had taken shape. Though still far from the size of a vat, it had already grown to the scale of a washbasin—an entire tier larger than that of an average Earth-rank martial artist.
The Demon-Suppressing Stele had also recovered well. The surface cracks had mostly vanished, and its functions were gradually returning. Its spatial sensing radius had expanded back to twenty kilometers. While the Suppression Domain and full stele manifestation were still unavailable, the stele spirit's guardian function and energy feedback had been fully restored.
"How do you feel?" Zhao Feng asked, standing by the training ground as Lu Chen finished his final round of testing.
"Not bad." Lu Chen rolled his wrist. "What are the exact rules of the Martial Arts Tournament?"
"Let's talk while we walk." Zhao Feng turned and headed deeper into the base. "The tournament has three stages: preliminaries, semifinals, and finals."
"The preliminaries are a 'qualification battle.' All registered participants enter a 'simulated battlefield'—a virtual space constructed with military-grade VR technology. Death inside won't kill you, but it will eliminate you. Ninety percent will be cut, leaving only one hundred to advance."
"The semifinals are a 'survival battle.' Those hundred will be deployed into a real secret realm—filled with mutated beasts, traps, and other competitors. You must survive for seven days. Rankings are determined by points earned from killing beasts and opponents. The top twenty advance."
"The finals are a 'arena duel.' Twenty participants draw lots and fight head-on. Winners advance, losers are eliminated, until a champion is crowned."
The rules were simple—brutally so.
"When does it start?" Lu Chen asked.
"The preliminaries begin in two weeks, at Jiang City Sports Center," Zhao Feng replied. "The locations for the later stages haven't been announced, but they'll definitely be inside secret realms, guarded by high-ranking martial artists to prevent cheating or severe incidents."
They entered a building—the base's armory.
"Your gear needs an upgrade." Zhao Feng gestured at the racks filled with weapons and armor. "Standard military equipment may not match your artifacts, but it's practical—and more importantly, inconspicuous."
Lu Chen scanned the selection.
Most of it bore a modern aesthetic: tactical vests, composite ballistic plates, energy pistols, electromagnetic daggers, and various tactical attachments.
He chose a black lightweight tactical suit with temperature regulation, waterproofing, fire resistance, and partial energy-detection shielding. He also picked an upgraded energy pistol—faster firing rate, greater stopping power, and a thirty-round magazine. He kept his blade; the Demon-Slaying Saber was more than sufficient.
For defense, he selected a foldable alloy shield—palm-sized when compact, large enough to cover most of his body when deployed. He also took a pair of tactical gloves, each fingertip fitted with a micro energy emitter capable of delivering electric shocks or cutting beams at close range.
"Oh, and this is for you." Zhao Feng retrieved a silver metal case from a safe and opened it, revealing a uniquely designed short firearm.
The weapon was sleek and silver-gray, its barrel twice the length of a standard pistol. An energy slot near the grip housed a pale blue crystal.
"This is the prototype 'Demonbreaker Gun,' specifically designed to counter energy shields and protective qi," Zhao Feng explained. "It fires high-frequency energy pulses, not bullets. It can penetrate defenses below Level 40—but each shot consumes massive energy. This crystal supports only three shots, then requires twenty-four hours to recharge."
A fine piece of hardware.
Lu Chen hefted the Demonbreaker Gun—heavy, at least five kilograms. He aimed at a distant target and pulled the trigger.
Hummm—
The gun vibrated softly as a blue beam lanced out, striking the bullseye instantly. The target—an energy construct simulating a martial artist's shield—offered no resistance. The beam punched straight through, blasting a deep crater into the alloy wall behind it.
Impressive, indeed.
"Thanks." Lu Chen stowed the weapon.
"Don't thank me. Elder Lin pulled strings to get it for you," Zhao Feng said. "He figured you'd like something straightforward and ruthless."
Accurate.
Lu Chen picked up additional supplies: smoke grenades, flashbangs, EMP grenades, micro-drones, and a compact medical kit—packing everything into a custom tactical backpack.
"How are you planning to spend the next two weeks?" Zhao Feng asked.
"Training," Lu Chen replied. "I need to familiarize myself with the new equipment and refine my combat capability through live simulations."
"Perfect. The base has a 'combat simulation chamber' capable of reproducing various environments and opponents," Zhao Feng said. "You can also try the gravity training room—up to ten times gravity. Excellent for tempering the body."
"I'll do both."
The next two weeks plunged Lu Chen into a frenzy of training.
Every day began at six a.m. with gravity training. Starting from double gravity, he gradually pushed to fivefold—his current physical limit. Beyond that lay injury. At five times gravity, even walking was laborious, let alone fighting. Yet he endured four hours daily, forging every inch of his flesh.
Mornings were spent in combat simulations. The chamber could generate mutated beasts, martial artists, even Ghost Organization operatives. Lu Chen set the difficulty to maximum, opponents at Levels 35–40, three at a time.
At first, he struggled—"dying" frequently. But the Combat Preview Module devoured experience at a ferocious pace. Each death sharpened his understanding. After one week, he could reliably eliminate three Level 38 simulated enemies.
Afternoons were devoted to cultivation. Progress on the Purple Palace chapter of The True Manual of Demon Suppression was slow, but The Azure Wood Art advanced rapidly. Gentle by nature and reinforced by the stele's energy feedback, his cultivation speed far surpassed that of ordinary practitioners. By the end of two weeks, he had mastered its core technique—Verdant Rejuvenation, allowing rapid recovery from minor injuries mid-battle.
Evenings were for theory. In the base library, Lu Chen focused on ancient texts and modern research concerning "Reapers" and "Extraterrestrial Entities." Cross-referencing the alien codex with military archives, a clearer picture emerged:
The Reapers were indeed bio-weapons created by the Ark Laboratory—or rather, the Ark spacecraft—designed to harvest planetary energy for interdimensional travel. During transit to this world, the ship suffered a catastrophic failure and crashed on Earth, causing the Reapers to lose control.
Doctor Chu Yuntian, the laboratory's chief researcher, survived—but his body was eroded by core energy, transforming him into a half-human, half-energy abomination. He sought to fuse with the core to "complete" himself, even evolve into a higher lifeform.
Yet the core itself possessed a form of consciousness—or programming. It constantly sought a suitable "host" to complete the Ark's unfinished mission.
The embryo Lu Chen had sealed was the product of a forced fusion between the Doctor and the core—neither fully one nor the other, but an unstable newborn existence. If allowed to mature, the consequences would be unimaginable.
I need to deal with that embryo as soon as possible, Lu Chen thought, closing the file.
But how? The Demon-Suppressing Stele could only seal, not annihilate. True destruction would require at least Heaven-rank power—or some specialized countermeasure.
For now, there was no solution.
Two weeks passed in a blink.
The day of the preliminaries arrived.
Jiang City Sports Center, 8:00 a.m.
Ordinarily a venue for sporting events and concerts, today it had been transformed into a martial arena. The central field was gone, replaced by a colossal metal platform—the gateway to the simulated battlefield.
The stands were packed: martial artists from across the region, representatives of great families, sect disciples, and media crews. Dozens of camera drones hovered overhead, broadcasting the event live.
Lu Chen stood in the preparation zone, surveying the field.
At least five hundred competitors, all under forty, ranging from Level 20 to Level 35. Clan heirs clustered in uniform attire; independent cultivators stood alone, eyes wary; several military participants maintained disciplined, upright stances.
He spotted familiar faces.
From the Chen family, a man in his early thirties—Level 34—led the group. Chen Zhenghua, of the second branch, cousin to Chen Zhenghao. Their eyes met; hostility was unmistakable.
From the Association, Chen Jing led a dozen young martial artists, Levels 25–30. She nodded faintly at Lu Chen in acknowledgment.
There were also eccentrically dressed figures—disciples of hidden sects. Among them, a young man in white daoist robes stood out: Level 33, serene yet distinctly more dangerous than Chen Zhenghua.
"That's Bai Yunsheng of Qingyun Temple," Zhao Feng murmured, appearing beside him. "The largest hidden sect in East China. Rumor has it they have Heaven-rank experts. Bai Yunsheng is their senior disciple—skilled in swordsmanship and formations. A troublesome one."
Lu Chen nodded, committing the name to memory.
"And over there," Zhao Feng continued, pointing, "the woman in red is Huo Wu of the Blazing Flame Sect—Level 32. Temperamental, but formidable. The lanky one beside her is Ying Qi from Ghost Shadow Sect, Level 31. Specializes in stealth and assassination."
Hidden sect elites, all vying for Kunlun Ruins slots.
This would be fierce.
At precisely nine o'clock, a bell rang.
A middle-aged man in military uniform stepped onto the central platform—the chief referee, a Level 50 powerhouse.
"I am Li Weiguo, chief referee," his amplified voice echoed. "Welcome to the Tenth East China Six Provinces Martial Arts Tournament. I will now announce the preliminary rules."
Silence fell.
"The preliminaries are a 'qualification battle.' All competitors will enter the virtual battlefield. Environments are randomly generated—forests, deserts, urban ruins, subterranean caverns. Your objective: survive and defeat opponents."
"Each participant starts with ten points. Defeating an opponent grants half of their points. Falling below five points results in elimination. The top one hundred advance."
"Team formation is prohibited, though temporary cooperation is allowed—provided it is not judged as cheating."
"Death inside the battlefield is non-lethal but results in immediate elimination and point reset. Pain is simulated realistically, but all effects vanish upon exit."
"Duration: three hours. All competitors, board the platform."
Lu Chen joined the crowd.
Over five hundred people crowded the fifty-meter-wide platform as an energy barrier rose around it.
"Activate!" Li Weiguo commanded.
Runes flared. Blinding white light swallowed everything.
Lu Chen felt weightless, hurled through a tunnel of rushing light.
Seconds later—solid ground.
A dense forest stretched around him.
Towering trees blotted out the sky. The air was damp, thick with the scent of soil and decaying leaves. Distant water and birdsong echoed faintly.
Uncannily real.
He checked himself immediately.
All equipment intact. Tactical terminal online—virtual interface active. Points: 10. Rank: Unassigned.
He crouched into cover and activated reconnaissance mode. Micro-drones deployed, scanning the surroundings.
Soon, terrain maps and several red dots appeared—other competitors.
The nearest were three hundred meters ahead, two dots close together—engaged in combat.
Lu Chen did not rush in. Forest terrain favored ambush and guerrilla tactics—but also invited them.
He consulted the battlefield map. His position lay west-central. Three kilometers east: a river. Five kilometers north: mountains. South: plains.
"East first," he decided.
Open terrain favored his ranged firepower.
He moved like a shadow through the trees.
Aura Perception still functioned, though compressed to a fifty-meter radius—likely a virtual constraint.
After a kilometer, sounds of fighting reached him.
He halted, observing.
Two independent cultivators—one blade, one fist—both around Level 28. Fierce, but sloppy.
Lu Chen lost interest.
Then a third figure dropped silently from the canopy.
Ying Qi.
Like a living shadow, he appeared behind the swordsman, black dagger flashing.
Thud.
Instant elimination.
The pugilist turned to flee—but too slow.
Two seconds. Two eliminations.
Ying Qi absorbed the glowing point orbs. His score rose to fifteen.
"Skulking in shadows—is that all you can do?" a voice sneered.
Huo Wu emerged, crimson blade blazing.
The clash began.
Lu Chen assessed briefly—equal match.
He left.
Three steps later—
Warning: Hidden target, fifty meters left.
He dove and hurled a smoke grenade.
An arrow skimmed his scalp, quivering in a tree trunk behind him.
A camouflaged archer perched on a branch, composite bow drawn.
Second volley—three arrows, sealing all escape routes.
Lu Chen didn't dodge.
One slash—arrow cleaved. Sidestep—second missed. Third deflected by the blade.
Shock flashed across the archer's face.
Too late.
Lu Chen closed fifty meters in a heartbeat.
One strike.
Elimination.
Points: 12.5. Rank: 78.
Minutes in—and dozens already gone.
He continued east.
Opponents fell easily. Points climbed to 18. Rank: 45.
Near the river, resistance hardened.
Chen Zhenghua.
Three-on-one against a Level 32 military martial artist.
Lu Chen intervened—not to save, but because Chen was an enemy.
One shot.
Chen Zhenghua deflected it—but the distraction was enough.
"Step back," Lu Chen said.
The triangle formed.
"Today, I avenge my brother!" Chen snarled.
Lu Chen answered with steel.
The battle erupted.
Shield blocked. Bone cracked.
One kill.
Then another.
Finally—
"One on one," Lu Chen said calmly.
Chen Zhenghua broke.
"No surrender on the battlefield."
White light.
Points surged to 30.5.
Rank: 12.
The storm had only begun.
Lu Chen tightened his grip on the Demon-Slaying Saber, eyes blazing.
Come.
Let the tempest rage.