Gao Han's consciousness sank into utter darkness, haunted by a single word: exhaustion. He felt bone-deep weariness, as if every bone in his body had been broken, his strength sapped completely.
He wandered through the void, unable to spot a single glimmer of light. After an unknown stretch of time, a gentle but persistent shaking roused him from his slumber.
He slowly pried his eyes open, only to be blinded by a harsh radiance that blurred his vision entirely.
After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the light, and the scene before him came into sharp focus.
After collapsing on the arena, Gao Han had been carried to the Zheng residence by Gao Jianfeng and had slept through the entire night. It was early the next morning; if he did not wake soon, he would be barred from the arena and disqualified from the tournament.
Truth be told, Gao Jianfeng held little hope that Gao Han would claim the championship, yet he knew the youth's ambition: his sights were set firmly on first place.
Once Gao Han had fully awakened, the group set out together for the arena.
Along the way, Zheng Kong and the others recounted every event that had unfolded after Gao Han had slipped into the Berserk Self Realm the previous day. Gao Han listened in astonishment, for the battles that had raged on the arena matched his combat with the shadowy figure in the golden realm almost perfectly, down to the smallest detail.
Time slipped by as they talked, and before long they reached the arena grounds. Along the path, countless onlookers nodded to Gao Han in respectful greeting.
This was because Gao Han had displayed fearsome prowess the day before, proving through his actions that he was a prodigy on par with Jian Qingtian and Duan Qianchou.
In the Tianwu Continent, where strength reigned supreme, power commanded respect—and Gao Han now possessed the strength to earn admiration, drawing praise and admiration wherever he went.
The journey was not marked solely by respectful nods, however. A throng of infatuated young women blew kisses toward him, leaving Gao Han, who had rarely interacted with girls in his life, flustered and blushing.
Yet his ice-attuned soul granted him an unshakable calm, and he quickly regained his composure.
Perhaps only one thing could strip him of all reason: the thrill of unrestrained, all-consuming battle.
As the drumbeats fell silent, the arena gates slammed shut. Four expert warriors stood guard on either side, each exuding the formidable aura of a ninth-layer True Essence cultivator.
On the steel arena, Jian Qingtian and Duan Qianchou stood facing one another.
"Jian Qingtian, this is a fated encounter. We both know that the Jian and Duan clans intend to announce a momentous declaration once this tournament ends. Which of us takes first place will determine which clan claims greater glory," Duan Qianchou declared, his gaze cold and arrogant.
Jian Qingtian smiled faintly at his words. "You speak too certainly. When speaking of who will claim first, have you forgotten Gao Han?"
Duan Qianchou burst into mocking laughter, dismissing Jian Qingtian with contempt. "I once thought you a worthy rival, yet you regard a mere clown like Gao Han as a formidable foe? It seems first place is mine for the taking, hahaha!"
Though Gao Han's display the previous day had startled him, he still dismissed the youth as a trivial laughingstock, not worth his concern. For all his extraordinary feats, Gao Han remained far beneath his level.
Had he personally faced the devastating power of Gao Han's ice, he would never have held such a dismissive view. But ignorant of its true terror, he continued to underestimate him.
Jian Qingtian's instincts, however, told a different story. A swordsman's intuition sensed a dangerous aura lurking within Gao Han.
He trusted his senses implicitly, perceiving beneath Gao Han's cold, detached exterior a terrifying power that threatened to freeze all things—including the sword he held dearest.
Still, he would not concede defeat so easily.
Gao Han was strong, but so was he, and he burned to know which of them would prevail in a duel. As for Duan Qianchou, he was indeed a powerful adversary, yet his arrogance blinded him to his opponent's true strength, leaving him convinced of his own invincibility.
With a faint shake of his head, Jian Qingtian's mid-grade longsword slid from its sheath with a clear ring. Silvery light glinted off its blade in the sunlight, dazzling all who beheld it.
The moment the sword was drawn, Jian Qingtian himself seemed to transform into a peerless divine blade, his sword intent surging toward the heavens and rending the air above in two.
Jian Qingtian slashed forward with unadorned simplicity. A silvery flash cut through the air, forging a thirty-foot-long sword qi that charged toward Duan Qianchou like a savage beast breaking free from its cage.
The sword qi sliced through the void itself. Jian Qingtian fought with his full strength from the very start; against Duan Qianchou, hesitation and testing were meaningless. He needed a swift victory to smooth the way for his clan's plans.
Faced with this earth-shaking strike, Duan Qianchou saw through Jian Qingtian's intentions at once and would not let him have his way. He leaped high into the air and swung his right leg horizontally at the oncoming sword qi.
Mid-leap, a surge of true essence erupted from his leg, swiftly shaping itself into the phantom of a colossal mountain that crashed down upon the sword qi.
"Essence Forged Mountain!"
CLANG!
The forty-foot-tall mountain was split clean in two by the sword qi, which itself faded away as its power was spent. The collision of two titanic forces sent shockwaves flying in all directions, carving a three-foot-deep gash into the steel arena below.
No sooner had the sword qi dissipated than a brilliant silvery streak stabbed straight toward Duan Qianchou—a strike so plain and unassuming that it left no room to evade.
This was the ninth form of the Jian clan's Formless Sword Sutra: Ten Thousand Forms Return to One.
Though a True Essence cultivator could not unleash a Mystic-Rank art to its full potential, this technique still far surpassed the power of ordinary Mortal-Rank skills.
The sword bore no earth-shaking qi, no world-slicing force; it simply drifted toward Duan Qianchou in a calm, steady line.
Duan Qianchou dared not underestimate it. Countless prodigies had fallen to this very strike, Lin Xiaoya being a perfect example.
"Ghost Mountain Four Flashes!"
Duan Qianchou leaped upward and kicked directly at the sword's tip. Mid-air, his figure flickered and vanished for an instant, as a surge of true essence formed a pale, wispy mountain phantom that drifted erratically toward the blade alongside his foot.
Yet the phantom halted in mid-air, blocked by an invisible barrier, locked in a stalemate.
Gao Han had seen Ten Thousand Forms Return to One many times, and his instincts told him that hidden within its calm exterior lay countless sharp, invisible forces, masked to look like empty air and thus undetectable to the naked eye.
In clashing with Duan Qianchou's technique, his suspicion was finally confirmed.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
Leg and sword collided, their overwhelming power shattering the surrounding air. Shockwaves exploded outward like fireworks, piercing the steel platform with deep, gaping holes.
Duan Qianchou's trouser leg had been torn to shreds by the violent energy before the clash even began, revealing a dark, low-grade leg guard beneath.
Mid-air, the pale mountain phantom could hold on no longer, pierced through and through by the invisible forces until it dissolved into nothingness.
Those same forces streaked toward Duan Qianchou, and the hair on his body stood on end as he sensed their approach. If they struck him, he would lose without question.
He had no reason to fear, however—the Ghost Mountain Four Flashes consisted of four kicks, and he had unleashed only one.
Duan Qianchou landed on his right foot and snapped his left leg toward the sword's tip once more. He repeated this motion three times in quick succession, summoning three more mountain phantoms that stacked atop one another to form a thick, imposing peak, its shadowy form rippling as if haunted by spirits.
The phantom drifted up and down, clashing repeatedly with the invisible forces in the air.
Explosions rang out endlessly amid the colliding energies, like fireworks bursting across the sky.
CLANG!
The violent impact sent both warriors staggering backward, and the invisible forces and colossal mountain phantom both faded into nothingness.
"You have held your own against this strike—you are not without skill," Jian Qingtian said coldly, his longsword held behind him, its tip pointed toward the ground.
Duan Qianchou had poured his full strength into those two techniques, especially the Ghost Mountain Four Flashes, one of his hidden trump cards.
The steel arena, battered by their clash, was now pitted and scarred, a testament to their overwhelming power.
"Whirlwind Nine Kicks!"
Duan Qianchou spun rapidly like a cyclone, unleashing nine kicks with every rotation, each strike crashing down upon Jian Qingtian like a small mountain, its might terrifying to behold.
Jian Qingtian's expression shifted, his eyes turning razor-sharp as he channeled the overwhelming momentum of heaven and earth into his sword. This was Sword Momentum—something he had not woven into his previous strikes.
A single burst of sword qi infused with Sword Momentum sliced horizontally through the air toward Duan Qianchou's whirlwind, leaving a deep, clean gash in the steel platform beneath it, even from a distance.
Yet when the sword qi struck the whirlwind, Duan Qianchou spun just three times, unleashing twenty-seven kicks that shattered the strike completely.
The whirlwind closed in on Jian Qingtian, carving crisp, lifelike footprints into the steel surface with every rotation.
Jian Qingtian's face darkened, and he whipped his sword through the air in a frenzy, slashing countless horizontal and vertical bursts of sword qi toward Duan Qianchou, each rending the void in two.
"His Sword Momentum is at one-tenth of its full power," Gao Han murmured, sensing the fluctuations of intent within Jian Qingtian's strikes and judging its strength with ease.
For now, Jian Qingtian wielded only one-tenth of his Sword Momentum—but whether he was hiding his true strength remained to be seen.
SHHH-SHHH-SHHH!
Every sword qi was shattered by a single kick from Duan Qianchou, endless streams of energy dissolving his leg phantoms one after another.
Gradually, Duan Qianchou's spinning slowed, and Jian Qingtian seized his opening.
"Off the arena!"
Jian Qingtian lunged forward, his sword pointed straight at Duan Qianchou. Silvery sword radiance infused with Sword Momentum sliced through the air toward his chest.
RUMBLE!
The strike boomed like thunder, charging directly toward Duan Qianchou's heart.
By now, Duan Qianchou had spun so many times that he was slightly disoriented. He caught a blurry glimpse of silvery radiance streaking toward his chest with unparalleled sharpness.
In a panic, he lifted his leg to meet the incoming strike.
BOOM!
Leg and sword collided, and Duan Qianchou was sent flying off the arena.
His face twisted with fury, resentment blazing in his eyes as he spoke with bitter regret. "I held another trump card in reserve! I never had the chance to use it against you—otherwise you would have lost for certain!"
Jian Qingtian shook his head. "Even if you had unleashed that technique, you would still not have defeated me. Your strength matches your words: arrogant, overconfident, blinded by pride."
He turned away from Duan Qianchou and stepped off the arena at You Canghai's announcement of his victory, heading to the lowest tier of the stands to rest.
One hour's time would be given for recovery.
Duan Qianchou said no more, returning to the stands to replenish his strength. His next match would be against Gao Han.
If he defeated Gao Han, and Gao Han then beat Jian Qingtian, he would still have a chance to claim the championship.