CHAPTER 58: SECT COMPETITION VI

Tian Lei finally moved.

He shifted one foot to the side and—tapped his finger against the falling wind slash.

Silence.

Then—

CRACK.

The technique shattered like glass under pressure, particles of wind essence scattering harmlessly into the air.

The crowd gasped.

Meng Shen landed a few meters away, eyes wide.

His lips moved silently. "How..."

Tian Lei finally spoke, voice calm. Controlled.

"Too many steps. Too much motion. Wind tries to dance... but sword doesn’t follow wind."

Meng Shen’s expression froze.

That line—it wasn’t random.

It was a reversal of a core mantra from Heavenly Cloud Peak.

He clenched his jaw, rushing one last time. A flurry of strikes, all sharp, all brilliant—each backed by the full weight of his cultivation and momentum.

But Tian Lei—

Stepped past all of it.

It was as if the strikes didn’t matter. As if they had been erased before they existed.

And then—

One light chop to Meng Shen’s shoulder.

Just a palm.

BOOM.

He flew backward and tumbled across the stage—coming to a stop at the very edge, coughing dust.

Not unconscious.

But very, very defeated.

The elder raised his hand.

"Winner: Tian Lei."

Silence fell across the arena for a heartbeat.

Then—

Explosion.

Cheers. Shouts. People screaming his name.

"He didn’t even unsheathe his sword again!"

"What kind of monster is he?!"

"That wasn’t a duel. That was a damn seminar!"

Meng Shen chuckled bitterly as he sat up, rubbing his neck.

"...That guy’s the real deal."

He looked toward Tian Lei as the victor turned without a word, walking back to his seat.

Meng Shen smiled wryly and mouthed:

"Final’s all yours, sword monk."

"You’re good too," Tian Lei said calmly. "Pity you met me."

Meng Shen grinned as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Haha, you’re right. I’m just Meng Shen—but you’re a damn monster."

Tian Lei gave the faintest of nods before silently leaving the stage.

The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch as Elder Anaih stepped onto the stage once more, his robes billowing like storm clouds rolling in from the mountains. His sharp gaze swept across the arena before his voice, clear as temple bells, cut through the noise:

"Final Match!"

The disciples held their breath.

"Wei Zhen of Earth Core Peak..."

A low rumble echoed as Wei Zhen stepped forward, his presence like an avalanche wrapped in stillness. He wore simple robes, but the earth itself seemed to resonate with each step. Unbothered, unwavering—like a mountain that had decided to move.

"Versus Tian Lei of Sect Master Peak!"

The response was immediate. Cheers, chants, even a few excited squeals.

"Let’s go, Sword Monk!"

"He already crushed everyone else!"

"Still can’t believe Meng Shen lost that fast!"

Tian Lei walked forward like drifting ash—calm, measured, and untouchable. His presence wasn’t loud like Wei Zhen’s—it was silent dominance. He didn’t posture. He didn’t speak. He simply arrived, and the stage adjusted itself around him like reality bending to a sharper truth.

Wei Zhen cracked his knuckles.

Tian Lei raised an eyebrow.

The tension was almost theatrical.

Elder Anaih glanced between them, then raised his hand like a judge delivering fate.

"Begin."

Wei Zhen’s aura flared—dense, grounded, and patient.

Earthen Flow Physique.

From the Earth Core Peak, he didn’t burst with spiritual light or shake the heavens with qi. No, his strength came like the creeping roots of an ancient mountain—slow, silent, and inevitable.

A dull thrum pulsed from beneath his skin. His steps were heavy but sure. His breath matched the rhythm of the earth.

"Earth Core Peak..." someone murmured in the stands. "They specialize in Flow Tempering—melding body cultivation with rooted footwork and continuous force..."

Wei Zhen’s muscles didn’t bulge dramatically. Instead, a grainy sheen of hardened qi ran along his skin like sediment turning to stone.

He wasn’t fast.

He wasn’t flashy.

But he would not break.

"Let’s see your sword outlast this," he said, planting his stance like a fortress.

He surged forward—not with speed, but with terrifying momentum.

Like a boulder rolling downhill.

A grounded palm strike—aimed directly at Tian Lei’s midsection. No wind-up, no feints. Just force. Pure, uncompromising force.

Tian Lei didn’t block.

He stepped in.

One foot. Half a breath. Shoulder tilted.

His hand moved.

CRACK.

The palm missed. Wei Zhen’s wrist was caught—and redirected.

SLAM!

Wei Zhen was hurled over Tian Lei’s shoulder like a sack of spirit potatoes, crashing into the stone ring with a low, grinding rumble. The floor cracked—not from impact, but from the sheer refusal of his body to crumble under pressure.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"He... countered with body strength?"

"I thought Tian Lei was a sword cultivator!"

"He is—but he didn’t even draw it..."

Wei Zhen groaned, pushing himself up, dirt clinging to his form like armor. His eyes locked on Tian Lei.

"You... you’re forged too?"

Tian Lei exhaled slowly, the faint shimmer of silver light tracing beneath his skin—subtle, elegant, and completely unforced.

From the Earth Core Peak’s reserved seating, Elder Gan’s hand tensed against the stone armrest. He rose halfway from his seat, eyes narrowing as he caught the silver glow.

"...That’s a body forging method. And not just any," he muttered.

One of the seated disciples looked up nervously. "Elder?"

He didn’t answer immediately—his gaze was locked on Tian Lei.

At last, Elder Gan turned toward Mu Renxue, the Sect Leader seated at the head.

"Is that... what I think it is?" he asked, voice low but firm.

Mu Qinxue, ever composed, didn’t let her surprise reach her expression. She merely replied with a measured smile. "He is... very talented."

The old man’s brows creased in thought.

"A talent like that, cultivated quietly all this time," he muttered to himself. Then, louder: "Sect Leader, would you consider allowing him to study for a while under Earth Core Peak? Just for a brief exchange—he won’t be obligated, of course."

Mu Qinxue’s lips curved slightly.

"If he’s willing," she said, nodding.

As Elder Gan settled back into his seat, visibly pleased, one of the other Grand Elders leaned in with a dry chuckle.

"Heh... and just earlier, weren’t you the one saying he’s not that good?"

Elder Gan’s face flushed a shade darker, but he simply snorted and waved the comment away, saying nothing.

The elders fell silent after that, their eyes fixed on the stage.

Each of them now wondered the same thing—

What other secrets lie hidden in that boy’s unassuming frame?

Back on the arena floor...

Wei Zhen gritted his teeth, his aura now turbulent, edges cracking under the weight of disbelief.

"You forged your body before touching a sword...?" he muttered, stepping forward, stone fragments sliding under his feet.

No... I won’t be humiliated like this. Not by someone who hasn’t even shown their blade!

With a deep inhale, Wei Zhen slammed both fists together. The bronze gleam of his Earth Core Physique intensified, his limbs swelling slightly, veins pulsing like magma rivers.

From his stance, he planted both feet wide apart—low, grounded, unshakable.

"Earthlock Form—Stone Tyrant Stance!"

A miniature tremor rippled from him. The cracked platform beneath groaned as his body sank half an inch into the stone. Like a pillar, unmoving. Unyielding.

From the stands, Elder Gan leaned forward. "Now he’s serious. That’s the foundational stance of Earth Core Peak—meant to root the body deeper than ironwood into the earth. He won’t be moved again unless Tian Lei brings out real force."

Mu Qinxue’s expression didn’t change.

Tian Lei blinked once.

Then took a step forward.

No battle cry. No stance shift. No flourish.

Just a casual step.

Wei Zhen’s eyes narrowed. He’s just going to walk up to me?!

Tian Lei’s left hand flexed loosely. His right hung by his side, relaxed.

Then—

CRACK—

In the blink of an eye, Tian Lei appeared beside him—his left hand slamming into Wei Zhen’s abdomen with a casual palm strike.

It was gentle. Almost polite.

But it bypassed Wei Zhen’s guard entirely.

The stone beneath the Earth Core cultivator exploded.

BOOM!

Wei Zhen’s stance held for half a second—then shattered. His body launched backward like a loose arrow, crashing through one of the reinforced barrier runes at the edge of the platform.

Silence.

Then, from a stunned junior disciple: "...He just... tapped him?"

Tian Lei exhaled. "Stone Tyrant Stance is strong."

He stepped back to the center of the stage, brushing his knuckles. "But it’s still only as solid as the foundation it’s built on."

Wei Zhen groaned in the rubble.

From the judges’ platform, the formation stones began to glow.

"Match concluded!" a voice echoed. "Victor: Tian Lei!"

The crowd roared to life, part shock, part awe, part unbridled hype.

Up on the high dais...

The elders leaned forward as the golden glow of the formation faded from the arena. The sect’s barrier shimmered faintly, then disappeared entirely—leaving behind only dust, a crumbled edge of the platform... and one stunned Wei Zhen being helped up by medical disciples.

Elder Gan didn’t speak this time.

He couldn’t.

Mu Qinxuexue didn’t smile, but her teacup halted half an inch from her lips—fingers pausing in midair.

"...He struck directly into the core compression point," murmured Elder Gan finally, voice dry. "Bypassing the braced stance entirely... that’s not luck. That’s anatomical insight."

"A martial artist... with a scholar’s precision," Elder Zhou added, arms folded, tone now respectful. "And all without drawing his weapon. What’s his background again?"