“Alright, that’s enough. That last bit of tone was a bit extra.”
Gu Sanqiu tossed the bag of Mora and the arrows to Douyun, signaling he could leave, then turned back to Tartaglia.
“So, how’s that? Not exactly what you had in mind, huh? A bit different from what you expected?”
“For you guys, this kind of event is probably more of a way for your so-called inner circle to connect, right?”
“Exactly. We don’t want a bunch of bored people popping up out of nowhere trying to stir up trouble.”
Gu Sanqiu freely admitted, “A proper outlet is necessary. Otherwise, these folks would just sit in their territories until the end of time, leading to either the loss of their traditions or them turning into something twisted.”
“If you want to join in the sparring, you can. There’s still time to sign up.”
“You’re not worried I’ll go in there and beat them all down?”
Gu shrugged. “Feel free. It’ll give those guys a taste of what it means to always be someone better out there. Don’t worry about them—they’re not the type to take losing personally.”
“Well, since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to see for myself what Liyue’s got to offer.”
A glint of excitement flashed in Tartaglia’s eyes. “I hope there are a few strong opponents!”
Gu Sanqiu quietly went to the organizer and had Tartaglia’s name added to the roster.
More strong opponents?
Maybe. But before that, there’s bound to be a string of helpless souls that’ll get thoroughly crushed.
The cultivation world has been like a stagnant pond for far too long—it’s time to throw in a bomb and stir things up. Let these people refocus on improving their strength.
And Tartaglia? He’s the nuke I’ve prepared for them.
Within an hour, news of a foreigner joining the Pyro Regisvine event had spread throughout the area.
Everyone was curious. How did a foreigner even know about this event? And just how strong was he?
“From the looks of him, he’s just a regular young guy. How are we supposed to gauge that?”
The older folks in the crowd, however, wore serious expressions as they pulled their juniors aside to warn them.
This guy is dangerous. Extremely dangerous.
“Some of them are already looking at me differently. Seems like Liyue has its fair share of skilled people.”
In a modest tea pavilion, Gu Sanqiu and Tartaglia sat across from each other with plates of snacks and cups of tea. The nearby patrons, especially the women, kept sneaking glances at Tartaglia.
Of course, the snacks were free, gifted by the owner who recognized Tartaglia as a walking “customer magnet.”
“What did you expect? Everyone here qualifies as a skilled individual. It’s perfectly normal for a few old-timers to recognize that you’re a killer.”
Gu Sanqiu scanned the area. “Although, it seems like the ones most interested in you are these folks.”
“No worries, I’m used to it.”
Tartaglia responded coolly, exuding the confidence of someone who knew he was attractive and choosing to ignore Gu’s teasing.
“Very confident. Now, I’m looking forward to watching you perform. What do you say?”
Gu Sanqiu gestured outside, and Tartaglia realized it was time for him to take the stage.
“By the way, as a Fengxiang Clan member, couldn’t you just get me straight into the finals or something? Fighting all these kids feels pointless.”
“I don’t have that kind of pull.”
Gu Sanqiu watched Tartaglia walk toward the arena. Sure, he could pull some strings with the Fengxiang name, but that would only bring trouble to himself.
Besides, if Tartaglia went straight to the finals, what about all those fodder opponents waiting to be crushed?
“All of these guys probably get called geniuses back home. Now, your strong, confident, sunshine-filled Brother Tartaglia is here to give you a reality check.”
“Excuse me, could we ask… what’s your friend’s name?”
A few young girls, cheeks flushed, approached Gu Sanqiu nervously. “We’d like to… you know… meet him. Would that be possible?”
Gu Sanqiu: …
I forgot about this whole mess.
“You must be the foreigner here to participate?”
Tartaglia’s first opponent looked curious but followed proper etiquette, cupping his hands in a respectful gesture. “I am Luo Qi of Hundred Blade Mountain. Please, enlighten me.”
Tartaglia paused, almost introducing himself as an executive officer of the Fatui, but he quickly caught himself.
“Yes, I’m Tartaglia, a visitor from abroad. Let’s have a good match.”
It won’t be long before I can’t introduce myself like this anymore.
He summoned his weapon. “Let’s begin!”
“A bow user, huh?”
Luo Qi was surprised but courteously backed up to ensure there was enough distance between them.
“This is interesting.”
Tartaglia’s eyes gleamed. As soon as the referee gave the signal, his right hand twitched like it had been electrified.
Smack!
Luo Qi was sent flying backward, a dazed expression on his face, even after landing on the ground, still wondering what had just happened.
“Impressive.”
In one corner of the arena, a group of elders—sect leaders or representatives—were gathered, their expressions admiring.
“Remarkable strength. His grasp of combat timing is exceptional. And the most impressive part is that he’s still so young.”
“He held back. Otherwise, my boy would have had all four limbs pierced before realizing what was happening.”
One elder chuckled. “But for a foreigner to have such decorum, he must have some understanding of our Liyue customs. Not exactly a scholar, but at least well-read.”
“Indeed, impressive.”
“With someone like that in the mix, it looks like there’s no question about who’ll take the top spot among the younger generation this year.”
The elders exchanged knowing glances, grinning at each other.
“It seems we’re all of the same mind. You’re all just looking forward to seeing your juniors get knocked around, aren’t you?”
“Hmph. Normally, when they spar, none of them are willing to back down. Now that someone’s here to put them in their place—and he’s polite to boot—what’s the harm?”
A few of the older men were unfazed. “Back in the day, when our kids misbehaved, we’d give them a beating, and they’d straighten out. But with our grandkids, we’ve got to maintain a dignified image. Can’t be too harsh on them.”
“I recall that this young man arrived with another fellow. Should we bring him a gift and express our gratitude?”
“He’s done us a great service. No matter who wins the Everflame Seed, we shouldn’t skimp on our thanks.”
“Well said.”
In just a few casual words, the elders had already come to an agreement. Watching Tartaglia dominate the arena—strictly speaking, annihilate his opponents—only made them like him more.
“Do you think that young man is married? Our sect has plenty of suitable young women. Maybe…”
“Have some shame! Doing that would ruin our sect’s reputation. Do you want us to be the laughingstock of Minlin for the next fifty years?”
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