Reborn as the Last van Ambrose

The coliseum was loud as usual as Grim made his way through the competitors’ entrance. Today’s matches featured several high-profile contenders, and the arena was jam packed with peopke who wanted to see the day’s matches.

Grim’s white robes drew attention immediately. Since his match against Jin Tao, his appearance had become something of a spectacle. People whispered as he passed, their expressions a mixture of awe, fear, and morbid curiosity.

"That’s him. The Ambrose heir."

"They say he cut a man in half with a single stroke."

"I heard he took Lord Terras’s ear last night."

The rumors grew more outlandish with each retelling, but Grim paid them no mind. Let them talk. Let them fear. It served his purpose.

The competitors’ preparation area was a large chamber divided into sections. Grim’s assigned space was at the far end, marked with the Ambrose crest that had been hastily painted on a wooden placard.

A small table held refreshments. Water, fruit, and a basket of freshly baked bread. Tournament custom dictated that the organizers provide basic sustenance for the day’s fighters.

Grim set Echo aside and reached for one of the rolls, his stomach reminding him that he’d eaten little since his intensive cultivation session the previous day.

"Lord Van Ambrose," a voice called. A tournament official approached, clipboard in hand. "Your match is scheduled third in today’s lineup. Approximately two hours from now."

Grim nodded, taking a bite of the bread. It was still warm, with a slightly unusual but not unpleasant flavor.

"Your opponent will be Lord Feng of House Lin," the official continued.

"House Lin," Grim repeated, searching his memory. "Northern province?"

"Yes, my lord. A relatively new noble house, but one that has risen quickly in influence over the past decade."

Grim took another bite, considering this information. House Lin had no particular history with House Ambrose that he could recall.

The official bowed and moved on to inform other competitors of their schedules. Grim finished the bread and reached for a piece of fruit, but paused as a strange sensation washed over him. A sudden heaviness in his limbs, a slight blurring at the edges of his vision.

[Something’s wrong,] the voice in his head warned, suddenly alert.

Grim set the fruit down, focusing inward on his physical state. The heaviness was spreading, accompanied by an unnatural warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

[The bread,] the voice said urgently. [There was something in the bread.]

"Poison?" Grim muttered under his breath, careful not to let anyone overhear.

[Not lethal, but debilitating. It messes with mana circulation and slows reflexes. Someone is trying to sabotage your performance rather than kill you outright.]

Grim’s jaw tightened as anger flared within him. "Who?"

[Impossible to say with certainty. The substance is common enough among noble houses. Typically used for hunting, to weaken dangerous game without rendering the meat inedible.]

Moving deliberately to avoid drawing attention, Grim took a cup of water and retreated to the farthest corner of his preparation area. He closed his eyes, focusing on his mana circulation while maintaining a casual posture that suggested simple pre-match meditation to any observers.

"How bad?" he asked silently.

[Bad enough,] the voice replied. [Judging by your body, it’s designed to linger in the system for hours. Even with your constitution and mana control, you’ll be operating at perhaps seventy percent capacity when your match begins.]

"Can I purge it?"

[Not entirely, nor quickly. You can mitigate some effects by cycling your mana through specific circuits, but complete purification would require specialized herbs or several hours of intensive meditation.]

Grim’s expression darkened. Neither option was available to him. His match would begin long before a natural purge could take effect, and he doubted the tournament apothecary would conveniently stock the necessary counter-agents.

"Then I’ll fight impaired," he decided coldly. "And afterward, I’ll find whoever was responsible."

[I advise caution,] the voice warned. [I belive this to be Ghost Veil posion. If it is, it effects include subtle disorientation. Your judgment may be compromised without you realizing it.]

"I’ve fought through worse," Grim replied, though he knew the voice’s concern was valid. The poison wasn’t just a physical hindrance. It was specifically designed to disrupt the connection between a cultivator and their mana, the very foundation of advanced combat techniques.

Rising from his seated position, Grim moved toward the main viewing area where competitors could observe ongoing matches. Perhaps seeing his opponent in action would provide insights that could compensate for his impaired state.

As he reached the archway leading to the viewing stands, he heard the distinctive sounds of betting. The clink of coins, the rustle of paper as odds were recorded, the hushed intensity of voices negotiating terms.

The betting area was technically separate from the main arena, occupying a mezzanine level where the wealthy could place wagers in relative privacy. But the entrance was visible from Grim’s position, and through it, he could see several noble figures engaged in animated discussion.

"Three thousand on Lord Feng," a portly nobleman declared, handing a heavy pouch to the bookkeeper. "The Ambrose boy’s streak ends today."

"Bold wager, Lord Draykar," another commented. "Especially after what happened to Jin Tao."

"Jin Tao was overconfident and undertrained," Lord Draykar replied dismissively. "Feng is methodical, disciplined. He won’t make the same mistakes."

"And your inside information has nothing to do with your confidence?" a third voice asked, triggering knowing chuckles from the group.

Grim’s eyes narrowed at this exchange. Inside information. Someone knew about the poison, which meant someone had arranged it. His gaze swept across the betting nobles, committing their faces to memory. Lord Draykar. A Luminaris cousin. Three members of minor houses allied with Terras.

And there, standing slightly apart from the main group but clearly observing the proceedings with interest. Julius Luminaris himself, patriarch of House Luminaris. He wasn’t actively placing bets, Grim noted. Too dignified for such direct involvement. But his presence spoke volumes.

[Interesting,] the voice observed. [It seems the old alliance against your family remains intact.]

Grim turned away before any of the nobles noticed his presence. He had seen enough. The poison, the betting, the "inside information." It painted a clear picture. His opponents weren’t just trying to defeat him in fair combat. They were resorting to underhanded tactics, coordinating behind the scenes.

He made his way back to his preparation area, his mind working through implications and options despite the increasingly noticeable fog of the Ghost Veil. His third mana heart, newly formed and barely filled, pulsed with inconsistent rhythm as the poison interfered with his mana circulation.

Settling into a meditation posture, Grim focused on damage control. He couldn’t purge the poison completely, but perhaps he could isolate its effects, concentrate it in non-critical meridians to preserve his combat capabilities.

As he worked through the complex internal manipulations, one thought crystallized with perfect clarity through the haze of the Ghost Veil:

Someone would pay for this. Dearly.