Villain System in a Cultivation World

Song Changge fixed his gaze on Qin Ting, who stood poised before him like a figure carved from starlit jade. A scoff echoed in his chest, unvoiced but bitter. 'Pretending to be some descended god, are we?' he sneered inwardly. Yet a shiver of unease flickered through him, chilling the edges of his bravado. 

That effortless display of spatial mastery moments ago—shrinking the sky to a single step—had left even him, a veteran of countless battles, with a faint throb of vertigo. He steadied himself, his confidence surging back as he recalled his new strength. The Divine Spirit Realm was his now, a realm beyond Qin Ting's grasp. 

'Foolish Qin Ting,' he mused darkly, 'no matter how refined your arts, my superior power will grind you into the dust today!'

Song Changge let out a low, throaty laugh, his voice cutting through the charged air. 

"Junior Brother Qin, our last clash opened my eyes wide. I retreated into seclusion, chasing a breakthrough—and, well, I've reaped a modest harvest." His tone dripped with false humility, a predator toying with its prey. "I couldn't resist rushing here to share a little 'exchange of the Dao' with you."

Qin Ting's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his eyes glinting like polished jade under the morning sun. "That's for the best, Senior Brother. Truth be told, I feared I'd struck too deep last time—shattered your Dao and left you a hollow shell. Seeing you so spirited now, unafraid and brimming with vigor… it eases my heart."

Song Changge's face darkened, storm clouds brewing behind his eyes. He sneered, baring a flash of teeth. "Junior Brother's tongue is as sharp as ever. Pity this duel won't be won with clever words."

Qin Ting's gaze slid over him, cool and unperturbed, as if sizing up a child's tantrum. "It seems the lesson I dealt you last time fell short," he said, his voice a blade sheathed in silk. "Fortunately, I've gleaned a small insight of my own recently. I'll trouble Senior Brother to be my sparring partner once more."

'Arrogant whelp!' Song Changge's blood simmered, a cold laugh escaping his throat as fury flared in his chest. With a surge of intent, he unleashed his power. Nine divine wheels erupted from between his brows, each a radiant golden orb pulsing with the weight of an unshakable Dao. 

They hovered in a halo, their light casting sharp shadows across the stage. Behind him, a blazing sun materialized—fierce, molten, and vast—its heat warping the air as tendrils of flame licked the sky. This was the Great Sun Reincarnation Secret Code, a celestial art in full, resplendent bloom.

Gasps and shouts erupted from the tiers below, the crowd reeling in awe. "Nine divine wheels!" a disciple cried, voice trembling with reverence. "Senior Brother Song's reached the pinnacle of the Divine Wheel Realm—but has he truly breached the Divine Spirit Realm like the rumors claim?"

The stage trembled faintly under the sun's radiance, the standoff poised on a razor's edge.

Song Changge's cold laughter sliced through the charged air of the Battle Stage, sharp and venomous as a viper's hiss. "Junior Brother Qin, I'd advise you to concede now. This stage knows no mercy—neither life nor death holds sway here. Should I, your Senior Brother, misjudge my newfound strength and shatter your Dao Foundation, what a pity it would be. The Xuantian Sect would weep too soon for the fall of its precious son."

The words dripped with malice, a trap forged with cruel precision. If Qin Ting bowed his head before the watching throng, the shame would burrow into his soul—an inner demon to haunt his cultivation for a lifetime, stunting his ascent forever. Yet if he stood firm, Song Changge could strike without restraint, his brutality cloaked by the warning he'd so 'graciously' delivered. The crowd could only watch, bound by the unspoken rules of the stage.

Qin Ting's lips curved into a smile, sharp and fearless, his voice laced with an arrogance that cut deeper than any blade. "No need to trouble yourself, Senior Brother. Unleash your full might—perhaps then you'll stand a fleeting chance."

Song Changge had hungered for that defiance. The moment Qin Ting's words landed, a feral roar erupted from his throat, his black hair whipping wildly in an unseen wind. His eyes blazed with divine light, twin suns igniting within their depths, as the nine Daos of his Divine Wheel surged forth. Each pulsed with a raw, untamed power, their astral forms weaving into radiant streams—ribbons of molten flame that scorched the air and pressed down upon the heavens themselves.

He had steeped himself in the Great Sun Reincarnation Secret Code since childhood, its essence fusing with his very being. Every Dao thrummed with the true qi of the sun, a force magnified tenfold beneath the midday sky, where the sun blazed at its zenith. The stage trembled under his momentum, the earth shuddering as if buckling before an apocalypse. 

Light bent, shadows fled, and the air itself seemed to wail—a cataclysmic display worthy of the True Disciple he was, handpicked from thousands by the Xuantian Sect's discerning gaze. In strength and cultivation, he towered above his peers, a colossus among men.

From the elder's perch, a grizzled figure clad in robes of ember-red leaned forward, his eyes alight with approval. "Song Changge proves himself the prized disciple of Extreme Sun Peak's Master Li," he declared, his voice a gravelly rumble that carried over the crowd. "This mastery of the Great Sun Reincarnation Secret Code—flawless, radiant, unyielding. Indeed, the talent of our new generation has surpassed the old!"

Disciples in the stands nodded fervently, their voices rising in a chorus of awe. "Senior Brother Song's technique is overwhelming—such grandeur! This is the might befitting our sect's heavenly geniuses!"

Song Changge stood amidst the chaos he'd wrought, his gaze locked on Qin Ting. 'Let's see you match this, prodigy,' he sneered inwardly, the heat of his intent as blistering as the power he wielded. 'Your legend ends here.'

Feng Qianhan's lips curved into a cold, satisfied smile as he watched Song Changge unleash his Dao—a torrent of searing flames spiraling toward Qin Ting like the wrath of a vengeful sun. He could already taste the moment: Qin Ting battered into the dirt, his pristine reputation ground to dust beneath Song's heel. The thought sent a thrill through him, sharp and bitter as winter frost.

He'd never cared for his Junior Brother Qin. Years ago, Feng Qianhan had clawed his way to the rank of True Disciple through blood and ruin, each step a battle against odds that would've broken lesser souls. His hands still bore the scars of those trials, calloused and unyielding. 

Qin Ting, though? The sect had handed him the same title on a silver platter—crowned not for struggle, but for his Vermillion Palace Divine Body and the weight of the Qin Family's imperial lineage. Jealousy had festered in Feng Qianhan's heart ever since, a quiet venom that now bubbled to the surface. Seeing Qin Ting on the brink of disgrace felt like justice, and it was delicious.

"Senior Brother Luo," he said, turning with a smirk that didn't reach his icy eyes, "it seems your Seven-Colored Glass Flower will be adorning my pavilion soon."

Luo Yuan's gaze lingered on the Battle Stage, his expression calm as a still pond. A faint smile played on his lips as he thought, 'The victor's yet to be crowned, Brother, and here you are counting spoils like an eager merchant.' Out loud, he merely tilted his head and said nothing, letting the silence speak.

Feng Qianhan sneered a low sound that promised retribution and returned his attention to the clash below.

Qin Ting stood unshaken at the stage's center, a pillar of serenity amidst the storm. Nine streams of flame roared toward him, each a molten serpent primed to devour. Yet as they closed in, he raised a single finger—slender, almost delicate—and flicked it with the casual grace of brushing dust from a sleeve. The flames shattered mid-flight, dissolving into a cascade of glowing ashes that swirled through the air like lost fireflies. 

Song Changge's body jolted as if struck by an invisible hammer. His eyes widened, disbelief warring with fury as he staggered back dozens of steps, each one a thunderclap against the obsidian floor. The force rippled through him, dissipating only when he dug his heels in, trembling with the effort to stand.

Feng Qianhan's smirk froze, then crumbled. His face darkened, the glee in his chest souring to ash.

Song Changge's shock ignited into rage. He opened his mouth to bellow, but Qin Ting gave him no quarter. With a step that warped the air itself, Qin Ting struck—his palm descending from on high like a celestial edict. The strike was majestic, radiant with the weight of a moon's fall and a sun's ascent. Spiritual energy wove through it, threads of the Dao shimmering in patterns that twisted into a grand, runic tapestry. It crashed down, an unstoppable tide.

Song Changge roared, his voice a furnace of defiance. He poured every ounce of his cultivation into a desperate counter, his body igniting like a sun god reborn. His hands blurred through seals, and a crimson sword energy erupted skyward, coiling into a blazing palace of blades. Within its fiery walls, dozens of shadowy figures danced in unison—a sword formation alive with intent. The sky churned as surging sword qi slashed through the void, a dragon of flame weaving unpredictably through the heavens.

Yet the moment it met Qin Ting's palm, the palace faltered. A heartbeat later, it fractured—then vanished, swallowed into nothingness as if it had never been. The sword qi dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving only silence in its wake.

In the span of a heartbeat, the Battle Stage erupted into a tempest of clashing powers. Qin Ting and Song Changge traded dozens of blows, their movements a blur of light and shadow that dazzled the eye. 

Song Changge staggered, his once-proud stance crumbling with each step—blood flecked his lips, his breaths came in ragged gasps, and his silk robes hung in tattered disarray. By contrast, Qin Ting flowed through the chaos like a river unbroken, his purple robes barely ruffled, his expression a mask of serene indifference. A faint smile played at the corners of his lips, as if this duel were little more than a morning stroll.

Below, the crowd stood transfixed, their earlier cheers swallowed by stunned silence. How swiftly the tides had turned! Mere moments ago, Song Changge had strode onto the stage wreathed in the invincible aura of a conqueror, his breakthrough to the Divine Spirit Realm a blazing banner of triumph. Now, he teetered on the edge of defeat, a broken figure against Qin Ting's unshakable calm.

Among the elders perched in the stands, those aligned with the Qin Family exhaled in quiet relief, their weathered faces softening with pride. One, a stooped figure with eyes like polished jade, murmured to his neighbor, "Worthy of Emperor Qin's bloodline, indeed. He wields power like a young sovereign—untouchable, supreme among his peers!"

On the stage, Song Changge wiped a trickle of blood from his chin, his hair whipping wildly in the wind summoned by their clash. His eyes burned with a venomous fury as he snarled, 

"Junior Brother Qin, I'll grant you this—you're formidable. But your reign ends here!" With a roar, he thrust his hands forward, and a radiant spiritual palace shimmered into existence between his brows. From its luminous depths emerged a Divine Spirit—a towering phantom wreathed in searing flame, its presence a harbinger of ruin.

The air ignited. Waves of fire roared across the Battle Stage like a cataclysm unleashed, scorching the obsidian surface and sending tremors through the mountain itself. Song Changge's hair flared like a halo of embers, his gaze twin infernos as he transformed. No longer a mere cultivator, he stood as an ancient demon god reborn, his aura a molten tide that threatened to drown all in its path.

The Divine Spirit coiled and reshaped, forging itself into a blazing magic sword—an artifact of such raw power that it eclipsed every technique Song Changge had wielded before. With a single slash, it met the giant palm Qin Ting had conjured moments earlier—a shimmering construct of spiritual energy—and shattered it into fragments. The palm dissolved into motes of light, scattering like fireflies into the wind.

The crowd below erupted into chaos, voices rising in a frenzied crescendo. "A Divine Spirit! It's real—Song Changge has summoned a Divine Spirit!" one disciple shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief.

"Impossible!" another gasped, clutching the railing as if to steady himself. "A Divine Spirit cultivator under forty—he's truly stepped into the Divine Spirit Realm!"

Though whispers of Song Changge's breakthrough had circulated like smoke through the sect, rumors were frail things—easily dismissed until proven in the crucible of combat. Now, the truth blazed before their eyes, undeniable and awe-inspiring. "To see it with my own eyes…" a wiry youth muttered, his hands trembling. "A supreme genius like this—a Divine Spirit master before forty! You'd be lucky to find one in a century!"

The elders nodded gravely, their thoughts echoing the crowd's fervor. 'Countless cultivators languish in the Divine Wheel Realm for decades, even centuries,' they mused. 'To breach that wall before the weight of years claims you… Song Changge's talent is of a rare breed.'

Yet, as the flames of Song Changge's power licked the edges of the stage, all eyes drifted back to Qin Ting. Amid the inferno, he stood unshaken, his silhouette a quiet storm awaiting its moment to strike.