The First Round

Three days passed quickly, and as the morning light of the fourth day pierced the thin mist above the valley, the first martial arts tournament of the Fire Tribe officially began.

The largest training ground in the center of the valley had already been set up. One hundred and sixty simple arenas were arranged in a neat grid pattern. Each arena was about 15 steps long and wide, with spacious open spaces between them for spectators, contestants and referees to move around.

On a high platform to the north of the training ground, a makeshift platform was erected. High-ranking members of the tribe, including Jianshi and Qingye, sat there, overlooking the entire arena. Yan, however, was not seated there; he was also a participant. Although Yan was not yet an adult, no one in the Fire Tribe treated him like a child anymore. He was now the highest-ranking leader of the two-thousand -Youth Team, had participated in the battle against the Wolf Tribe at Wild Boar Gully, and had also led troops to severely damage the Wolf Tribe outside the White Pig Tribe. Recently, he even killed Tujiu from the Wolf Tribe in the north! Yan's reputation in the tribe was growing rapidly; even some veteran warriors dared not underestimate him! Although Yan was not yet an adult, he was specially permitted to participate in this martial arts tournament!

Yan was standing with 3,200 soldiers in the area designated for the contestants below the stage.

The morning breeze was slightly chilly. Some veteran soldiers stood calmly with their arms crossed; some young soldiers nervously flexed their wrists and ankles; and there were also well-known warriors like Dabang and Dali, who naturally left a small circle around them, an invisible zone drawn by the awe and anticipation of everyone's gaze.

Jianshi stood up from the podium, walked to the front, and spoke into the loudspeaker. His Chenwen, resonant voice clearly echoed throughout the arena, "Warriors of the Fire Tribe! Fellow tribesmen!"

The noisy place fell silent instantly, and everyone's eyes were focused on the chief who had led the tribe from humble beginnings to prosperity.

"Today marks the start of the Fire Tribe's first martial arts tournament!" Jianshi's gaze slowly swept over each warrior below the stage as he continued loudly, "The purpose of this tournament is to show us just how brave and powerful the warriors of the Fire Tribe are! It is also to select the true strongest through this competition, the pillars of the tribe's future!"

He paused, then spoke with even greater conviction, "Whether you come from the main tribe or from a newly joined group; whether you are veterans or newcomers who have just taken up arms, on this arena, you have only one identity—warriors of the Fire Tribe! Show your skills and your bravery! But remember, those standing opposite you are your own brothers. In this contest, stop when you've made your point!"

"Now," Jianshi gestured, pointing to several large wooden crates on the sidelines, "Begin the draw! To determine your first opponent!"

A long queue immediately formed at the lottery area. Beside the wooden crate, a dozen registrars stood ready. Yan moved forward with the flow of people. When it was his turn, he reached into the opening of the crate, his fingertips tracing among the countless small wooden pieces, randomly pinching one and pulling it out. The piece was about two fingers wide, and a symbol—"one hundred and eighty"—was clearly drawn on it in charcoal.

The registrar took the wooden piece, found the corresponding number in a huge animal hide register, and quickly wrote down Yan's name. The whole process was swift and orderly.

About half an hour later, all the registrations were completed. With a loud Niujiao call from the chief referee, 3,200 warriors holding numbered tickets walked out of the crowd and, according to the instructions, went to their respective arenas—arenas numbered one through one hundred and sixty. Each arena had twenty people, and each arena would hold ten matches, thus completing the first round of matches.

Yan walked to his arena, where twenty competitors and an old warrior serving as referee had already gathered. The referee, with a serious expression, reiterated the rules. "Those who hear their number called, step into the arena. To concede, leave the ring, or fall to the ground and not rise for three breaths is to lose. You must not attack vital points, and you must not use any means outside the rules. Understand?"

Everyone nodded in unison, and soon, the first pair of duelists took to the stage. One of them was someone Yan recognized—a warrior from the Bison Tribe, now one of the leaders of the Fire Tribe's Hunting Team, Mangu. He was tall and burly, and the training spear in his hand looked thicker than the others. His opponent was an unfamiliar young man, thin and wielding a slender build. Judging from his appearance, he was probably a member of a small tribe that Yan had recently brought back from the north.

"Start!" the referee waved.

Mangu let out a low growl, but did not immediately launch a fierce attack. Instead, he pressed forward with Chenwen steps. His opponent was obviously a little nervous, gripping his spear tightly with both hands and staring intently at Mangu's movements.

Three breaths later, Mangu moved. His seemingly clumsy body burst forth with astonishing speed. He took a step forward and swung his wooden spear at his opponent with a whooshing sound. The young man hurriedly raised his spear to block.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, the wooden spear in the young man's hand was knocked out of his grasp by the blow from the Mangu. He himself was also thrown back by the Dali the blow, falling to the ground with a thud, his face full of astonishment and embarrassment.

Mangu sheathed his spear and stood still, not giving chase. The young man was stunned for a moment, then shook his head and smiled bitterly. He got up on his own and silently walked out of the arena.

"Mandal One, Mangu wins!" the referee announced loudly.

Clean and neat, with a huge disparity in strength, the onlookers in the ring chatted in low voices and looked at Mangu with a more solemn look. Mangu grinned honestly, walked to the winner's waiting area next to the ring, and sat down quietly.

"Prepare for the second match!" the referee shouted. "Number 180, Yan, versus Fuji."

Yan stepped onto the arena, and his opponent had already entered. It was "Teng," the man whose name the referee had just called. He was a young man in his early twenties, thin, with dark skin and rough hands, clearly someone who had done manual labor for many years. His gaze towards Yan was very complex, containing tension, awe, and even a hint of... helplessness?

Yan recognized him; he was a newcomer to the Fire Tribe from the Green River on the east bank of the Fish River. After some time, his complexion had improved, but he was still weak.

"Begin!" the referee commanded.

Yan held his spear, adopting a standard starting stance, and calmly looked at his opponent. However, Muteng's next move surprised everyone. He looked at the wooden spear in his hand, then at Yan, who was composed and already famous in the tribe. He moved his lips a few times, then suddenly put the wooden spear on the ground and addressed the referee.

"Referee, I concede." His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. "I'm no match for Leader Yan."

There was a moment of silence in the arena. The referee was somewhat surprised, but after looking at the vast difference in status, fame, and physical strength between the two sides, he understood the choice. He nodded and looked at Yan.

Yan was slightly taken aback, then withdrew his stance. He could understand the other party's thoughts—for these new tribesmen who had just escaped hunger, were grateful to the Fire Tribe, and were somewhat unfamiliar with it, fighting against a "big shot" like Yan, who was both the chief's son and had repeatedly made military achievements, might be more daunting than the difference in strength. Taking the initiative to admit defeat was also a good choice.

"Yan wins the second match!" the referee announced.

Yan nodded to Teng and said gently, "Let's spar again next time we have the chance."

Teng seemed relieved, gave Yan a grateful look, and hurriedly retreated.

Yan walked to the winners' section and sat down next to Mangu. Mangu winked at him and whispered, "Leader Yan, you won with less effort than I did."

Yan smiled. "Just luck." His gaze swept over the other arenas, where battles were raging. Shouts, the clanging of wooden weapons, and the cheers of the audience mingled together, creating a lively atmosphere. Just as he had predicted, in the first round, most of the newcomers who had joined recently and whose bodies were not yet fully recovered were quickly defeated. But there were some exceptions—he saw a tall, thin young man from the Stone River region who, with his agile footwork and precise Thrust, actually forced a robust veteran from the main force out of the circle.

"It seems there are some promising talents," Yan thought to himself.

The morning's competition proceeded quickly, with 160 arenas operating simultaneously. Before noon, all 1,600 matches of the first round were completed. Some were elated, while others were dejected, but the vast majority adhered to the rules of the competition.

The referees from each arena led their ten winners to the registration area on the side of the main stage for registration, followed by a second round of drawing lots. With half the number of participants, the drawing process was much faster. Yan reached into the wooden box again, and this time the piece of wood he pulled out was marked with the number "three hundred and forty".

After registration, there was a break and lunch break of more than an hour. The organizers set up a large pot by the field and provided food. The soldiers gathered in twos and threes, eating and discussing the morning's battles with great enthusiasm.

Yan sat on a Shitou, holding a wooden bowl, eating quietly. He noticed that the strong players who easily won in the first round, such as Dabang, Dali, and Dazhuang, were surrounded by many people asking for advice or flattering them. Meanwhile, many other warriors who had won, like himself, were silently reviewing their performance or whispering with acquaintances.

"Leader Yan." A voice rang out from the side. Yan looked up and saw Teng, his opponent who had won without a fight that morning. Teng was also holding a bowl and stood there somewhat awkwardly.

"Sit down." Yan pointed to the Shitou beside him.

Teng hesitated for a moment, then sat down and sipped her soup with her head down.

"Don't worry about what happened this morning," Yan said, taking the initiative. "A martial arts competition isn't just about strength and skill; sometimes, assessing the situation and making choices is also a form of wisdom, which is good."

Teng raised her head, a hint of surprise in her eyes, which quickly turned to gratitude. "Thank you... thank you, Chief Yan. I... I wasn't afraid, I just felt I couldn't win, so I decided to admit defeat. I... I will work hard for the tribe in other places!"

Yan nodded and said no more. He knew that it would take time for these new clansmen to develop a sense of identity and belonging. The martial arts tournament was an opportunity, but not the whole story.

The afternoon sun dispelled the chill of the morning, and as the sound of the Niujiao horn echoed through the valley once more, the eight hundred warriors who had emerged victorious from the first round of battles regrouped in the center of the arena.

The second round of competition is about to begin, and the atmosphere is noticeably more tense than in the morning. After the first round of selection, those who remain are undoubtedly the more capable or experienced, reducing the element of chance. The real competition is now just beginning.

Yan gripped the training spear in his hand, his gaze calmly searching for the arena corresponding to number "340".