The Saiyan In The Cultivation World.

{Bonus chapter for the 200 Powerstones. Sorry for the late update, I came down with a bad sickness of being lazy. I think I'm getting better now.}

"Oh? Now that makes sense," I said lightly, my gaze narrowing as I sized up Qing Ying.

My instincts, honed as sharply as a blade, worked quickly, piecing together the puzzle her confession had presented. There was more to her story, threads of connection that ran deeper than she knew.

I thought for a moment, weighing my next move carefully. Then, with a calm focus, my words entered her mind once more.

"I can do that right now," I said, my voice calm and measured. "Or I can give you the strength to do it on your own."

Qing Ying's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope mingling with uncertainty.

"Your mother is in another galaxy," I continued, "entrapped by her clan. If I were to rescue her directly, you'd have to deal with their relentless pursuit. Of course, you could ask me to shield you, but I won't be your protector forever. I don't have time to waste on such troublesome matters."

My words hung in the air, and Qing Ying paused, absorbing the gravity of the situation.

"How do you know so much about this matter?" Qing Ying asked, her voice sharp and suspicious.

Her question hung in the air, but I didn't respond. The flicker of uncertainty in her eyes showed she didn't know much about her mother herself.

After a moment, she seemed to push her thoughts aside, focusing on the present. "Defeat me first," she said coldly, her tone resolute. "I will give you my answer in the Dragon Tomb."

With that, she summoned an ice sword, its blade gleaming with a frosty sheen. The temperature around us plummeted as her aura surged, the air crystallizing into snowflakes that drifted lazily to the ground.

As soon as the elder gave the signal for the battle to start, Qing Ying wasted no time. Her aura erupted with a force that sent icy winds howling across the stage, and the ground beneath her froze instantly, turning the area into a frostbitten battlefield.

She didn't hold back, releasing a surge of power that rivaled someone at level 1 Soul Refinement, an astonishing feat considering she was only at level 8 Qi Refinement.

The crowd gasped, their amazement rippling through the arena as Qing Ying's ice sword gleamed with a deadly chill. Level Skipping Genius was rare, Shi Bin could barely skip a level.

Ice shards shot toward me, sharp and unrelenting, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The sheer volume of projectiles was overwhelming—no one could have possibly dodged such an attack.

But I moved.

Each step I took seemed both deliberate and unpredictable, a dance of fluid motion that defied expectations. To the crowd, my movements were clear, easy to follow with their eyes, and yet completely unreadable in intent. It wasn't speed that carried me but precision, an innate understanding of the flow of battle.

My body moved with precision, every turn and shift executed without a single wasted motion. I didn't need to see the spikes; my instincts guided me perfectly.

My head tilted to the side, just narrowly avoiding a shard of ice that zipped past my ear. My body swayed smoothly, turning left and right as if I were flowing with the rhythm of the attack itself. Each step I took felt natural, almost effortless, as I glided through the storm of ice without a hint of struggle.

Side to side, step by step, I evaded every attack Qing Ying hurled at me. The spikes splintered harmlessly against the ground, unable to find their mark.

To the crowd, it must have looked surreal—my movements weren't frantic or panicked but smooth and fluid, as if I were performing a choreographed dance rather than dodging a deadly onslaught.

The crowd's eyes widened, their stunned silence speaking louder than any cheer or gasp could. My movements were deliberate, not rushed, and my speed was by no means extraordinary—just the speed of someone in the Qi Refinement realm.

And yet, with that speed alone, I was dodging attacks that even those in the Soul Refinement realm wouldn't have been able to avoid.

It wasn't just skill. It was something beyond that, something that shattered their understanding of what it meant to be a genius.

Whispers rippled through the stands.

"Is she holding back?" one elder murmured.

"His speed isn't exceptional, but those movements…" another said, their voice trailing off in disbelief.

Each dodge, each twist of my body, was so perfectly timed that it almost seemed rehearsed, as though I already knew every trajectory of Qing Ying's attack before she even launched it.

"What does it mean to be perfect?" I said lightly, my voice cutting through the chilled air. "Perfection is reaching 100%. A level where there's nothing more to achieve, no more heights to climb."

I paused, dodging another shard of ice with ease, my body moving on its own. "I call this state Ultra Instincts—a state of mind where every part of your body moves and acts without needing commands from you. It's complete freedom, pure instinct in its truest form."

My thoughts drifted for a moment, and I couldn't help but smirk... It's kind of like that thing… what's it called? Alien hand syndrome or something? Where your hand moves on its own, doing whatever it wants. 

I chuckled to myself, side-stepping another attack with fluid grace. I couldn't help but Imagine it doing something like giving you a hand job. Would it feel like someone else is doing it?

Qing Ying said nothing. Her silence was cold and deliberate as she shot into the sky, her icy aura expanding with her ascent.

Under her will, countless ice spikes formed in the air, their sharp edges glinting ominously in the light. At the same time, the remnants of the earlier barrage hadn't gone to waste. The shards embedded in the ground began to spread, forming a thick layer of frost that swallowed the stage.

I glanced down briefly as the ice crept over my feet, locking them in place. It was clever—while my focus had been on evasion, she'd turned the battlefield itself into her weapon.

But I didn't move.

I crossed my arms casually, my gaze fixed on her as the countless spikes in the air shifted, all aiming directly at me.

'This sight makes me want to start adding the word "mongrel" to my vocabulary,' I thought, my eyes narrowing as I took in the dazzling, almost absurd spectacle above me.

The sheer number of ice spikes in the air was awe-inspiring, their jagged forms casting a web of sharp shadows across the stage. They hovered ominously, poised like swords of judgment, and yet… something felt missing.

'If only these spikes could reshape themselves into a sea of countless weapons,' I mused. 'Blades, spears, and hammers, Now that would be a sight worthy of admiration'

"Take this!" Qing Ying roared, her voice ringing out with fierce determination. Though devoid of emotion, it carried the weight of her will to win.

The countless ice spikes above trembled briefly before launching toward me in a deadly storm, each shard cutting through the air with lethal intent. The crowd gasped, the sheer force of her attack shaking the very stage beneath our feet.

But just as the spikes reached the height of their descent, a strange stillness fell over the battlefield.

Without warning, all the ice—spikes, frost, and even the frozen layer beneath my feet—melted away in an instant. The stage was left slick and glistening, as though Qing Ying's power had evaporated into thin air.