The air smelled of ozone and frozen earth as Lin Hao approached the training grounds. His breath crystallized into fractal patterns that dissolved against Four Treabytes' heated wing feathers. The ranking monolith loomed ahead, its polished surface reflecting distorted versions of passing students—elongated limbs and bulbous heads twisting in the morning light.

  Meridian energy pulsed beneath Lin Hao's skin, Fourth Channel resonating with the arena's ancient defensive arrays. He counted seventeen concealed weapons among the queuing students: poisoned hairpins, vibro-blades hidden in scroll cases, a thermite capsule disguised as a jade pendant.

  "Fresh meat for the grinder," sneered a fifth-year with scar tissue mapping his jawline. His companions chuckled, their laughter cutting through the scent of pine resin and nervous sweat.

  Four Treabytes' ocular sensors zoomed on the ranking stone's apex. The name "Yan Chen" blazed crimson, its characters dripping phantom blood that only Lin Hao's augmented vision could detect. The mechanical parrot's talons tightened—a subconscious threat response to royal pheromones lingering in the air.

  The queue lurched forward as fifty students staggered from the arena platform. One first-year collapsed vomiting black bile, his neural implants smoking from simulated dragonfire. Lin Hao's olfactory filters cataloged the stench: 63% adrenaline metabolites, 22% phantom burn tissue, 15% void essence residue.

  "Registration." A student administrator slapped a jade token against Lin Hao's palm, its surface already warming to his biometric signature. "Death clause waiver applies. Next!"

  Yan Fengjun's arrival disrupted the queue's rhythm. The prince's boots crunched frost-coated gravel in precise military cadence, his royal guard's plasma rifles humming at frequencies that made Four Treabytes' feathers stand erect.

  "Blind mice shouldn't play with fire," Yan Fengjun drawled, adjusting a fur-lined cloak smelling of ambergris and cruelty. His gaze lingered on Lin Hao's ocular implants, pupils dilating with predatory interest. "Though watching you crawl naked through snow might prove entertaining."

  Lin Hao's tongue pressed against a concealed toxin capsule. "A billion taels says I outrank you."

  The crowd's indrawn breath lowered the temperature by 0.7°C. Yan Fengjun's cheek twitched—microexpression F-312: suppressed rage masking financial anxiety. His retainer lunged, knuckle dusters crackling with illegal stun charges.

  Four Treabytes' beak snapped open. A lightning bolt smelling of burnt almonds lanced through frozen air, ionizing path visible only to Lin Hao's enhanced sight. The retainer's scream harmonized with the thunderclap, his collapsing body triggering seven hidden weapons among bystanders.

  Yan Fengjun's counterstroke flowed like poisoned mercury. Bone cracked beneath his fist—not Lin Hao's ribs, but his own retainer's spine. The sound of vertebrae shattering echoed off the ranking stone, its surface momentarily flickering with emergency runes.

  "Terms accepted." The prince's voice carried the ultrasonic harmonics of a lie detector overload. His signet ring projected holographic contracts smelling of legal nanites. "Prepare to beggar yourself."

  The arena platform thrummed to life as Lin Hao ascended. Frost patterns bloomed beneath his boots—ancient containment seals awakening layer by layer. Four Treabytes' wings stiffened as illusion matrices engaged, its tungsten feathers vibrating at 666Hz—the exact resonance frequency of human terror.

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  Reality dissolved into screaming void.

  Firearms of the Ancients

  The air tasted of iron filings and frozen contempt. Lin Hao's nostrils flared as Yan Fengjun's royal pheromones clashed with the arena's ozone stench—sandalwood arrogance versus machine oil pragmatism. Four Treabytes' talons etched microscopic grooves in the ranking monolith, its photoreceptors analyzing the prince's gold card.

  "Verification protocols engaged." The mechanical parrot's beak clacked like a vault lock. "Currency authentication: 69.56 million taels. Collateral deficiency: 30.44 million."

  Yan Fengjun's jaw muscle twitched at 4.3Hz—a telltale frequency of aristocratic panic. His black jade signet ring emitted subsonic vibrations that made nearby students clutch their temples. Lin Hao's cochlear implants neutralized the attack, converting the ultrasonic assault into a pleasant chime reminiscent of wind bells.

  The prince unsheathed his blade with a sound like tearing silk. Obsidian steel shimmered with captive starlight, its edge singing a harmonics that triggered phantom cuts on spectators' cheeks. "The Black Obsidian Blade," Yan Fengjun sneered, "carved from meteorite core during the Sundering Epoch. Its value exceeds your bloodline's accumulated worth."

  Lin Hao's thermal vision detected residual radiation signatures—proof of the weapon's extraterrestrial origin. He smiled, tasting the metallic tang of cosmic particles on his tongue. "Adequate collateral."

  As Lin Hao ascended the arena platform, frost crystals bloomed beneath his boots in fractal patterns matching Fourth Meridian's energy flow. The illusion matrix engaged with a sound like shattering stained glass, its resonance frequencies bypassing ocular nerves to project vision directly into his optic cortex.

  Colors exploded—emerald grass where stone should be, azure skies bleeding prismatic hues. Lin Hao's hands trembled at the miracle of restored sight. He blinked at phantom sunlight filtering through non-existent leaves, each beam containing encrypted data packets about the simulation's parameters.

  The first attacker materialized from swirling pollen. Lin Hao's military training took over—muscle memory from a thousand VR combat drills. His conjured AK-47 smelled of gun oil and nostalgia, its weight an anchor in the kaleidoscopic madness.

  Bang.

  The gunshot echoed with physicality the illusion shouldn't permit. Synthetic blood mist carried the acrid sting of cordite. Four kills later, the arena's external display lit like a festival lantern—crimson streaks representing disintegrated combat drones.

  Yan Fengjun's retainer vomited bile that steamed against frozen flagstones. "Impossible! The blind cripple's meridian channels don't—"

  "Silence." The prince's whisper froze spittle mid-air. His ocular implants zoomed on Lin Hao's convulsing simulation avatar, analyzing the impossible kill rates. Ancient defense runes beneath the arena began pulsing in time with AK-47 reports—a synchronization that shouldn't exist between alien technologies.

  Lin Hao's seventh victim dissolved into fireflies. The simulation escalated—enemies now spawning with Tower Shield formations and plasma casters. He switched tactics, materializing an M134 Minigun that roared like an angry god. Brass casings fell like metallic rain, each impact ringing with the purity of temple bells.

  External observers saw only crimson streaks multiplying. The ranking monolith trembled as "Lin Hao" carved through its lower tiers—879th... 643rd... 217th... Each ascension accompanied by ozone bursts from overloaded stabilization crystals.

  Yan Fengjun's gold card cracked along its imperial seal. "Cease this farce!" His roar contained frequencies that shattered nearby icicles. "The peasant employs forbidden—"

  "All weapons derive from personal experience." Gu Yunle's interruption carried the smug certainty of a poker champion revealing a royal flush. His breath fog formed temporary runes in the air—anti-eavesdropping glyphs from the Black Market's lexicon. "Our blind friend here once fondled enough steel to arm a battalion. Quite the... tactile learner."

  The simulation climaxed in ultraviolet fury. Lin Hao stood amidst dissolving mech suits, his conjured railgun smoking from a kill shot that had pierced twelve enemies. The ranking monolith's apex flared—blood-red letters rearranging as "Yan Chen" yielded to a new champion.