Amon, The lowest tier disciple in the Insanity Sect

The day of the competition had arrived. The sect's training grounds were alive with excitement, transformed into a buzzing arena. Disciples of all levels gathered, their chatter mingling with the crackle of magical energy in the air.

The early matches were as thrilling as expected. Spells collided, energy rippled, and one unfortunate disciple ended up wedged in a tree. The crowd roared with approval. Meanwhile, I was doing my best not to hyperventilate.

Then came the moment I'd been dreading.

"Next match: Amon versus Ling Fei!"

Ling Fei stepped into the ring with an air of effortless superiority. His stance was perfect, his movements precise, and his smirk practically begged to be wiped off his face.

"Don't worry," he said as we squared up. "This won't take long."

"Great," I replied with a forced grin. "I've got other places to be."

The gong echoed through the arena, and Ling Fei darted forward with startling speed. His fists were imbued with the Ironclad Fist Technique, a reinforcement martial art that strengthened his limbs to the point of near invulnerability. Each strike hit with the force of a boulder.

Blocking his first blow felt like trying to stop an avalanche.

"Focus, Amon," I muttered, gripping my katana tighter.

Recalling the lessons from my book, I activated the runes etched into my blade. A faint glow shimmered along the katana, its hum resonating with my intent.

Ling Fei attacked again, but this time, I swung wide. The air around us warped, and his charge slowed mid-step. He faltered, his once-perfect balance thrown off. Seizing the moment, I delivered a counterattack that made him stumble back.

"What's going on?" he growled, his confidence cracking.

"Gravity magic," I said, grinning. "Cool, right?"

The crowd gasped as I pressed my advantage. Each swing of my blade amplified the gravitational pull, making Ling Fei's movements sluggish and clumsy. He fought to recover, but it was like wading through quicksand.

With one final strike, my blade connected, severing his arm at the shoulder. His hand, still crackling with Ironclad Fist energy, was sent flying through the air before he collapsed to the ground in agony, the gong signaling the end of the match.

The arena erupted in cheers. I stood there, grinning like an idiot, my heart pounding in my chest.

From the sidelines, Leeon clapped slowly, leaning against a post. "Not bad, Amon. You didn't die. That's progress."

"Thanks," I said, panting. "I aim to stay alive."

Leeon smirked. "Don't get too cocky. There are plenty of rounds left and now everyone knows your tricks."

I swallowed hard as the realization hit. Surviving one match was hard enough. Winning the whole competition? That was a whole different story.