The Saiyan In The Cultivation World.

(bonus chapter for the 100 powerstones)

Chu Feng's attention shifted to Qing Ying. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he watched her gracefully handle anyone foolish enough to challenge her.

She was impressive, effortlessly holding her own against opponents three levels above her, all while clearly holding back. Her movements were fluid and precise, a testament to her skill and the power of her unique physique.

The battles on the 49 stages were intense and unrelenting, all except for the one where Lianchen sat. While the other stages roared with the sounds of combat, Lianchen's remained eerily quiet, his presence alone deterring any challengers.

For the next few hours, an unending spectacle unfolded across the arenas. Participants fought fiercely, each striving to secure their place as one of the two allowed to remain on their stage. Abilities clashed and dazzled the audience, some cultivators grew entire forests from a single seed, while others summoned flames imbued with rare and unique properties. The variety and creativity on display were a testament to the incredible talent gathered for the tournament.

Three hours passed in this fashion, and with the conclusion of the elimination phase, it was time for the one-on-one duels. These matches would take place simultaneously across all stages, with each fight limited to ten minutes. A brief five-minute break would follow before the next round began.

Lianchen's match was over almost instantly. As soon as the duels were announced, his would-be opponent leaped off the arena without hesitation, choosing to forfeit rather than face him. The decision caused a ripple of laughter and murmurs in the crowd...

Lianchen paid little attention to the crowd's murmurs or his opponent's hasty retreat. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe the other battles, his sharp eyes analyzing every move.

For someone as talented as Lianchen, there was little to learn from the combatants themselves. However, by studying their flaws and setting constraints for himself, he found ways to refine his techniques further. Each mistake he observed became an avenue to enhance his creativity, allowing him to push his skills to even greater heights.

Lianchen observed the matches with mild interest, his gaze occasionally flickering between combatants. Then, suddenly, he blinked.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow as his attention was inexplicably drawn to the crowd. Among the sea of spectators, his eyes locked onto someone, a man without hands.

Despite his physical limitations, the man's gaze was piercing, so sharp that Lianchen felt an instinctive surge of power. His body tensed, and for a brief, startling moment, he almost lost control, the urge to go Super Saiyan roaring to life within him.

The man was covered in scars, each one telling a story of battles fought. Lianchen's sharp instincts immediately identified him as a crippled swordsman, for what else could a swordsman without hands be called but a cripple?

A deep scar ran across his neck, hinting that someone had once tried, perhaps even succeeded, in severing his head. His face was a patchwork of disfigurement, the scars leaving behind an unsettling and grotesque sight. Lianchen found himself wondering if this man's image might haunt his dreams.

Lianchen's instincts screamed at him, urging him to transform. The thought of the agonizing pain that came with it barely registered, he would endure it if it meant survival.

This man's presence was overwhelming, his aura unlike anything Lianchen had encountered, even in the world of Dragon Ball. The realization sent a chill down his spine. If someone this powerful was in such a broken state, how terrifying must the person be who had left him in this condition?

Lianchen willed himself to transform, pushing his Ki to surge, but nothing happened. Under the man's piercing gaze, his energy refused to move, as if shackled by an unseen force.

No, that wasn't it. Lianchen realized with a jolt that it wasn't an external force restraining him, it was his own instincts. They screamed at him to stay frozen. Fighting meant death, and the only chance of survival was to do… absolutely nothing.

'Stay still,' his instincts urged, 'and hope that stillness makes you invisible.'

The man's gaze lingered on Lianchen for a long, tense moment before his head shifted slightly, his attention drawn to a figure kneeling beside him.

Lan Mei. At some point, she had appeared silently at his side, one knee on the ground, sweat trickling down her forehead.

Lianchen's eyes widened in shock. 'Lan Mei?' he thought, his mind racing. How could she, someone who rarely showed fear, appear so visibly shaken? But as he looked closer, it wasn't the man himself she seemed to fear, it was the significance of his presence, the weight of what his arrival meant.

Lianchen observed them closely. Though their lips didn't move, the occasional nods exchanged between Lan Mei and the scarred man made it clear they were communicating through spiritual sense.

Whatever they were discussing seemed to ease Lan Mei's initial tension, though the conversation left her glancing uneasily at Lianchen. Her gaze held a mix of concern and hesitation, which only served to heighten his own unease.

'What are they talking about?' he wondered, feeling a rare flicker of vulnerability in the face of her uncharacteristic behavior.

"Kid, I don't like you. Your father really screwed up all of our plans."

Lianchen nearly jumped out of his skin as the disfigured man appeared before him, his sudden presence like a shadow descending.

It wasn't just the man's abrupt appearance that startled him, it was the realization that time itself had frozen. What he had thought was just the illusion of time slowing down turned out to be terrifyingly real.

"But since you two can cultivate that art... I will turn you into my chess pieces," he declared, his voice grating and abrasive. It was painful to listen to, like nails on a chalkboard, but far worse. The sound was so unbearable that Lianchen's ears began to bleed.

"I'm no one's chess piece," Lianchen growled through gritted teeth, his voice laced with defiance. The grating, ugly voice assaulted his ears, and his instincts screamed at him to back down, but he refused to yield.

He hadn't trained his instincts to suppress his will. No, Lianchen was a Saiyan, and shame was not a word in his vocabulary. As a Saiyan, the very concept of defeat was an insult. When he fought, he fought to win, nothing more, nothing less.

Lianchen's Ki erupted outward with a heaven-shaking force, the sheer intensity making the air tremble. The disfigured man watched the display with a spark of interest in his otherwise emotionless gaze.

Lianchen roared at the heavens, his voice filled with both pain and defiance. His teeth clenched so hard it seemed they might crack, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. Every ounce of his being fought against the overwhelming pressure, refusing to back down.

"I'm no pawn! I'm no knight! I'm not even the king! I'm the..."

The words trailed off as his voice faltered. Intelligence faded from his eyes thanks to the pain, replaced by raw instinct and untamed fury. Yet, even as clarity slipped away, his power surged to unimaginable heights, leaving the disfigured man raising an intrigued eyebrow.

Lianchen's transformation wasn't just in strength, his body began to grow, his frame becoming larger and more muscular. His aura flared violently, a chaotic storm of energy that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality.

Lianchen's roar, filled with both agony and defiance, reverberated through the frozen world, shaking it to its very core. The wheelchair beneath him shattered into splinters as his power surged uncontrollably.

He stood amidst the chaos, screaming with such force that his mouth tore at the edges. His eyes, unable to withstand the sheer pressure of his transformation, burst, leaving dark holes. Yet, even through the unbearable pain and destruction, his aura continued to grow, wild and untamed.

The disfigured man instinctively stepped back, a rare flicker of shock, crossing his scarred features. In his countless trillions of years of existence, he had never witnessed a transformation like this.

His gaze remained locked on Lianchen as his skin began to melt away, the raw energy coursing through him tearing his body apart. Then, with a deafening roar, Lianchen's body erupted in a blinding explosion of power, shaking the frozen world to its foundations.

The explosion should have devastated the land for hundreds, if not thousands, of miles. Yet, most of the power was contained, concentrated inward, focused entirely on Lianchen's body as it struggled to contain the overwhelming energy.

Even so, shockwaves rippled outward, violent and chaotic, racing toward the frozen onlookers. The waves stopped just short of hitting them, their movements still locked in the stasis of frozen time. The sheer intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, an almost palpable force pressing against the boundaries of reality.