CHAPTER 59: TOURNAMENT [3]

A chime rang again, and the host stepped forward, her voice ringing with spirited grace.

"For the next match, Wu Yan of the Wu Clan!"

Cheers rose from the Wu Clan’s section as a tall girl in storm-blue robes stepped confidently onto the stage.

Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, her eyes sharp and proud.

She moved with purpose, every step brimming with self-assured energy.

"A direct disciple of the Wu Clan," murmured someone in the crowd.

"Early Qi Transformation, right?"

"Of course. Wouldn’t be up there otherwise."

The host’s hand swept to the other side. "Her opponent—Du Xiao! Rogue cultivator."

From the other waiting area, a girl stepped forward.

She was younger-looking, likely no more than seventeen, her face calm and unreadable.

Her clothes were plain but well-fitted, a brown tunic over a white undershirt.

On her back was a simple steel sword, unadorned and slightly weathered.

The crowd stirred.

"She’s pretty..."

"Look at that figure—how does she swing a sword with those things?"

"I don’t see a clan crest. Definitely not from a great family."

Du Xiao walked up the stage without drama.

Her expression was like still water, peaceful, yet unsettlingly deep.

Wu Yan smirked as they faced each other.

"No hard feelings, rogue girl," she said.

"Let’s give them a show before I knock you down."

Du Xiao didn’t reply.

The referee raised a hand. "Begin!"

Wu Yan moved first. She exploded forward, closing the gap with a burst of speed.

"Five Elements Fist!"

Her right fist flared with elemental energy—flames around one knuckle, wind around another, earth solidifying the rest.

She struck in a rapid chain, every punch augmented by a different element.

Du Xiao leaned slightly, pivoted and sidestepped.

Each punch missed by inches. The air cracked with force as her attacks hit only empty space.

Du Xiao responded with a single horizontal sword swing, fluid, minimal, but fast.

Clang!

Wu Yan raised her bracer in time, sliding back half a step from the force.

Eyes narrowing, she spun away. "Not bad."

She shifted stances.

"Tiger Claw!"

Her qi surged into her arms, taking the shape of translucent tiger paws as she lunged again, slashes, feints, and swiping claws trying to break through.

Du Xiao calmly deflected with angled parries. One step forward, a small pivot, and she slashed downward.

Another clean, simple arc.

Clang!

Wu Yan blocked, but this time she stumbled back two steps. Her expression cracked.

"Tch. Try this then."

She swayed, her stance changing again.

"Drunken Fist!"

Her body moved unpredictably, weaving and staggering forward in an off-kilter rhythm.

Every sway disguised a strike, her fists curving with bizarre angles, knees flying in from strange pivots.

But Du Xiao never flinched.

She adjusted calmly, blade flashing with minimal motion.

No flashy sword techniques. No blinding light or qi explosions.

Just clean, perfect fundamentals.

Dodge.

Step.

Swing.

Parry.

Step again.

Another swing.

Clang! Wu Yan’s arm snapped back as she was pushed off balance again.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

"She’s not even using techniques..."

"Just basic sword swings?"

"No way. That’s not... normal."

Back on the stage, Wu Yan gritted her teeth.

She gritted her teeth.

This wasn’t just about her. She was a direct disciple from one of the five great families. She had to win!

"Fine," she hissed, qi flaring violently around her. "Let’s end this—Wu Clan Final Style!"

Her hands glowed with a unique pattern as she drew a symbol in the air, two tigers roaring across the wind.

She charged in, the marble cracking beneath her feet.

Du Xiao raised her sword.

No words. No techniques.

Just a downward swing.

CRACK!

The sound echoed like thunder.

Wu Yan stopped moving.

Her arms shook. The momentum was gone. Her technique shattered mid-air. Her body, trembling, slowly slumped to one knee.

Her eyes were wide in disbelief.

She looked up at Du Xiao, who stood calmly with her sword resting lightly against her shoulder, not a bead of sweat on her brow.

As Wu Yan slumped to a knee, Du Xiao quietly sheathed her sword with a click so soft it was almost a whisper.

She didn’t bow. She didn’t celebrate. She simply turned... and walked away.

The referee blinked twice.

"W-Winner... Du Xiao!"

The crowd erupted when the winner was announced.

"Did she just—?"

"One sword swing broke a final technique?"

"What the hell is her background?!"

In the Wu viewing area, Zhao Ming groaned. "That’s not something you see every day."

The next match followed swiftly, and the crowd stirred in recognition.

"Zhao Ren of the Zhao Clan—step forward!"

A tall youth in crimson and black robes walked onto the stage, his stride steady and proud.

His qi flared outward in a disciplined burst, calm yet undeniable—Peak Qi Transformation.

Gasps rippled through the stands.

"The son of Zhao Ming himself..."

"Peak stage at just twenty-one? Impressive."

The host turned toward the opposite end of the arena. "His opponent—Cultivator Shen, from the Northeast Hills."

A lean figure in plain robes stepped onto the stage, noticeably younger, with a cautious expression. Qi lightly shimmered around him—Early Stage Qi Condensation.

The moment the cultivator felt Zhao Ren’s oppressive presence up close, he paused.

Then, with a low bow to both his opponent and the referee, he turned... and walked off the stage.

The referee blinked. "Surrender acknowledged. Winner—Zhao Ren of the Zhao Clan!"

There were no boos. No sneers. Just a murmur of quiet understanding.

"Wise choice."

"There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity."

"You don’t fight a peak Qi Transformation head-on with early Condensation unless you’ve got a death wish."

Even Zhao Ren didn’t gloat. He gave a formal salute and returned to the Zhao family box with composure.

But not all memories were so clean-cut.

A few of the older cultivators in the stands chuckled quietly.

"Still," one said, nudging his companion, "Remember when a certain twelve-year-old didn’t know the meaning of surrender?"

"Oh-ho, you’re talking about Fang Yuan?"

"Who else! Every year he got up there, early Condensation or not, and stared down people twice his age like it was personal."

"He never won back then," someone added with a fond laugh. "But damned if he didn’t make every match look like a heroic epic. Crowd went wild every time."

"Watching him grit his teeth, bleeding, bones broken but still swinging that sword like he had something to prove..."

"Now that was tenacity. That’s the kind of fight you don’t forget."

The murmurs faded as the next name was prepared.