Gao Han probed his own sword momentum and knew it had only reached the first tier of power.
Momentum had its own hierarchy of strength, which directly dictated its destructive force. At just the first tier, Gao Han's sword momentum was far from overwhelmingly powerful. By contrast, the sword momentum he had witnessed from Jian Wuxiang had already reached the seventh tier—with a mere glance, Jian Wuxiang could have defeated Gao Han effortlessly.
Though his sword momentum was only at the first tier, Gao Han's ice momentum had advanced to the second. Within his soul sea, his soul emanated a constant chill, and an inscrutable character within his soul had gained an additional stroke.
Ever since his sword momentum had grown, the character had mysteriously added a stroke, now taking the shape of the logogram for "human."
Gao Han was no fool. After a moment's reflection, realization struck him, and he marveled inwardly: This is the character for "sword"! He was certain that when the character was fully formed, he would attain perfect sword momentum. How it would then evolve into sword intent remained to be seen.
"Enough. Off with you if you are unhurt—we must continue the tournament," You Canghai said to Gao Han.
Gao Han withdrew, and the matches resumed.
Upon rejoining his group, Nian Hua stood awkwardly, unsure what to say to him. The other Misty Sect disciples, having mocked Gao Han earlier, also fell silent.
At last, Nian Hua let out a sigh and spoke to Gao Han with genuine sincerity. "I apologize, Junior Brother. I was wrong to underestimate you."
Xiang Ling took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "Gao Han, Senior Brother Nian only acted for the sect's honor. After all…"
She explained Nian Hua's reasoning in full, and Gao Han understood. Yet Nian Hua's words had still been excessively harsh. Now that an apology had been offered, lingering anger would only make him seem petty.
Gao Han fixed his gaze steadily on the arena. He had come to realize that personal enlightenment alone was insufficient. The world was filled with prodigies, and he must learn from others' strengths to offset his own weaknesses.
Duan Qianchou's opponent was a Lu clan disciple named Lu Zhengheng, a master of leg techniques whose kicks had wounded countless warriors and carried him this far in the tournament. He was at the peak of the third layer of True Essence, a single step away from the fourth.
Lu Zhengheng glanced at Duan Qianchou and smiled contemptuously. "So you're the young master of the Duan clan. Let us see how many of my kicks you can endure."
Duan Qianchou's expression remained cold and indifferent. "Bold words. Let us witness just how formidable you are to dare overlook one such as myself. You shall receive no mercy from me."
A storm of leg silhouettes surged toward Duan Qianchou, and Lu Zhengheng laughed wildly. "A narcissistic fool!"
Each kick tore through the air, and dozens of such strikes converged in a fearsome onslaught.
"Hmph. Trash," Duan Qianchou muttered. With only three kicks, he sent Lu Zhengheng flying off the platform. The first kick obliterated the barrage of leg silhouettes; the second snapped Lu Zhengheng's leg; the third struck squarely at his chest.
Lu Zhengheng was sent hurtling backward, his chest caved in by several centimeters, the sickening crunch of shattered ribs echoing across the arena.
Without waiting for You Canghai's verdict, Duan Qianchou turned and departed. "Trash shall always be trash. You boasted of seeing how many kicks you could land on me. Had you withstood five of mine without falling, I would have conceded."
Battle intent blazed fiercely in Gao Han's eyes. "Incredible… this is momentum!"
Nian Hua looked on in surprise. "Momentum?"
"Indeed. Leg momentum," Gao Han replied, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. "Momentum is forged when the soul communes with heaven and earth, allowing one's strikes to mimic the oppressive might of the cosmos. The higher one's enlightenment, the truer that mimicry becomes. When one breaks through to will, one wields the genuine power of heaven and earth within oneself."
Nian Hua surpassed Gao Han in cultivation and age, but in martial enlightenment, he could not compare.
Gao Han's understanding of the martial way had reached an apex. Breaking through this bottleneck would elevate him to a higher realm—the realm of pure enlightenment. Yet crossing that threshold was far harder than advancing from Qi Condensation to True Essence.
Fan Qinghua, the Qianling Sect's strongest disciple this tournament, soon took to the arena. His match lasted far longer than Duan Qianchou's.
His opponent was Zheng Shu, a Zheng clan prodigy and one of the clan's most powerful young disciples, also at the peak of the third layer of True Essence.
Rumored to be the second son of Zheng Yuntian, he was heavily favored and groomed by the clan, even granted the exceptional privilege of learning the Zheng's Mystic-Rank art: Seven-Step Tyrant Spear. Zheng Yan, Zheng Yuntian's eldest son, also competed and wielded the same spear art.
Zheng Yan was the Zheng clan's most formidable contestant. Another Zheng disciple, at the peak of the second layer of True Essence, had just fallen to Hu Ruiqing of the Hu clan—the Hu's strongest competitor, likewise at the third layer.
Fan Qinghua wielded a two-handed longsaber of peerless sharpness, so keen it seemed to slice through the very air; it was clearly a mid-grade spiritual weapon.
Zheng Shu held a seven-foot spear, its tip exuding an aura of unyielding penetration, its shaft nearly an inch thick and unnervingly flexible.
The two clashed at once upon stepping onto the platform, exchanging no idle words.
"Smash!"
Zheng Shu took a single step forward, flicking his spear so violently that its tip shredded the air. He swung the spear downward at Fan Qinghua with earth-splitting might.
Fan Qinghua attempted to evade with his movement art, but an overwhelming tyrannical aura enclosed him, forming an impenetrable wall. Breaking free would cost him too much time—time he did not have before the spear struck. He had no choice but to meet the blow head-on.
Hum…
"Countering Edge Blade!"
The longsaber sliced through the air, its resonance lingering. It rose to meet Zheng Shu's strike, its blade qi sharp and unyielding, surging back in defiance.
CLANG!
Fan Qinghua spun backward through the air, while Zheng Shu's body strangely sank ten centimeters into the stone.
The bizarre sight stunned the crowd. Logic dictated Fan Qinghua should have been the one driven downward, and Zheng Shu the one sent flying.
The discrepancy lay in their arts. The Seven-Step Tyrant Spear unleashed killing intent and tyrannical power with each step; after seven steps, its dominance was unrivaled, enough to hold a hundred warriors at bay.
Repelling a warrior wielding the art would shatter its flow entirely—but Fan Qinghua's strength was insufficient to do so.
Zheng Shu's gaze turned solemn. His虎口 had split open, blood trickling down his wrist. Though he had repelled Fan Qinghua, his opponent was his equal in cultivation, and his Edge Blade Art was a Mystic-Rank technique on par with the Seven-Step Tyrant Spear.
Fan Qinghua's mid-grade saber was incomparably sharp, and the art amplified its cutting power. Overcoming him was no small feat.
"Sweep!"
Zheng Shu took another step forward, crouching low and sweeping his spear horizontally at Fan Qinghua.
A spectral silhouette of the spear erupted from the weapon, hurtling toward him with gale-force momentum.
The spear seemed to stretch to ten feet in length, and another wall of tyrannical aura, even denser than before, closed in on Fan Qinghua.
Fan Qinghua's face darkened. "This technique again! The Zheng clan's arts are infuriating—no room to evade at all."
"Tyrant's Edge Blade!"
With escape impossible, he chose to clash head-on. This strike, too, brimmed with domineering power.
The saber was the king of short weapons, inherently tyrannical; a blade art without such aura was a travesty. Fan Qinghua's saber met Zheng Shu's spear in a brutal collision.
BANG!
The two forces clashed with equal ferocity, their power evenly matched, leaving the duel deadlocked.
The outcome hinged on their weapons. Fan Qinghua wielded a mid-grade saber, while Zheng Shu's spear was merely low-grade—an entire rank apart.
The gap in quality was astronomical. Zheng Shu's spear was sent flying, a tiny chip marring its tip.
The saber continued its sweep, its blade qi tearing through Zheng Shu's robes, the sharp force making his hair stand on end.
"Deflect!"
Without hesitation, Zheng Shu took another step forward, flicking his spear to divert the saber's path with a single motion.
"Flourish!"
"Stab!"
Seizing the initiative, Zheng Shu took two more rapid steps. His spear spun into a storm of blossoms, obscuring its true position—a deceptive, non-lethal form of the Seven-Step Tyrant Spear, flashy but lacking direct force.
Fan Qinghua could not discern the spear's true trajectory and retreated two steps swiftly.
As he fell back, the floral illusions vanished, leaving four glints of cold light streaking toward him like shooting stars in the night.
"Cross Slash!"
Fan Qinghua unleashed two arcs of blade qi toward the incoming strikes.
CLANG!
Wind howled and dust rose, shrouding the battlefield in a thick haze.
When the dust cleared, Fan Qinghua leaned on his saber for support. Twenty feet away, Zheng Shu lay gasping on the ground, too weakened to rise.
A six-foot radius around them had sunk an inch into the stone, the arena floor cracked and fissured.
Fan Qinghua was declared the victor.
Several more matches concluded, eliminating the vast majority of contestants. Only twenty-six remained—all but Wen Rensi and a female Misty Sect disciple had fought.
The final match of the round began: Wen Rensi stepped onto the arena.
His opponent was Lu Xi, a disciple of the Drifting Flower Peak. She was gentle-featured and delicately built, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. Though not as breathtakingly beautiful as Situ Yan, her features were harmonious and captivating.
"A delicate flower from the Misty Sect," Wen Rensi curled his lip, his leering eyes roaming over Lu Xi's body as if stripping her bare. "Serve me and become my woman, and I shall spare you the humiliation of defeat."
He spoke loudly, as if proclaiming an imperial edict, so that the entire crowd heard his words.
"Shameless! Wen Rensi, have you no honor?" Xiang Ling roared, her eyes blazing with fury.
Gao Han shook his head, channeling true essence into his voice. "Wen Rensi, your character stinks as badly as your name—foul and repulsive. You truly live up to your title."
Waves of sound, sharp as ice needles, surged toward the arena. They were blocked by You Canghai's protective barrier, but the words themselves cut through clearly.
Wen Rensi heard every syllable, his face turning livid. The entire crowd burst into raucous laughter, some doubled over in hysterics.
Wen Rensi trembled with unbridled rage, his hair standing on end.
He extended his right hand, and wisps of smoke curled from his palm. A one-foot flame cloud took shape before him, its heat so intense that smoke rose from the stone beneath his feet—a testament to its fearsome power.
"Starfire Blazing the Plains!"
Wen Rensi struck forward, and the flame cloud shattered into hundreds of smaller embers, drifting toward Lu Xi like a fiery rain, too swift and dense to evade.
"Flowers Blanketing the Mountains!"
Lu Xi wielded a long whip, spinning it so rapidly that it materialized into a shower of floral petals. Each petal that struck the ground exploded, leaving finger-sized craters.
Lu Xi, too, was a third-layer True Essence expert. Though weaker than Wei Ying, her prowess was considerable—this technique already carried the aura of a fourth-layer strike.
The firestorm blotted out the sky, crashing into the petals in a relentless barrage.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Violent explosions engulfed the two warriors, but Wen Rensi's power prevailed. The flames incinerated the petals, reducing them to nothingness, and the remaining fire closed in on Lu Xi.
"Eternal Quietus!"
Petals erupted from Lu Xi's body, weaving into a spherical shield that enclosed her tightly, spinning rapidly.
The fire embers that struck the shield bounced away in all directions.
"Hmph. Overestimating yourself. Blazing Fire Dominance!" Wen Rensi snorted, slamming his palm downward.
A flame avatar, shaped like a giant hand twenty feet across, formed in the sky and crashed downward.
"Essence manifestation!" This was a technique exclusive to fourth-layer True Essence warriors—Wen Rensi was fighting in earnest.
"Impressive. The flame hand is perfectly formed; he has mastered his art to perfection."
SHHH!
The fiery hand slammed into the floral shield, driving it deep into the stone. It clamped down, searing the shield until smoke billowed. With a vicious squeeze, Wen Rensi shattered the barrier entirely, the flame hand lunging straight for Lu Xi.
"Senior Sister Lu Xi, concede! You cannot withstand this strike!" Gao Han's Eye of the Soul saw through the technique instantly—it was far too powerful for her to block.
Lu Xi heeded his warning and conceded defeat.
When a warrior's true essence was sufficiently refined, it could be shaped into myriad forms—wood, stone, palms, blades, swords, and more.
The ability to mold essence stemmed from one's soul and will.
Gao Han possessed an ice-elemental soul, an ice-attuned will. Were he to manifest essence shapes, all would bear the chill of ice—even a flame he conjured would be frigid.
Warriors gained the ability to manifest essence shapes from the fourth layer of True Essence onward, a power several times deadlier than raw essence projection.
A rare few prodigies achieved this before the fourth layer, but only with extraordinary talent.
Several warriors in earlier matches had wielded such techniques—Lu Xi, for instance, had shaped her essence into petals. Yet her talent and cultivation were insufficient, rendering the form weak and easily broken.
Had Nian Hua wielded the same art, it would not have shattered so simply.
The final match concluded, leaving twenty-five contestants. By the rules, a single lucky contender would be chosen to advance.
Yet at Gu Manxing's insistence, Gao Han was forced to duel Gu Ye, the Gu clan's leading prodigy.
This extra match placed an unfair burden on Gao Han, marring the tournament's supposed fairness.
And so…
"I now declare the lucky contenders—Gao Han of the Misty Sect and Gu Ye of the Gu clan!" You Canghai announced solemnly from the arena. The crowd below erupted in shock.
"What? Why two lucky contestants?"
"That leaves only twenty-three! How will the next round proceed?"
"Are they changing the rules again?"
Gao Han pondered for a moment and grasped the elders' scheme, letting out a cold, bitter laugh.
You Canghai did not keep the crowd waiting long. His tone shifted as he continued: "An additional match shall be held: Gao Han of the Misty Sect versus Gu Ye of the Gu clan. The winner shall be the official lucky contender and earn a spot in the top twelve."