The word had barely left her mouth when Zhou Ming exploded into motion, his sword trailing streams of water-attributed qi as he charged. The air itself seed to thicken with spiritual pressure as he activated his Mountain Maker technique.
Wu Kangming hadn't moved. Hadn't even reached for his sword. He just stood there, watching Zhou's approach with an expression that might almost be called pity.
"He's dead," Wei Lin whispered. "There's no way he can—"
The rest of his sentence was lost in the gasps of the crowd as Wu Kangming finally moved. It was a simple step to the side, barely a handspan of movent, but sohow Zhou's perfect strike passed through empty air. Not blocked, not deflected – just... missed, as if Wu Kangming had never been there at all.
Zhou's montum carried him forward another two steps before he managed to turn, his face twisted with fury. "Lucky dodge! Let's see you—"
Ti seed to slow as Wu Kangming's hand moved toward his sword. The entire arena held its breath, disciples leaning forward in their seats. Even the wind itself seed to pause, waiting to see what would happen next.
The sword left its sheath with a whisper, a sound so soft it shouldn't have been audible across the arena. But sohow, everyone heard it. The blade was completely ordinary – plain steel without any obvious spiritual patterns or formation arrays. The kind of weapon you'd find in any mortal city's weapon shop.
That made it all the more terrifying when Wu Kangming vanished.
There was no technique activation, no gathering of qi, no warning at all. One mont he was standing there, sword just cleared from its sheath, and the next...
The strike ca from above, a perfectly horizontal slash aid at Zhou Ming's neck. The blade moved with such precision that the air itself seed to part before it, creating a visible distortion in its wake.
Zhou's eyes widened with genuine fear, his body already starting to move. But everyone could see he wouldn't be fast enough. The sword would take his head before he could even begin to dodge.
Then the rocks ca.
They erupted from Zhou's skin like a living armor, coating his entire body in a layer of stone just as Wu Kangming's blade connected. The clash of steel on stone rang out across the arena, followed by the sound of Zhou's body being launched backward by the sheer force of the blow.
He stumbled back several steps before regaining his balance, one hand instinctively going to his neck where the sword had struck. His fingers ca away red with blood.
Zhou stared at his bloodied fingers as if they belonged to soone else. His face cycled through a series of expressions – shock, confusion, fear, anger, and sothing that looked suspiciously like an urge to run. His eyes darted to the crowd, taking in the blue-robed Inner Disciples watching from their privileged seats. Then to the Outer Disciples, many of whom were trying (and failing) to hide their grins at seeing their torntor bleed.
"That..." Wei Lin whispered beside , "that shouldn't be possible. Zhou's Mountain Maker technique is famous for its defensive capabilities. No one below the 7th stage of Qi Condensation should be able to cut through it like that."
"Look at Zhou's face," Lin i added. "He's thinking the sa thing."
Zhou spat on the arena floor, his qi fluctuating with barely controlled rage. "I'm going to take your head," he snarled, raising his blue-tinted sword. "And then I'll mount it on the sect gates as a warning to other servants who forget their place!"
"Flowing Rivers Art: Nine Dragon Streams!" Zhou called out, his blade weaving through a complex pattern.
Water-attributed qi coalesced around the sword, forming nine intertwining dragon-shaped streams that spiraled outward. Each stream moved independently, creating a cage of water that could attack from multiple angles while defending against counterstrikes.
It was the kind of technique that had earned him his position as an Inner Disciple – beautiful yet deadly, combining offense and defense in a way that most Qi Condensation cultivators couldn't hope to match.
Wu Kangming's response was a single step - not back or to the side, but at a precise forty-five degree angle that positioned him perfectly between two of the water dragons. His plain sword moved in what appeared to be a simple diagonal slash, but the timing was so perfect that it caught all nine streams at their weakest point where they intersected.
"Nine Heavens Astral Blade: Thread Cutting," he whispered, his blade glowing ever so slightly.
The clash rang out like a temple bell, but while Zhou's nine dragons exploded into a shower of water-qi, Wu Kangming's sword continued its motion without so much as a tremor. His single strike had not only neutralized the technique but disrupted the qi patterns maintaining it, causing the entire elaborate formation to collapse.
It was like watching a master craftsman snip a single thread and unravel an entire tapestry - devastating in its simplicity.
I watched as Zhou launched into a series of increasingly desperate attacks. Each strike was technically perfect, backed by the full power of his 7th Stage cultivation. Water-attributed qi ford weapons, waves, and countless other shapes as his sword danced through elaborate patterns.
And none of it mattered.
Wu Kangming moved like water between raindrops, his plain sword always exactly where it needed to be. When Zhou attacked high, Wu Kangming's blade was there to deflect. When Zhou tried to feint low, Wu Kangming had already moved to counter the real strike aid at his midsection.
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"He's toying with him," Lin i said softly. "Look at those cuts – they're all superficial. He could have ended this five tis already."
She was right. Every ti their blades t, Wu Kangming's sword would slip past Zhou's guard just enough to leave a small cut. Nothing serious, nothing potentially fatal – just perfect little reminders that death was only being delayed by Wu Kangming's choice.
"I can now get a sense of his cultivation," Azure reported. "Wu Kangming appears to be... interesting. His actual cultivation is only at the 5th Stage of Qi Condensation."
I blinked in surprise. "He's completely overwhelming a 7th Stage cultivator. The power difference alone should..."
"Should make this impossible, yes. But he's using superior technique to bridge the gap. Watch his footwork – every step is perfectly placed to minimize energy expenditure while maximizing tactical advantage. His sword movents are so precise that he's actually using Zhou's own power against him. It's like... like watching a master craftsman who has reduced his art to its purest essence."
"Or like watching soone who has a Sword Saint ghost teaching them," I thought back. The way Wu Kangming moved, the impossible perfection of his technique – it all pointed to the kind of inheritance that protagonists stumbled upon in ancient tombs or received from mystical masters.
Sweat poured down Zhou's face despite the cool afternoon air, and his breathing was becoming ragged as he continued to miss.
"Stand still and die!" he roared, charging forward with his sword held high.
Wu Kangming actually smiled at that. It wasn't a kind expression. His plain sword moved in what looked like a simple horizontal slash, but sohow the blade was everywhere at once.
Zhou's elaborate attack sequence was dismantled in seconds, his guard broken by movents so subtle that most of the audience probably couldn't even follow them.
Another small cut appeared on Zhou's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
"This is impossible," Zhou panted, backing away. "You're just a failed Outer Disciple! A servant! How are you..."
His eyes widened as he finally seed to truly look at Wu Kangming. At the way he held his sword. At the absolute certainty in his stance.
"What are you?"
Wu Kangming's response was another one of those impossible moves. His sword seed to flicker, and suddenly Zhou's elaborate robes had a dozen new cuts, each one precisely placed to miss anything vital while showing just how easily they could have struck deeper.
Behind , two Inner Disciples were having a heated discussion about Wu Kangming's technique.
"Those movents... they're like the legends of the Ancient Sword Saints."
"Impossible. That knowledge was lost centuries ago. Even the sect's sword manuals are just pale imitations..."
"Then how do you explain what we're watching?"
Zhou seed to have heard them too. His face twisted with fury as he realized that not only was he losing, but his fellow Inner Disciples were already treating this as a lesson in ancient sword techniques rather than a proper fight.
With a roar of pure rage, Zhou hurled his spiritual sword at Wu Kangming like a spear. The weapon streaked through the air, trailing water-qi in a cot-like tail. It was actually an impressive technique – the kind of desperate move that might catch even a skilled opponent off guard.
Wu Kangming caught it.
His free hand moved with that sa impossible precision, plucking the spiritual sword out of the air as casually as soone might catch a thrown fruit. He examined the blade for a mont, turning it to catch the light.
"Quite well made," he said, his first words since the battle began. "The water-attribute formations are particularly elegant. Such a waste..."
Then he closed his hand, and the spiritual sword shattered.
Fragnts of tal and dissipating formation arrays scattered across the arena floor as the weapon's accumulated spiritual energy dispersed in a flash of blue light. The audience gasped – destroying a spiritual weapon was no small feat, especially one as well-crafted as Zhou's sword.
"No!" Wei Lin's anguished cry drew several strange looks. "Do you know how many spirit stones that was worth? The materials alone would have fetched..."
I couldn't help but smile at his reaction, trust Wei Lin to see the monetary value in every situation, even a life-or-death battle. But he wasn't wrong. In a sect where resources ant everything, watching spirit stones literally shatter before your eyes was its own kind of torture.
Zhou stared at the fragnts of his sword scattered across the stone floor. Sothing in his expression changed – the last traces of arrogance burning away to reveal sothing darker.
"Fine," he snarled, his qi surging violently. "I was saving this for that bastard Wang Li, but I'll use it to kill you instead!"
His hands ford a series of complex seals as he gathered power. "Mountain Maker Art: Stone Giant Transformation!"
The temperature in the arena dropped several degrees as Zhou's qi expanded exponentially. Rocks began erupting from his skin again, but this ti they didn't stop at a simple armor. They kept growing, building upon each other in layers of rapidly expanding stone.
Zhou's body swelled, his form distorting as the transformation took hold. His arms thickened into pillars of living rock, his torso expanded until he towered over the arena floor. His face beca a mask of stone with glowing eyes, and his voice deepened to a rumble that shook the protective formations.
"Now die!"
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