The Heavenly Dragon Descendant (Rewritten)

Chapter one

The arena was a cauldron of energy and fervor, every seat filled and every eye riveted to the spectacle unfolding before them. The air was thick with the acrid tang of smoke, punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of thousands of hearts. This was the pinnacle of the continent's martial arts tournament, the grand finals that drew spectators from across the lands.

From the periphery of the arena, a voice cut through the din, resonating with a powerful clarity:

"I am the martial artist who will rise above all others, who will be the greatest of my generation, who will prove the importance and beauty of martial arts to the world. I am Han Nian."

The smoke began to thin, and the raucous cheers of the crowd swelled to a crescendo. Emerging from the haze was Han Nian, a figure as imposing as he was enigmatic. The young prodigy moved with an air of predatory grace, his reputation as a "beast in human form" preceding him. His mastery of swordplay and spear techniques was legendary, whispered in awe and fear across the continent.

As the smoke dissipated fully, Han Nian's striking appearance came into sharp relief. His long, white hair was swept back by the wind, flowing like a stream of silver against the backdrop of the arena.

His black tunic cloak, adorned with subtle yet intricate embroidery, billowed dramatically behind him. A mask covered his face from nose to jaw, leaving only his piercing golden eyes visible. These eyes, bright and intense, seemed to capture and reflect every flicker of light around them. His pale yellow arms, concealed by long sleeves, gripped his sword with a practiced ease.

With an unflinching resolve, Han Nian advanced towards the battle ring. Despite his youth, he had been wielding swords since he could walk. This tournament, though fiercely competitive, was familiar territory for him.

He had clinched victory twice before, and today, he sought a hat-trick—a third consecutive win to etch his name permanently in the annals of martial arts history. Achieving such a feat at sixteen was nearly unheard of, but Han Nian was acutely aware of the perils of overconfidence. In martial arts, humility was as crucial as skill.

The whispers about his opponent had reached him, each fragment of information treated with the utmost seriousness. As Han Nian reached the base of the ring, he leapt into the arena, his movements a blur of practiced precision.

His opponent stood across from him—a hulking figure with a scarred visage, his bald head gleaming under the arena lights. His beefy nose, full lips, and bulging eyes gave him a brutish appearance. His torso, covered in a mat of coarse hair, was only partially concealed by tattered pants. Han Nian had to tilt his head upwards to meet the man's gaze.

The opponent's laughter boomed like thunder across the arena. "Hahaha! This is my first time in the continent's martial arts tournament. After facing formidable foes in every round, I find myself facing a mere rat in the finals? How did you win twice in a row? Surely, there's some trickery involved. Surrender now, and I might just spare your pathetic life."

Han Nian's voice was calm, yet carried an undertone of steel. "Senior, no need to be frustrated. Let us exchange a few pointers."

"Very well then," his opponent replied, hefting a massive flail with a thick chain and a spiked metal ball. The weapon was formidable, its size and weight suggesting immense destructive power.

The fight commenced with explosive energy. The opponent swung the flail with surprising speed, its spiked ball a blur as it whistled through the air. Han Nian ducked deftly, feeling the gust of wind from the weapon's close pass.

Another swing came crashing towards his shoulder, but Han Nian sidestepped with fluid grace. Despite his opponent's imposing size, his speed was only a fraction slower than Han Nian's, making him a rare challenge.

"You are interesting, kid," the opponent remarked, noticing Han Nian's nonchalant stance. "But I see you haven't drawn your sword yet."

"Not yet, senior," Han Nian replied. "The time isn't right."

The opponent's attacks grew more frenetic, closing the gap in speed and ferocity. Han Nian observed the pattern with keen focus. The initial three strikes were executed with blinding speed, but the fourth always lagged slightly. Han Nian exploited this weakness, waiting for the perfect moment amidst the barrage of blows.

As the flail swung again, Han Nian sidestepped the first strike, ducked under the second, and evaded the third. The fourth strike came, slower as anticipated. Han Nian drew his sword in a swift, fluid motion, the blade arcing upward with deadly precision. The sharp edge sliced through the opponent's flesh, eliciting a pained shriek. Blood spurted from the wound, mingling with the arena's dust and smoke.

Seizing the opportunity, Han Nian lunged forward. For the first time, he saw genuine fear in his opponent's eyes. His sword found its mark, thrusting into the man's throat with unerring accuracy. The opponent's attempt to speak dissolved into a gurgling choke as blood gushed from the fatal wound.

"You... you..." the opponent gasped, his voice a mere whisper in the sea of pain.

"It seems senior has lost and is gravely injured," Han Nian remarked coolly, withdrawing his sword with a practiced motion.

The opponent crumpled to the ground, his life slipping away. Han Nian stood victorious, his presence commanding the arena's attention. The deafening cheers of the crowd were a testament to his skill and determination.

Though this victory marked a significant milestone in his journey, Han Nian knew the path to becoming the continent's greatest martial artist was already complete. Each battle, each victory, was a step towards his ultimate goal which he had just accomplished, his next step yet undecided but for now he savored his victory.