The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 571

Alex was enjoying his life in the kitchen.

At some point, he stopped worrying about what his future might look like. He stopped thinking about trials, rankings, or status. Most of his days were spent eating and cultivating alongside his Elder Brothers.

They refined Food Pills, cultivation pills, laughed, and stuffed themselves until they could barely stand. It was simple. It was steady.

Life was good.

As the months passed, bits of gossip drifted into the kitchen like smoke from the outer courtyards. News about the Wudang Sect traveled fast, even to the servants’ quarters.

He learned the structure piece by piece.

The disciples were divided into three ranks: Core Sect, Inner Sect, and Outer Sect.

Servants like him lived in the lowest area, working, cooking, cleaning. But there was a rule—one narrow path upward.

Any servant who cultivated to the fifth level of Chi Condensation—who could truly sense the dantian and draw energy from the air, gathering Chi into their body—could apply for the Outer Sect trial.

Only by becoming an Outer Sect disciple could a person truly claim to be part of Wudang.

Until then, they were just hands that worked.

On one particular morning, trouble came in the most ordinary way.

Eight Fatty was supposed to go down the mountain to purchase supplies. Instead, he was doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach and cursing yesterday’s overcooked mushrooms.

He waved a greasy hand and called out, “Alex!”

Alex looked up from the herbs he was sorting.

The other Fatty Brothers were already out—some reporting their work, others delivering Food Pills. The kitchen, for once, was quiet.

Which meant only one thing.

Alex was the only one available.

He hesitated.

A memory flashed in his mind—Wang Junhao. The humiliation. The danger. The realization that outside the kitchen, swords and fists flew faster than words.

But there was no way to refuse. Supplies had to be purchased. The kitchen couldn’t run without ingredients.

He walked closer. “Brother Eight… do we have any weapons?”

Eight Fatty burst into laughter, then groaned as it hurt his stomach. “Weapons? This is a kitchen! You can find every kind of knife here!”

Alex turned and looked at the rows of knives—cleavers, boning knives, long slicing blades. Sharp. Heavy. Deadly.

And that was exactly the problem.

If he stabbed someone—even by accident—the situation would explode. A kitchen servant killing someone? The consequences would crush him.

No. Too dangerous.

For safety, he grabbed the largest iron wok instead. Thick. Heavy. Impossible to cut with. If he swung it, it would hurt—but it wouldn’t slice someone open.

Then he paused, thinking harder.

He reached for a round soup pot and placed it upside down on his head.

It sat there like a ridiculous helmet.

Ugly.

Embarrassing.

But practical.

If someone aimed for his skull, at least they wouldn’t crack it open in one strike.

With the iron wok in one hand and the pot on his head, Alex looked like a walking kitchen disaster.

But he felt safer.

He adjusted the pot, tightened his grip on the wok, and staggered out of the kitchen.

Then he began the descent down the mountain.

The limestone paths of the Wudang Sect stretched beneath his feet, smooth and pale against the green hills. Elegant pavilions rose on either side. Courtyards bloomed with trimmed trees and carved stone lanterns.

As he walked, the iron wok resting against his shoulder and the pot gleaming under the sun, he caught the attention of other servants along the path.

They stared.

Not openly. Not boldly.

From the corners of their eyes.

Their gazes slid over him—over the pot helmet, the oversized wok, the strange, determined stride.

Some looked confused.

Some looked amused.

Alex kept walking.

Ridiculous or not, he was going down the mountain prepared.

A few female Outer Sect disciples were standing near the path when they saw him.

The moment their eyes landed on the iron wok and the upside-down soup pot on his head, they burst out laughing. They covered their mouths, but it didn’t help. Their laughter rang out like silver bells—clear, bright, impossible to ignore.

Alex felt heat crawl up his neck. His face flushed.

But he didn’t slow down.

He didn’t care what they thought.

He had no interest in impressing women. No interest in attention. He wanted one thing—survival. A quiet life. No enemies. No trouble.

If looking ridiculous kept him alive, he would gladly look ridiculous.

By the time he reached the central marketplace, the crowd had already thickened.

This was the busiest area near the servants’ district. Stalls lined the open square where servants bought and sold supplies.

Occasionally, Outer Sect disciples would pass through to browse or show off. Off to one side stood a massive open arena—flat, wide, and built for one purpose: fighting. Anyone who wanted to prove themselves could step inside.

Today, something was happening.

Alex noticed clusters of servants rushing in the same direction. Their eyes were bright, their steps quick. More and more of them started running, pushing past one another like hungry dogs chasing thrown meat.

Excitement buzzed in the air.

Curious, Alex reached out and grabbed the sleeve of a scrawny servant who was sprinting by.

“Brother,” he asked, voice steady, “what’s going on? Why is everyone running?”

The young man spun around, irritation flashing across his face—until he saw the iron wok and the pot helmet.

His expression changed instantly.

Envy replaced anger.

“You’re from the kitchen?” he blurted out, eyes flicking to the wok. “Must be nice. So lucky…”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Give me some Food Pills, and I’ll tell you.”

Alex didn’t argue.

He pulled out a small bottle, shook three Food Pills into his palm, and dropped them into the young man’s hand.

The servant’s face lit up as if he’d just been handed gold. He bowed quickly.

“Elder Brother!” he said eagerly. “You should come see this. There are two groups in the Outer Sect—the Dragon and the White Tiger. They’ve hated each other for years. Always fighting, always competing.”

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening too closely.

“Today, each side brought ten people. Ten against ten.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The servant’s voice grew more excited. “Almost all of them are at the seventh to ninth level of Chi Condensation. This is going to be huge. If we watch carefully, we might learn something. Maybe even gain some enlightenment.”

He grabbed Alex’s arm without waiting for a response.

“Come on! We’ll miss it!”

Alex staggered as he was dragged forward, the iron wok clanking against his leg, the soup pot wobbling on his head.

He didn’t resist.

The tide of bodies carried them both out of the servants’ district and toward the arena.

When they arrived, Alex finally saw it clearly.

The open ground was enormous—at least four times the size of a football field. The earth had been flattened and hardened from countless battles. Dust hung in the air, stirred up by the gathering crowd.

Across the massive field stood ten stone platforms.

Each one was raised waist-high, carved from thick slabs of gray rock. Around every platform, a dense ring of people had gathered—servants packed on the outer edges, and at the front stood the Outer Sect disciples in bright, resplendent robes. Their clothing shimmered with fine embroidery and hidden protective talismans. They looked powerful. Dangerous.

Every platform held a one-on-one duel.

Ten arenas.

Ten fights.

Dragon versus White Tiger.

Alex stepped closer to the nearest platform.

Two young men stood on the stone, both dressed in extravagant robes. Their sleeves snapped in the wind as they clashed. Each strike shook the platform beneath their feet. Every collision exploded with a booming crack that echoed across the field.

A faint glow surrounded them.

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