Chapter Sixteen: A Battle of Novices (From today, the daily two-chapter updates resume. Please recommend, bookmark, and support in any way you can!)

When the lightbrain was activated, one could easily search for information related to the “Institution Members Ranking Tournament.” The first thing to appear was the beautiful woman presiding over the event.

It was by no means an exaggeration to refer to this instructor as a beauty. She looked to be no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, her features flawless, her figure both slender and alluring. Dressed in a simple cocktail dress, she exuded a fresh elegance, every gesture captivating the hearts of those who watched her.

This Instructor Nina was far from unknown—within the institution, countless mentors and members had expressed their admiration and pursued her. Yet as a mentor, she was by no means a mere ornament; her abilities were formidable.

She was powerful enough to serve as a referee, able to halt any accident or tragedy in an instant. Her ability was a spatial auxiliary power, named “Hand of Time and Space,” which allowed her to instantly draw a target to her side from a certain distance.

Whenever a match was on the verge of disaster, a single thought from her would cause the threatened competitor to vanish from the arena and reappear at her side. Of course, should she intervene in such a manner, it meant the rescued party had lost the match.

In truth, the Earth Federation was notoriously careless and unscientific in naming abilities. The most representative was the bloodline mutation called “Demon.” This demonic power transformed its host into a being resembling the demons of ancient mythology, shrouded in black flames, their faces marked with brands and runes.

Scientifically, this transformation was actually due to a layer of “ash flame” substance enveloping the body, causing the mutation. Yet as abilities themselves defied the bounds of science, their names, too, had become wildly imaginative.

Continuing to browse the information, one would soon find the leading candidates for the championship, the top three being the most likely to win.

The first was a young man clad in a “Tang suit,” exuding the air of an ancient swordsman. He had sword-like brows, star-bright eyes, a lean figure, and carried a longsword, giving off a light, ethereal aura. His name was Tang Yun, contestant number 7, currently ranked seventeenth in the institution.

Next was a girl with a charming, playful look; her photo showed her sticking out her tongue and bending over in a cute pose. Her name was Hui Dongfang, contestant number 16, currently ranked thirteenth.

Then came a woman with distinctly Western features, named Mimi. Her figure was nothing short of striking—especially her chest, which threatened to burst from her clothes. Known as “the Big Sister with the Imposing Bust,” both her face and figure left a lasting impression. But to underestimate her would be a grave mistake, for she was the highest-ranked among this year’s competitors at twelfth place, contestant number 72.

Beyond these three, the rest were not as hotly favored, and their chances of victory were much lower. Xia Yan’s name appeared somewhere around the tenth or so position, described only briefly as “the mysterious transfer student.”

On this very day, the tournament began in earnest. The arena was filled to the brim, the stands packed, and crowds lingered outside, every citizen turning on their lightbrains to watch the live broadcast in real time.

As both host and referee, Instructor Nina’s appearance on stage ignited a frenzy; the uproar in the arena surged like a volcanic eruption.

After a brief introduction to the rules and the opening ceremony, the first match commenced: contestants number 17 and 21.

Number 17 was a green-haired girl, while number 21 was a youth in blue. One possessed a close-combat ability, the other a ranged power. As the close-combatant tried to close the distance, she was repeatedly blocked by her opponent’s ranged attacks. The ranged fighter maintained relentless pressure, employing a kiting strategy to gradually exhaust the close-combatant. In the end, the green-haired girl emerged victorious.

The matches moved quickly; under normal circumstances, each bout would last no more than three to five minutes. In a single day, all 112 preliminary matches would be completed, leaving 64 winners.

One match after another unfolded, each showcasing a dizzying array of abilities—testament to the marvels of human genetics.

“Number 55.”

Hearing his number called, Xia Yan immediately rose from the preparation area and strode to the center of the arena.

In truth, Xia Yan was motivated to win not only by the challenge but also by the rewards. First place offered a C-grade weapon and 50 contribution points; by selling the weapon and combining the proceeds with his points, he could easily amass two million credits.

Xia Yan glanced at his opponent—a burly young man, carrying no visible weapon.

“Will either contestant require a system-simulated weapon?” Instructor Nina asked, her gaze shifting between the two.

“I don’t need one,” the burly youth replied, shaking his head.

“I do,” Xia Yan responded with a nod.

With system-simulated weapons, matches could be decided using a health bar system. However, the format differed significantly from Xia Yan’s previous battle with Tao Lu.

For members who had not yet awakened their abilities, using system-simulated weapons was fair. Once one had developed an ability, it was a different matter entirely.

Any offensive ability surpassed a simulated melee weapon, and any ranged ability outclassed a simulated firearm. As a result, ability users rarely relied on simulated weapons in direct combat.

There was, however, one exception: system-simulated firearms. While real firearms were not banned from the tournament, direct attacks with them were prohibited. Victory with firearms could only be achieved using system-simulated guns.

“Very well. Once you’ve selected your weapons and confirmed your choices, I’ll announce the start of the match,” Instructor Nina said, nodding.

The burly youth made no move, but Xia Yan chose a system-simulated pistol.

“The match begins,” Instructor Nina declared.

From her discerning perspective, none of the earlier matches had featured truly powerful contestants. She wondered if this round would prove different.

As the match began, the burly youth charged at Xia Yan.

Xia Yan moved calmly, drawing his simulated pistol and firing at his opponent.

In the Sin Survivor Tournament, Xia Yan’s marksmanship had ranked first among all participants, even then, his physical development was far from the human limit.

Now, his body had surpassed ten percent development; his overall physical qualities were vastly improved, including his eyesight, and mental development had increased his computational ability as well.

A marksman’s skills rest upon keen eyesight and calculation.

He fired several shots in quick succession; ten crystalline blue bullets sped toward the burly youth.

“Dodge!” the burly contestant shouted, sprinting toward Xia Yan while making small evasive movements—clearly an experienced fighter.

Yet with each maneuver, his expression grew more strained.

He managed to dodge only two bullets before the third struck his left arm.

“Not good!” he thought, reacting swiftly as his arm took on a metallic sheen to block the bullet.

But as he turned his head, despair crossed his face.

Three bullets evaded—seven remained.

In the blink of an eye, the remaining bullets struck his body. He barely managed to defend with his metallic skin, yet his health bar continued to drop.

Once he blocked the last of the bullets, his health bar was completely depleted.

“What kind of marksmanship is this?” the burly youth thought in horror. Before the match, he’d practiced extensively; even if his opponent emptied an entire magazine at him, he should have been unscathed, his health bar barely touched. But facing Xia Yan, everything was different.

Every bullet was calculated to exploit his actions, targeting his greatest vulnerabilities. Once he’d dodged three shots, he could evade no more.

What was truly terrifying was that this was merely a system-simulated pistol, with power and bullet speed on par with a standard E-grade market pistol.

The burly youth knew just how limited simulated firearms were…

The audience watched in disappointment, a chorus of boos rising from the stands as their interest faded.

“Two newbies clashing—what a pitiful display!”

“If the outcome can be decided with guns, these two must be absolutely hopeless.”

“One just stands there shooting, the other runs and dodges. Are they really ability users? How embarrassing!”

“I thought all institution contestants could dodge bullets. Losing to a simulated gun is just shameful!”

“With so many competitors every year, there are always a couple of oddballs—can’t even meet the basic requirements, and they still compete!”

“I could do it myself—just pull the trigger on a simulated pistol and I’m an ability user, too. Ha!”

“That guy with the gun is probably a rookie—he’ll be out next round.”

“I think so, too. All these years watching the ranking tournament, I’ve never seen anyone win with a gun.”

“Not a single one.”

The audience looked down on both competitors. Even compared to the least noteworthy matches earlier, these two seemed the weakest, their abilities the most meager. Some even wondered if the entire ranking tournament was at this low level, whether coming was worth it at all.

As a result, everyone remembered Xia Yan as number 55—the lucky draw who faced the worst of the worst. Surely, he was doomed to lose in the next round.

Weak—truly too weak. Not worth mentioning.

Instructor Nina, however, gave Xia Yan a second look. As an ability user herself, her eyes saw what the crowd could not. Was a contestant who could win with just a simulated pistol really that simple?

She did not believe that Xia Yan’s opponent was so incompetent as to be undone by a simulated firearm. No, the problem lay with Xia Yan himself; his marksmanship had already surpassed ordinary understanding.

On the first day, Xia Yan’s match drew little attention and much ridicule; not a single spectator believed he would survive the second round. Many thought that, given the same weapon, they too could have beaten his opponent—after all, Xia Yan had faced the weakest of the weak.

His match became a running joke, dubbed “a battle of chickens pecking at each other.”