Confronted with such an overwhelming strike, Jian Qingtian was taken aback. He had never imagined that this wanderer's attainment in the sword could be so profound, and at last, he drew his longsword from its sheath.
A brilliant flash of sword light blazed before the crowd, its piercing radiance blinding everyone for a fleeting moment. Only a handful of onlookers remained unaffected.
Gao Han was one of them. Jian Qingtian's sword was silvery-white, glinting brilliantly in the sunlight, its edge impossibly sharp, exuding an aura of lethal sword radiance.
Ah—a mid-grade spiritual sword? Gao Han murmured in quiet surprise.
Jian Qingtian slashed fiercely toward the sky, unleashing a wave of sword qi that rent the air asunder, leaving a vacuum in its wake. It was essence-forged sword qi as well, yet larger than Lin Xiaoya's, stretching nearly twenty feet in length and one foot in width.
CLANG…
The two streams of sword qi clashed violently, sending ferocious gales surging outward in all directions, each gust carrying the force of a full-powered strike from a first-layer True Essence warrior.
The sword qi tangled and tore at one another, the space between them collapsing into a void. In the end, Jian Qingtian's power prevailed, and the intertwined qi hurtled toward Lin Xiaoya, who hovered in midair.
Sensing danger, Lin Xiaoya darted sideways in a desperate evasion. The sword qi grazed him so closely that he felt a searing pain as if it had pierced his bones; the sleeve of his left arm was shredded to pieces in an instant, drifting to the ground.
CLANG!
The sword qi soared toward the firmament and slammed violently into the protective barrier upheld by You Canghai.
As dusk approached, You Canghai had grown weary after a full day of sustaining the barrier. The spiraling sword qi whirled against its surface, carving cracks into it, yet failed to shatter it entirely before fading into nothingness.
You Canghai glanced upward and sighed. "Truly the finest of the young generation—they have nearly broken the barrier I wove with one percent of my power. I wonder what other surprises they hold in store."
In a top-floor corner suite of the tavern beside the arena stood a white marble table, flanked by five exquisite chairs crafted from precious ningxiang wood.
Seated in the central chair was an elderly man, his seat distinct from the other four: seven crossed swords were carved into its backrest, while the others bore only five. The four seats beside him were occupied by two men and two women, all clad in identical black robes emblazoned with five crossed white longswords over the heart.
Every one of them fixed their gaze upon the arena, watching the duel between Lin Xiaoya and Jian Qingtian with rapt attention.
Witnessing their extraordinary prowess, the elderly man in the center spoke gravely. "The Spirit Kingdom is the mightiest realm among a dozen neighboring nations. It holds countless ancient ruins, yet the ten great clans have never bothered to search thoroughly—they deem them their rightful spoils, to be claimed at their leisure. Thanks to these ruins, the young talents here are remarkably formidable."
At his words, a middle-aged woman smiled coquettishly. "Then why did you send your grandson, young Xiaoya, here, Elder Lin? Do you not fear he will be discouraged? Our Ten Sword Sect already commands two ruins, after all."
The elderly man sighed softly. "It is time he grew. Our Ten Sword Sect dominates the entire Cheng Kingdom; as overlords, no one dares challenge him. A warrior cannot progress without genuine combat—he will never mature otherwise. Ruins are external treasures, but battle forges the heart and soul, allowing one to wield one's power to its fullest and turn learned techniques into instinctive strikes. All those pills from the ruins have stagnated his cultivation in recent years."
"So you turned to the Spirit Kingdom, Elder Lin?" a man who appeared no older than thirty asked solemnly.
"Indeed. Besides, two ruins are scarcely enough to elevate our sect to greater heights. So…" The elderly man smiled, his grin cold and sinister. His lips moved, yet not a sound escaped them, while the four beside him nodded repeatedly, clearly privy to his unspoken words.
Once he fell silent, greed and malice glinted in their eyes, as if eagerly anticipating what was to come.
Anyone who had overheard their conversation would have been struck dumb with terror—even the ancestral elders of the great clans watching from the stands.
The Cheng Kingdom was a power vastly superior to the Spirit Kingdom, renowned across the entire Southern Cang Region. It was said to rank second only to the great empires.
Empires stood supreme; even the weakest boasted six-star power, while the strongest held four-star status. As a hegemonic force of the Cheng Kingdom, the Ten Sword Sect's strength was unimaginable. What brought its members to the Spirit Kingdom remained a sinister mystery.
Jian Qingtian tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Your skill is impressive. What title do you bear in the martial world? With your prowess, you are no weaker than Wen Rensi—surely you are not unknown."
Lin Xiaoya threw back his head and laughed. "I have only recently ventured into the world; I have yet to make a name for myself. You prattle far too much. I truly wonder how the Jian clan came to be the holy land of swordsmen in the Spirit Kingdom—with empty words?"
Lin Xiaoya's tone turned frenzied. His sword flickered, splitting into two, then four, then eight…
Thirty-two illusory sword qi streams materialized, stabbing toward Jian Qingtian like scattered stars across the sky.
"Heavenly Star Transformation!"
This technique bore a resemblance to Zheng Shu's "Thrust" stance, yet its power was exponentially greater. Each of the thirty-two streams was as fine as a thread, condensed to an extreme degree—far harder to evade, with destructive power that multiplied geometrically.
The sword qi weaved through the air, targeting every vital point on Jian Qingtian's body; a single strike would mean certain death or crippling injury.
Jian Qingtian's gaze turned razor-sharp. He stepped back, twisted his wrist, and his sword spun like a funnel, unleashing layers upon layers of sword radiance that surged toward Lin Xiaoya like a tidal wave.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!…
The two waves of sword qi collided violently, carving an unfathomably deep gash into the arena stone.
All of this unfolded in an instant. Their speed and power were breathtaking, far beyond the reach of ordinary third-layer True Essence warriors.
"These two are incomparably powerful! Every stream of sword qi is lethal—even without overwhelming destructive force, their speed is beyond our ability to dodge."
"Jian Qingtian is truly formidable! He held back his full power in earlier matches. Had he unleashed such a strike then, few could have withstood him."
"Jian Qingtian is impressive, but that wandering swordsman Lin Xiaoya is no less extraordinary! He has forced Jian Qingtian to unleash his ultimate techniques. Who will prevail?"
Elsewhere, Gao Han stood beside Nian Hua, watching the battle with unwavering focus.
"I cannot tell who will win. Junior Brother Gao Han, can you see it?" Nian Hua asked absentmindedly, captivated by the duel.
Gao Han spoke gravely. "Forty percent."
"Senior Brother Gao! You mean one of them has a forty percent chance of victory?" asked Kang Le, the last remaining disciple of the Drifting Wind Peak. A third-layer True Essence warrior, he constantly waved a fan painted with a vast grassland and a lone eagle soaring overhead—a work of solitary grandeur, and a low-grade spiritual weapon.
For an inner-sect disciple to address Gao Han as "senior brother" spoke volumes: Gao Han's strength had won the unreserved respect of his peers.
Wei Ying's prowess was plain for all to see, second only to Nian Hua among their group. Yet Gao Han had defeated him, proving his superiority beyond doubt.
Such was the way of the martial world: strength commanded respect and recognition. Without it, one was nothing.
"Lin Xiaoya has only a forty percent chance of winning—perhaps even less," Gao Han said calmly.
Xiang Ling of the Drifting Flower Peak frowned. "What? From what we have seen, they are perfectly evenly matched!"
Gao Han shook his head solemnly. "You have forgotten one thing—Jian Qingtian has comprehended sword momentum, and he has not wielded it once in this battle."
"Ah! You are right! I had completely forgotten!" Kang Le exclaimed in realization.
The terrifying power of sword momentum was known only to those who had faced it. It boosted a swordsman's attack power by a full twenty percent.
That twenty percent was no trivial matter—it represented power beyond one's ordinary limits, the same peak force Gao Han had once channeled.
Lin Xiaoya's gaze hardened as he stared at Jian Qingtian. He raised his sword high, aimed it at his opponent, and stabbed forward with unyielding resolve.
This strike carried an irresistible momentum, stirring the very airflow of the arena and tearing through the void before him.
Jian Qingtian had long discarded any hint of underestimation. He stepped back and sliced his silvery-white sword horizontally, seeking to deflect the blow.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!…
The two swords clashed repeatedly, emitting a shrill, grating screech of grinding metal.
Jian Qingtian was forced back three steps, while Lin Xiaoya pressed his attack, stabbing forward relentlessly.
HUM!
Jian Qingtian struck again, his sword arcing upward from an impossible angle.
Sword qi erupted from the blade, its silvery radiance rending the void in two as it sliced through the air.
CLANG!
Lin Xiaoya's sword was sent flying. He immediately raised his sword overhead and slashed downward with all his might, as if aiming to cleave the arena in two.
Jian Qingtian countered with a full-powered horizontal block.
CLANG!
Both warriors were thrown backward. A tiny chip marred the edge of Lin Xiaoya's sword—a low-grade weapon, it could not endure the brutal clash with a mid-grade sword.
"Take my ultimate strike! If you can evade this, I will have no more to say!" Lin Xiaoya roared in a frenzy.
"Ten Thousand Shadow Sword Slaughter!"
Lin Xiaoya's sword spun at blistering speed, unleashing countless sword shadows that weaved across the entire arena.
Each shadow shattered stone upon contact, and nearly a hundred such shadows filled the stage—each capable of slaying a first-layer True Essence warrior with a single strike, carrying the full force of a peak first-layer expert.
In effect, Jian Qingtian faced a siege of a hundred peak first-layer True Essence warriors, the shadows closing in relentlessly.
Jian Qingtian gripped his sword tightly and unleashed a single, devastating slash, sending forth a wave of sword qi twenty feet long and two feet wide—essence-forged sword qi, channeled with one hundred percent of his power.
Yet when this strike plunged into the sea of sword shadows, it vanished without a ripple, sliced to nothingness instantly.
"Impossible?" Jian Qingtian's eyes widened in shock. The power of this technique far exceeded his expectations. His sword qi could have felled a careless fourth-layer True Essence expert, yet it had been dispelled effortlessly.
Regaining his composure, Jian Qingtian spoke gravely. "You are strong. Unfortunately for you, you have met me. Otherwise, you would have easily claimed a place in the top ten."
"Ten Thousand Forms Return to One!"
Jian Qingtian raised his sword and stabbed straight toward Lin Xiaoya. The strike seemed plain and unremarkable, lacking the piercing sharpness or earth-shaking power of his earlier attacks, yet it left no room for evasion.
As the sword advanced, every sword shadow in its path dissolved into nothingness. For all its apparent calm, invisible force radiated from the blade, shattering the surrounding illusions.
At last, the brilliant sword light halted an inch before Lin Xiaoya's throat. Jian Qingtian spoke coldly. "It is over."
Lin Xiaoya threw back his head and laughed. "Hahaha! Very well. I did not even have the strength to force you to unleash your sword momentum. I concede."
He turned and walked off the arena, yet no one saw the vicious glint in his eyes.
High upon the stands:
"That is the eighth form of the Formless Sword Art—Ten Thousand Forms Return to One!"
"Incredible—Jian Qingtian has mastered it to the eighth level! The Jian clan truly breeds prodigies without end!"
"The Formless Sword Sutra is your clan's Mystic-Rank art, with only nine levels in total. Has he nearly reached the final stage?"
Jian Wuxiang laughed heartily. "Indeed! Jingtian mastered the Formless Sword Sutra to the eighth level at this very age. Once he reaches the ninth, he need only fully comprehend the art's essence to unleash its ultimate power!" Yet inwardly, he sneered. The Formless Sword Sutra of my Jian clan far exceeds nine levels—it is a high-grade Mystic-Rank art, with thirteen levels in total. I have only just mastered the thirteenth level myself.
Mystic-Rank arts could not be fully wielded by True Essence realm warriors. To unleash their maximum potential, one must comprehend the realm inherent to the art, matching one's cultivation to the technique's required state.
The next match featured Hao Han, the body-refining wandering warrior, facing Kang Le of the Drifting Wind Peak.
The duel began without idle words.
Kang Le leaped lightly, drifting backward like a fallen leaf for thirty paces before waving his fan rapidly. His power was limited; he could not manifest essence as vividly as Jian Qingtian or Lin Xiaoya, only forging rough approximations.
Fan-shaped essence streams burst forth from his fan like water from a fountain, drifting lazily toward Hao Han.
For all their slowness, no one doubted their lethal sharpness.
To everyone's shock, Hao Han took a single step forward, unleashing an invisible wave of force from his body, rippling outward like a stone cast into a lake.
The intangible ripple shattered every fan-shaped essence stream, reducing them to nothing. This was pure physical power, not true essence.
Gao Han's pupils constricted. He had never imagined a body-refining expert could be so formidable—one step had erased all of Kang Le's attacks.
Though Gao Han could have dispelled the strike as well, he could not have done so with such effortless ease.
Kang Le realized at once that he was outmatched. He smiled faintly. "I concede! Your strength is extraordinary."
"You honor me! You fought well!" Hao Han scratched the back of his head and chuckled.
The following matches were uneventful, featuring Duan Qianchou and other top contenders.
There was little spectacle to speak of—merely overpowering defeats of weaker warriors, a far cry from the epic duel between Jian Qingtian and Lin Xiaoya.
Duan Qianchou's opponent was Le Mei, a Serene Lotus Sect disciple at the second layer of True Essence.
The moment the match began, Le Mei unleashed Lotus Petal. Her technique paled in comparison to Yue Han's, producing only a few vague, indistinct lotus blossoms.
Duan Qianchou did not even bother to speak. A single kick crushed the petals, and the ferocious leg wind sent Le Mei flying off the arena.
Most surprisingly, Gao Han's next opponent was Lu Zhengteng, whom he had faced in the second round. It astonished Gao Han that the man had advanced this far through sheer luck.
The final match of the round belonged to Gao Han.
On the arena, Lu Zhengteng glared at Gao Han with hatred in his eyes. Yet before he could unleash a single technique, Gao Han vanished from the spot, reappearing instantly before him with a faint smirk, and struck out with a palm.
No matter how Lu Zhengteng tried to block, the strike was unavoidable—it pierced through layers of void to land squarely on his chest.
Lu Zhengteng had planned to counterattack as he was sent flying.
To his horror, however, his body did not recede—it began to freeze, until he was entirely encased in ice.
Gao Han laughed aloud and kicked him off the arena.
Gao Han is victorious! With this, the top twelve warriors of the tournament were decided.