MY HIDDEN TALENT IS FORBIDDEN BY THE HEAVENS-Chapter 94: DECISIVE DOMAIN

Chapter 94 — THE SPEAR THAT DID NOT BEND

The battlefield no longer pretended to be neutral.

What had begun as scattered motion and cautious testing had turned into something sharper, more honest. The air vibrated with clashing intents. Domains overlapped and frayed at the edges. Stone, water, plant, fire, and ice fought for dominance beneath the feet of those who stood upon them.

And at the center of it—

Two figures faced each other.

Ling Yifan and Fang Zhao.

The moment Ling Yifan stepped fully into Fang Zhao’s territory, the tiger aura flared violently, golden-black energy roaring outward like a living beast unchained. Fang Zhao rolled his neck once, grinning wide, teeth bared in anticipation.

"So," Fang Zhao said, voice rough with excitement, "you finally decided to stop watching."

Ling Yifan said nothing.

He lowered his spear, tip angled just slightly toward the ground, posture relaxed but perfect. There was no wasted motion, no excess tension. His breathing was steady. His eyes were clear.

Fang Zhao’s grin widened.

"Good," he growled. "I hate it when they hesitate."

He exploded forward.

The ground shattered beneath Fang Zhao’s feet as he launched himself like a cannonball, tiger aura condensing around his fists. His speed was monstrous, each step compressing power before releasing it in a violent burst. The crowd roared as he crossed the distance in an instant.

Ling Yifan moved.

Not backward.

Not aside.

Forward.

Their collision detonated like a thunderclap.

Spear met fist.

The shockwave ripped outward, flattening vines, sending ripples through shallow water, and cracking nearby stone pillars. Several fighters instinctively leapt away, unwilling to be caught in the aftermath.

Fang Zhao laughed mid-impact, twisting his body, tiger aura surging as he tried to overpower Ling Yifan through sheer force.

"You’re strong!" he shouted. "But strength alone—"

Ling Yifan stepped in.

Just one step.

The spear rotated smoothly, sliding past Fang Zhao’s fist, the shaft redirecting force instead of contesting it. In the same motion, Ling Yifan’s knee rose, striking Fang Zhao squarely in the ribs.

The impact was clean.

Precise.

Devastating.

Fang Zhao’s laughter cut off abruptly as his body lifted off the ground, aura flickering violently as he was sent flying backward. He crashed into a shattered stone outcrop, rolling once before skidding to a halt.

The crowd gasped.

Fang Zhao coughed, pushing himself up, eyes blazing brighter than before.

"Nice," he said hoarsely. "You’re fun."

He roared again, tiger soul surging to its peak. His aura expanded, muscles bulging as he charged once more, this time faster, heavier, more feral.

Ling Yifan did not retreat.

He advanced.

Their second clash was even louder.

This time, Ling Yifan did not meet force with redirection alone. His spear danced—thrust, sweep, reverse strike—each movement crisp, economical, deadly. Fang Zhao’s attacks were brutal and overwhelming, but every time his claws or fists came close, they met empty air or the flat of the spear shaft, their momentum stolen.

Fang Zhao began to snarl.

Not in anger.

In disbelief.

"Why—" he grunted, swinging wide, "—aren’t you breaking?!"

Ling Yifan’s eyes sharpened.

"Because," he said calmly, "you’re not fighting to win."

The spear flashed.

A precise strike slammed into Fang Zhao’s shoulder joint, not piercing, not crushing—disabling. Fang Zhao staggered, tiger aura flickering as his arm went numb.

Ling Yifan did not let him recover.

He stepped in again.

One thrust to the chest.

Not enough to kill.

Enough to send Fang Zhao flying.

The Mystic Peak Tiger Soul shattered outward in a violent flare as Fang Zhao was hurled across the battlefield, skidding, rolling, finally crossing the boundary line with a heavy crash.

The formations flared red.

ELIMINATION CONFIRMED.

The arena exploded.

"LING YIFAN!"

"DECISIVE!"

"HE DOMINATED HIM!"

Ling Yifan stood still, spear resting lightly against the ground.

Uninjured.

Unshaken.

Fang Zhao lay outside the arena, staring up at the sky, chest rising and falling as laughter bubbled out of him despite everything.

"...Yeah," he muttered. "That tracks."

He closed his eyes.

Back on the battlefield, the power balance shifted.

And someone else chose that moment to act.

At the far end of the arena, Luo Qinghe exhaled softly.

"Alright," he murmured. "That’s enough waiting."

The faint smile on his face vanished.

His domain responded instantly.

Verdant Sovereign’s Embrace surged outward, vines thickening, roots tearing free of the ground as the domain entered a lethal phase. The emerald glow intensified, pulsing in rhythmic waves that bent terrain and intent alike.

Two Vermillion Academy fighters—both strong, both confident—had been advancing together through a scorched corridor opened earlier by Rong Yueran. They were not divine. They relied on coordination, speed, and trust.

They never saw the roots coming.

The ground beneath them erupted as massive vines burst upward, wrapping around their legs, arms, torsos. Flames flared as one tried to burn free, but the vines absorbed the heat, regenerating faster than they could be destroyed.

"WAIT—!" one of them shouted.

Too late.

Luo Qinghe raised his hand slightly.

The vines tightened.

With a single, controlled motion, both fighters were lifted and hurled outward, bodies arcing through the air before slamming beyond the arena boundary.

Two tones rang out in quick succession.

ELIMINATION CONFIRMED.ELIMINATION CONFIRMED.

The crowd erupted again, louder, more chaotic.

"DOUBLE ELIMINATION!"

"SILVERMOON MOVED!"

"THAT DOMAIN—!"

Rong Yueran turned sharply, phoenix flames flaring as she watched her academy members fall.

Her expression did not change.

But her eyes hardened.

"...I see," she said quietly.

Nearby, several fighters reassessed their positions instantly, backing away from the green-lit zones, unwilling to challenge Luo Qinghe head-on.

In the observation zone, Azure Dragon’s remaining members reacted in different ways.

Bai Qianlan’s eyes narrowed. "That wasn’t opportunistic," she murmured. "That was calculated."

Ouyang Xue’er nodded slightly. "He waited until attention shifted."

Chen Wulian laughed, wiping blood from his mouth as he watched Fang Zhao’s elimination and the double Vermillion loss.

"Man," he said, grinning, "today is GREAT."

Qin Shuo, though not fighting, adjusted his glasses rapidly, mind racing.

"Probability shift detected," he muttered. "Ling Yifan’s win destabilized Fang Zhao’s threat vector. Luo Qinghe capitalized instantly."

Jin Ruolan clenched her fists. "I REALLY wish I was in there."

On the battlefield, Ling Yifan lifted his gaze.

He had felt it.

The shift.

His victory had not just eliminated Fang Zhao—it had freed pressure. Eyes were turning. Calculations changing. Threats realigning. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He did not celebrate.

He turned his spear.

And walked.

Not toward safety.

Toward the densest cluster of intent.

High above, behind black glass, figures leaned forward.

"The spear is clean," someone murmured.

"No hesitation," another added. "No overreach."

"And no injury," a third observed. "Impressive."

Far from the spotlight, near the forest projection, Long Hao remained where he was.

Still.

Watching.

Inside his chest, the Eclipse System pulsed erratically, unseen logs flickering and vanishing again. Longyu hovered uneasily, her glow dimmer than usual.

"...This is accelerating faster than predicted," she whispered.

Long Hao’s gaze tracked Ling Yifan for a moment.

Then shifted.

To Luo Qinghe.

To the way the domain flexed.

To the places where no one stood.

"...They’re not just fighting," he murmured. "They’re shaping the outcome."

Longyu didn’t answer.

Somewhere above the arena, something unseen adjusted its attention.

And the battle royale moved into its next, deadlier phase.

[Chapter ENDS]

[SIDE POV ]

The instructors’ chamber buzzed in a very different way now.

Earlier, the air had been tight with uncertainty. Calculations whispered. Cautious bets. Half-confidence disguised as certainty. Now—now the room felt alive, voices overlapping, confidence blooming... and regret settling in heavy pockets.

A large projection dominated the center of the chamber, replaying fragments of the battlefield in real time. Ling Yifan’s decisive spearwork. Fang Zhao being hurled out. The sudden tightening of Luo Qinghe’s domain as two Vermillion fighters vanished beyond the boundary.

An Azure Dragon instructor leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly.

"I told you," he said, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "Ling Yifan was never going to lose a straight fight."

A few heads nodded.

"He didn’t even look pressured," another added. "That wasn’t desperation. That was control."

Mei Ying stood with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen. She didn’t smile, but the tension in her shoulders had eased just a fraction.

"He fought like someone who already made his decision," she said quietly.

Across the table, a Vermillion instructor scoffed, though the sound lacked bite.

"Fang Zhao ran headfirst into discipline. That was inevitable."

"Still," someone else muttered, "no injuries. That’s what’s terrifying."

A Dragon Turtle instructor laughed softly, tapping the table with one finger.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said. "The battlefield doesn’t reward clean victories for long."

At the far end of the chamber, a senior instructor from a mid-tier academy stared at the screen in silence, jaw tight.

"...I should’ve picked Luo Qinghe," he muttered.

No one responded immediately.

Then another voice chimed in, bitter.

"You weren’t the only one."

Several instructors shifted uncomfortably.

On the projection, the emerald lattice of Verdant Sovereign’s Embrace flexed again, subtle but unmistakable. Luo Qinghe stood calmly at its center, not chasing, not posturing—simply owning space.

"That domain..." an older instructor said slowly, stroking his beard. "It’s not aggressive. It’s patient."

"Which makes it worse," someone replied.

A Vermillion strategist frowned. "We underestimated him because Silvermoon Arrow doesn’t make noise."

"Noise is for those who need attention," Mei Ying said flatly.

The room went quiet for a moment.

One of the instructors who had voted earlier rubbed his face, frustration seeping through.

"Eighteen votes for Rong Yueran," he said. "Eighteen. And now she’s already down two members."

"Not her fault," another countered. "She’s still untouched."

"Yes," he snapped, "but Luo Qinghe just erased half her support without even stepping forward."

A Dragon Turtle elder chuckled. "That’s what happens when you mistake flash for control."

Several heads turned toward him.

"You voted for Yue Hanran," someone pointed out.

The elder shrugged. "I still stand by it. Water always finds a way."

A low murmur of agreement followed, though it lacked conviction.

Someone gestured at another section of the screen, where Chen Wulian was laughing through blood and Xing Yanlong loomed like an immovable wall.

"And what about that one?" an instructor asked. "You all dismissed Chen as reckless."

Mei Ying’s lips twitched, just barely.

"He is reckless," she said. "But he’s reckless in a way that forces others to make mistakes."

On cue, the projection showed Chen darting sideways, baiting two fighters into clashing paths before retreating with a grin.

"...I hate that it works," someone muttered.

Near the back of the room, a young instructor hesitated before speaking.

"What about Long Hao?"

The room stilled again.

Several instructors exchanged glances.

"He hasn’t moved," the young man continued. "Not really."

"That’s the problem," a senior replied.

Mei Ying didn’t look away from the screen.

"He’s moving," she said quietly. "Just not where you’re looking."

A silence settled, heavier than before.

Then a low sigh broke it.

"...I should’ve put at least one vote on Luo Qinghe," someone admitted.

Another nodded grimly. "Same."

The projection zoomed out, capturing the battlefield as a whole—fractured zones, shifting power centers, rising chaos.

Confidence lingered in the room.

So did doubt.

And beneath it all, the uncomfortable realization that some of them had already underestimated the wrong person.

The battle wasn’t halfway done.

But the certainty of their predictions?

That was already starting to crack.