Thousand Searches.
Facing the sword qi streaking toward him from three sides, Gao Han grew only calmer, his gaze deep and unyielding as the ocean. His body moved like a fish gliding through gentle waves, slipping through the narrow gaps between the three streams of qi. Not one grazed his robes; all passed harmlessly by.
Lu Zhengteng and the onlookers gaped in disbelief. Dodging three simultaneous strikes was a feat none of them could have matched—such exquisite movement art was beyond their comprehension.
Gao Han's Earth-Shaking Might surged onward toward Lu Zhengteng, who suddenly soared into the air like a bird, darting straight for the incoming palm of essence.
"What is Lu Zhengteng doing? Is he courting death?!"
"That palm strike is monstrous! It shattered the very sword qi that overwhelmed so many others just moments ago!"
As Lu Zhengteng drew nearer to the frosty palm, certain disaster seemed inevitable. Then, with no visible leverage, his body twisted diagonally upward, drifting backward light as a kite.
"Yan Feitian—the Swallow's Return!"
"Yes! That is the legendary movement art, one of the most peculiar Mortal-Rank techniques!"
"It is said to defy all expectation, guiding true essence through an unorthodox path. Mastered to its peak, it allows one to spin six times in midair without reaching the Spirit Fusion realm, shattering the belief that aerial combat is perilous."
Lu Zhengteng circled once and evaded the strike entirely, landing back in his original position. He snorted coldly at Gao Han. "You possess impressive footwork. I will give you one final chance: hand over the token now, or I will show you no mercy. Your movement art is formidable, but my lightness skill is no less so."
For all its grace, the technique left Gao Han unimpressed. Compared to his own Phantom Stride, rooted in the Intent of Shadow, this was little more than a trivial trick. What use were a few midair spins against an art woven from the very essence of shadows?
Gao Han smiled coldly. "I need no second chances."
Lu Zhengteng's face darkened. "You overrate yourself. I only used eighty percent of my power with the Startling Swallow Sword Art earlier. Now you shall witness its true might."
He struck first, sweeping his sword in a flourish of radiance, true essence surging and flickering around the blade—so sharp that a bird landing upon it would be cleaved in two instantly.
"Crimson Swallow, Blazing Heaven!"
Lu Zhengteng leaped high, his body arcing like a swallow. As he ascended, his sword blazed blood-red, its essence turning crimson and radiating waves of heat. His face was flushed crimson by the glow. He raised the sword high and slashed downward, unleashing three more streaks of sword qi—this time faintly red, tinged with the hue of flame.
"A fire-attribute physique? Impossible—the flame aura is far too weak!" Gao Han frowned in surprise. True fire-attribute physique wielders unleashed vividly crimson sword qi; this was pale by comparison.
Whether Lu Zhengteng possessed such a physique mattered little—Gao Han feared him not. The three crimson streaks darted erratically like swallows, their paths impossible to trace, leaving no room for evasion.
Gao Han had not anticipated such a variation, yet his eyes remained sharp, tracking the qi until he spotted a pattern: with every rotation, the three streams overlapped in a straight line.
His gaze locked. Now.
"Surging Tides!"
He unleashed the palm strike at eighty percent power—a technique built for explosive, instantaneous force, perfectly suited to shatter this assault. A towering wave of frost coalesced around his hand, crashing toward the sword qi with unstoppable momentum. The faint flames within the qi were no match for the glacial tide, swallowed whole in an instant. The formidable sword qi crumbled away completely.
"Impossible!"
Lu Zhengteng staggered back three steps, stunned beyond belief. The frosty wave surged onward toward him, too fast and fierce for him to execute his midair movement art—not yet mastered enough to deploy on a whim.
The icy tide crashed over him, slamming him into the ground. When the frost receded, Lu Zhengteng was encased in a block of ice, his face frozen in a mask of terror.
"Who is this boy? He has killed Lu Zhengteng!"
"His strength is terrifying, but so is his audacity!"
"He will be disqualified for this, surely!"
"One less powerful competitor—this works in our favor!"
You Canghai appeared before Gao Han in an instant. Gao Han showed no alarm, bowing calmly. "Senior You. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
You Canghai studied him in surprise. The boy showed no fear at his sudden arrival, even despite the faint, suppressed aura of a Spirit Fusion expert radiating from him. The gap between a first-layer True Essence cultivator and himself was heaven and earth, yet Gao Han remained composed—proof that he was no ordinary youth.
"If this man is dead, you are disqualified from the tournament." Though he favored Gao Han, his duty as referee demanded fairness.
"He lives."
Gao Han stepped forward, placing a hand upon the ice. He drew the frosty energy back into his body, and the ice melted away. Lu Zhengteng trembled violently, frozen stiff but very much alive.
"Extraordinary!" You Canghai exclaimed. "You can absorb ice into your very body. Is this the effect of a cultivation art?"
"An art?" Gao Han was confused. He had always believed elemental powers stemmed from one's physique—could techniques grant such abilities?
You Canghai, seeing great potential in Gao Han, offered a word of guidance. "Certain arts, when mastered to a sufficient level, grant elemental properties. The Startling Swallow Sword Art Lu Zhengteng wielded has fifteen stages; beyond the tenth, it infuses sword qi with faint flame, boosting its power."
Gao Han nodded in understanding. He had mistakenly assumed Lu Zhengteng possessed a fire-attribute physique. Thanking You Canghai, he turned back to the crowd.
All who witnessed his prowess dared not challenge him. Those with tokens held onto them tightly; those without knew better than to provoke him. His earlier victory over the Gu clansman might have been dismissed as luck, but Lu Zhengteng was a third-layer True Essence expert, wielding a top-tier Mortal-Rank sword art and a rare movement art inherited from the Goose Gate Sect—a nine-star power. For him to fall in just two palms was unthinkable. And Gao Han wore two swords at his waist—no one could be certain he had even fought with full strength.
Gao Han had become the center of all attention, and one figure among the crowd grew resentful.
"Hmph! A fluke, nothing more! A trashy first-layer cultivator will always be trash, no matter how lucky he gets."
The speaker was a young man in red martial robes, two white clouds embroidered on the back—the emblem of a true disciple of Fire Cloud Manor. Though Fire Cloud Manor was a seven-star sect, its true disciples rarely surpassed the fourth layer of True Essence. For one thing, it ranked near the bottom of seven-star powers; for another, the Misty Sect, though an eight-star sect, was a peak power that could rival any seven-star force, Fire Cloud Manor included.
"An unknown whelp dares to act so arrogantly. Do you know how to die?" the Fire Cloud disciple sneered.
"Perhaps you are the one who does not know his place, Wen Rensi. How dare you insult a disciple of the Misty Sect?"
Nian Hua stepped forward, a true disciple of the Misty Sect, also at the fourth layer of True Essence.
"Ah, Nian Hua of the Misty Sect. So this trash belongs to your sect. Shameful, parading a first-layer incompetent before us all—you sully the name of sect disciples."
As a fellow fourth-layer expert, Wen Rensi feared him not.
"A first-layer cultivator riles you so deeply? You are smaller than I thought, Wen Rensi," Nian Hua scoffed.
Gao Han burst into laughter before Wen Rensi could reply. He had been holding back his amusement, but hearing Nian Hua speak the man's name had broken his restraint.
"Wen Rensi… Wen Ren Shi—Manure Smell. How peculiar and repulsive a taste you have." He pointed at Wen Rensi, laughing until tears streamed down his face. "Do you dwell in a latrine, then?"
Wen Rensi's face turned livid with rage. He fixed Gao Han with a murderous glare, speaking each word through gritted teeth. "You. Seek. Death."
Nian Hua grew anxious for Gao Han. Though he and Wen Rensi were both fourth-layer experts, Wen Rensi was stronger. He could defend himself, but protecting Gao Han would be impossible—Wen Rensi was known across the Spirit Kingdom as the Fire Palm.
Titles were not claimed lightly; they were earned through repeated displays of overwhelming power, recognized by all who wandered the martial world. Those who mocked Wen Rensi's name rarely lived to tell the tale, for he practiced the signature art of Fire Cloud Manor, granting him his fearsome epithet.
Like Gao Han's arts, it was an elemental cultivation technique—though this was a top-tier Mortal-Rank art.
Flames erupted beneath Wen Rensi's feet, and he shot toward Gao Han and Nian Hua like a streak of fire. The veins on his hands bulged, turning from blue to fiery red; his palms blazed like living fire, their lines writhing as if the flames themselves lived within him. The heat distorted the very air.
Nian Hua gasped. "He has mastered the Fire Cloud Palm to the ninth stage!"
The Fire Cloud Palm was a Mystic-Rank art with thirteen stages. At the eighth, one could draw fire elemental energy straight from heaven and earth. Nian Hua himself practiced a Mystic-Rank sword art of twelve stages, yet had only reached the seventh—he stood no chance.
Still, if he did not intervene, Gao Han would be defeated outright. For all their internal rivalries, the Misty Sect stood united against external foes—especially Fire Cloud Manor, their long-standing enemy.
Nian Hua stepped forward with an exquisite footwork, drawing his sword. The blade was orange, polished to a sheen, its edge lined with jagged, upward-pointing teeth.
"The Crocodile Tooth Sword—one of the ten famed low-grade swords of the Misty Sect!" Gao Han exclaimed in surprise.
Swords varied greatly in quality. Within the Misty Sect, common blades bore no names and no rankings; the finest of them, Gao Han's own Steelpoint Sword, was among them. Low-grade weapons, however, were ranked—and the Crocodile Tooth Sword held tenth place. Its serrated edge could saw through ordinary low-grade swords with ease, a brutally vicious weapon.
He slashed at Wen Rensi with a strike that seemed soft and ethereal, as insubstantial as mist. Onlookers doubted it could withstand the Fire Cloud Palm for even a moment.
SHING!
The result left everyone stunned. The seemingly feeble sword clashed evenly with the ferocious Fire Cloud Palm. Wen Rensi staggered back three steps; Nian Hua four. Each step carved deep into the stone slabs.
Thin white smoke rose from the Crocodile Tooth Sword, seared by Wen Rensi's flame. A pale white mark marked Wen Rensi's palm.
Wen Rensi stared at the mark, his face darkening. "Impressive. Sun Qingyun, Sect Leader of the Misty Sect, has invested greatly in you, granting you a Mystic-Rank sword art."
"Mastering the Fire Cloud Palm to the ninth stage at the fourth layer of True Essence—you are no slouch yourself."
"Your talent is considerable, yet you are still far beneath me. You have only reached the seventh stage of your art, while I stand at the ninth."
Gao Han trembled as he watched the two experts clash—not from fear, but from exhilaration. He had found a worthy opponent, and his battle intent blazed.
Wen Rensi and Nian Hua both noticed his fervor.
Before Gao Han could challenge Wen Rensi, a figure stepped before him. It was Wei Ying of the Drifting Rain Peak, his expression a mix of rebuke and contempt. "You court far too much trouble. You know not your place. You have already brought the wrath of the Gu and Lu clans upon us; you are a curse to the Misty Sect."
Gao Han had never liked Wei Ying, and his arrogant, power-hungry rebuke only deepened his disdain.
"A warrior does not yield. A warrior does not fear. A warrior does not break. A warrior does not retreat. A warrior does not bow to power."
Gao Han spoke calmly, turning away from Wei Ying to fix his gaze on Wen Rensi.
The crowd was shaken to their core. Since the rise of great powers and clans, warriors had forgotten their roots, currying favor and abandoning the very heart of martial cultivation.
Wei Ying burned with shame and rage—humiliated by an outer-sect disciple. He raised a hand to strike Gao Han across the face.
But Gao Han paid him no mind. Activating Phantom Stride, enhanced now by his heightened Intent of Shadow, he vanished from the spot and reappeared before Wen Rensi in an instant, hand resting on his sword hilt, stance low and ready.
You Canghai had been murmuring Gao Han's words to himself, a sudden clarity dawning upon him. He felt as though he had wasted years of his life.
He burst into laughter, then appeared before Gao Han and held him back by the wrist.
"I have lived decades in vain! After this tournament, I shall never preside over another young generation contest. I have clung to this role for fame, but now I see the truth." He smiled gratefully at Gao Han. "Young brother, your words have awakened me. You have my gratitude, but I must stop you—the quarter-hour has expired. No more fighting may take place."
The time limit had passed. The roster for the next stage was finally set.