CHAPTER 60: TOURNAMENT [4]

The referee raised a hand.

"Begin!"

Zhao Lu was the first to move.

He charged in with a confident burst of speed, his qi flaring gold-red behind him like trailing embers.

"Dragon’s Claw!"

His fingers curved into a clawed strike, energy rippling down his arm as he launched a sweeping blow toward Fang Yang’s midsection.

The force behind it distorted the air, accompanied by a faint roar like an awakening beast.

Fang Yang didn’t back away.

He drew his sword in a single, smooth motion.

"Tyrant Light Sword—First Strike: Divine Line!"

A piercing beam of light exploded from his blade, shooting forward like a gleaming spear.

The two attacks collided with a shockwave that cracked the marble beneath their feet and sent a gust of wind howling through the arena.

BOOM!

The crowd gasped as both fighters were pushed back from the rebound, their feet skidding across the platform.

Zhao Lu blinked. "You’re... Qi Transformation?"

The realization hit the crowd a second later.

"He’s... not some junior at Qi Condensation?"

"He’s early Qi Transformation—just like Zhao Lu!"

"Didn’t they say the Fang juniors were still behind?!"

A ripple of astonishment swept through the stands, and even Zhao Ming’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Fang Chen said nothing.

But his knuckles loosened around his teacup.

In the arena, Fang Yang steadied his stance. His eyes were cool, unwavering.

Zhao Lu grinned now, the earlier courtesy fading into adrenaline. "This just got fun."

He dashed in again, faster, stronger, sharper.

"Phoenix Strike!"

He leapt high into the air, twisting as crimson-gold flames coiled around his leg, and came down in a powerful axe kick that seemed to split the sky.

Fang Yang spun to the side, narrowly avoiding the impact.

CRACK!

The stone where he had stood exploded into molten chunks.

Before the dust could settle, Fang Yang slashed horizontally—

"Divine Line!"

A streak of white light tore across the stage, straight toward Zhao Lu, who threw up both arms and braced—

BOOM!

He skidded back three full meters before stopping, panting slightly.

Cheers erupted.

"They’re evenly matched!"

"But Fang Yang’s technique, what sword style is that? Is that a family technique?"

"Tyrant Light Sword," an elder muttered from the side. "one of the common technique of the Fang Clan... if I recall correctly, Fang Yuan later improved it and introduced two more layers to it."

The crowd gasped at the information.

On the platform, Zhao Lu narrowed his stance and inhaled deeply.

"Perfect Harmony," he whispered.

His qi shimmered around him, soft, graceful, as if wind, water, and flame all flowed in a rhythmic loop.

His body followed the motion, entering a flowing stance that seemed to erase all openings.

In response, Fang Yang’s sword shimmered with twin lines of silver light.

He raised it above his shoulder.

"Tyrant Light Sword—Second Strike: Star Form."

Two lines of light extended from his blade, tracing into a V-shape across the platform.

The air itself vibrated.

"Only two lines?" the elder from earlier whispered.

"Still... that’s the second form of the Tyrant Light Sword, isn’t it?"

"Yes, and only those at perfection can draw five..."

"Then this Fang Yang, he’s not there yet."

"But close. Damn close."

Down on the stage, Fang Yang lunged forward, blade trailing two gleaming lines of light.

Zhao Lu twisted into his Perfect Harmony stance, meeting the assault with elegant, spiral deflections.

Every strike Fang Yang made was blocked or redirected but not effortlessly.

Clang! Crack!

A dozen exchanges passed in seconds.

Sword against fist.

Technique against form.

Speed against timing.

And neither one could break through.

Dust swirled. Stone cracked. The air was thick with tension.

Then they separated, panting, staring across the platform.

Both bloodied slightly.

Zhao Lu wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, his chest rising with excitement.

"I’ll admit it," he called across the field, voice sharp and proud. "You’re strong, far stronger than I expected..."

Then he grinned, baring his teeth like a predator. "But I’m better!"

He launched forward, qi roaring to life around him. Golden energy coiled around his fists and legs like the twin spirits of dragon and phoenix.

"Dragon’s Claw—Twin Talon Rush!"

His arms moved in a blur, each strike heavy and deliberate, slamming down with the weight of a landslide.

Every blow came with a sonic boom that made the audience flinch.

Fang Yang raised his sword just in time to intercept—clang!—then again—clang! clang!

The blade vibrated in his hands. He took a step back.

Then another.

Then another.

Zhao Lu’s attacks rained down like a storm.

Fang Yang parried each one, his footwork nimble but pressured.

His sword arm began to tremble under the continuous assault.

Zhao Lu let out a shout and launched a sweeping kick, forcing Fang Yang to leap back or be tripped.

"Phoenix Strike—Feathered Wind Sweep!"

His foot arced up into the air and crashed down.

BOOM!

The impact cracked the stone floor where Fang Yang had landed.

Dust burst skyward.

"Urgh—!" Fang Yang grunted as he rolled away, barely evading the blow.

His robes were torn at the shoulder, one knee scraped and bleeding.

Zhao Lu didn’t stop there.

He followed through with a palm thrust wrapped in spiraling red-gold qi.

Fang Yang raised his sword, too slow this time.

BANG!

The palm landed squarely against his blade, knocking him back.

Fang Yang flew several meters before flipping in midair, boots skidding on the ground as he barely righted himself.

His blade shook in his grip.

But he didn’t fall.

He looked up, breathing heavy, eyes sharpening.

Zhao Lu snorted. "Still not surrendering? I’m giving you another chance before this gets ugly."

Fang Yang smiled, sweat dripping down his jaw.

"Not surrendering. Not yet."

And then, he shifted his stance again.

The crowd murmured.

"That’s the Tyrant Light stance again."

"Wait... are those third lines forming...?!"

But no. The twin silver lines pulsed once more, unchanged but brighter.

Stable and refined.

Fang Yang raised his sword high.

Then the silver lines lit up again.

"Let’s see if you can handle my counter, Zhao Lu."