Having thought the tournament would draw to a quiet close, the crowd was instead treated to two earth-shaking announcements, making the long day feel well worth their while.
For Gao Han, however, these matters held little relevance. He was but a lowly True Essence cultivator, with no standing to involve himself in the schemes of great clans. Even if he had possessed the authority, he would not have meddled in conflicts against two rising powers—not unless the Misty Sect, the Gao clan, or the Zheng clan had themselves ascended to seven-star status.
All in all, the Misty Sect had gained much and lost nothing from the tournament. Of the top ten finalists, two hailed from its ranks, with Gao Han claiming the championship. What was more, owing to the wager between Li Changtian and Jian Wuxiang over Gao Han's victory, several disciples from Li Changtian's Drifting Peak would be permitted to journey to the Jian clan and study swordsmanship there.
Once the two clan heads had finished their proclamations, the tournament officially concluded. Gao Han wasted no time lingering on the arena grounds and followed after You Canghai.
Before departing, he bade farewell to his father, Gao Jianfeng, as well as Zheng Kong, Li Changtian, and the others. He handed Zheng Kong one million taels in silver notes and a low-grade longsword, returning the Seven-Sword Art manual to him as well.
Every technique and character within the manual was etched deeply into Gao Han's mind, rendering the physical tome itself dispensable to him.
The low-grade sword and the vast sum of silver would serve as his token of gratitude. With the tournament over, Gao Han had no intention of remaining in the imperial city. Grand as it was, it was no place for him to settle. His gaze was fixed upon the boundless wider world, not confined to the walls of a single capital.
He planned to bid farewell to You Canghai, then retreat to the desolate graveyard to consume the Elixir of Gathering Essence and the Elixir of Solid Foundation. After refining the pills, comprehending the Seven-Sword Art, his fused techniques, and his elemental momentum further, he would return to his sect.
His first order of business upon his return would be to challenge Zheng Yunfeng. His second would be to advance to inner-sect disciple status, granting him unrestricted access to his younger sister.
"Father… I beg your forgiveness. Though I have come into great wealth, I cannot yet offer it to you as filial piety." Before leaving, Gao Han bowed deeply to Gao Jianfeng, his heart heavy with remorse.
He possessed nearly three million seven hundred thousand taels of silver, yet offered not a single tael to his father.
Gao Jianfeng understood his son's intentions; the silver would serve vital purposes for his cultivation. He laughed warmly. "My boy, I know your burdens. That wealth is meant for your growth. The clan has already failed to support you as we should—you owe me no apologies."
Zheng Kong slipped back to the Zheng residence in secret and selected a black-maned warhorse from the clan's stables, sneaking it to Gao Han.
The black-maned steed was a premium warhorse, a top-tier steed capable of traveling a thousand li a day. In the military, only lieutenant generals were granted the privilege of riding such mounts.
As evening fell, Gao Han led the tall, sturdy black-maned horse along the imperial capital's main road, his thoughts lingering on the words You Canghai had spoken to him.
You Canghai had brought Gao Han to his inn and recounted every detail of the boy's berserk state during the tournament, finally drawing his conclusion:
Though your Berserk Self Realm allows you to unleash your full power with every strike and wield the most suitable technique for each moment, it robs you of reason. If you can suppress that frenzy and avoid slipping into that illusory realm of endless battle, you shall attain the true Selfless Realm. At that stage, you will wield double the strength you command in your current state.
Gao Han walked absentmindedly, and before he knew it, he stood before the Martial Arts Pavilion. He stepped inside, heading toward the section where cultivation manuals were sold.
After asking for directions, Gao Han finally reached the hall of techniques. Ornate beams and painted pillars adorned the spacious chamber, which spanned over two hundred zhang in area. Ten towering cyan stone pillars stood erect across the hall, each marking a neatly divided section beneath it.
Carved upon the massive pillars were the names of different arts: Sword Techniques, Blade Arts, Spear Arts, Palm Techniques, Leg Arts, Fist Arts, Axe Arts, and Movement Arts.
The final pillar bore but a single word: Miscellaneous.
The first nine pillars held the most common martial techniques, while the tenth housed an eclectic array of manuals—body-refining arts, fan techniques, halberd arts, battle-axe forms, hook techniques, and the defensive art Gao Han so desperately sought.
Each inscription on the pillars was as large as a wheat bucket, legible even from afar, especially to those with the sharp eyes of cultivators.
Gao Han walked directly to the Miscellaneous pillar. Beneath it, numerous vendors maintained orderly stalls. Those who sold martial techniques were no ordinary figures; every last one was a True Essence cultivator, their vast assortment of manuals leaving Gao Han dazzled.
Yet this abundance only made his search more difficult. He combed through stall after stall, hunting for the art that suited him.
One manual caught his eye: Imperial Extreme Body-Refining Art, a high-tier Mortal-Rank skill with ten levels. Mastery of the first level granted one hundred jin of immense strength, comparable to a first-layer Qi Condensation cultivator. The second level bestowed three hundred jin, matching a peak second-layer Qi Condensation expert.
By extension, the third level equaled fourth-layer Qi Condensation, the fourth fifth-layer, the fifth peak sixth-layer, the sixth peak seventh-layer, the seventh peak eighth-layer, the eighth early first-layer True Essence, and the ninth second-layer True Essence. At the tenth and final level, the practitioner wielded seven thousand jin of titanic strength, with power equivalent to a third-layer True Essence cultivator.
Though tempting at first glance, the list of required medicinal herbs was staggeringly long, each herb costing no less than one hundred taels of silver.
Gao Han flipped through the manual and set it aside. It was merely a high-tier Mortal-Rank art, and its tenth level capped at third-layer True Essence. By comparison, his own Cold Mountain Palm could be mastered to its ultimate form by the second layer of True Essence—though achieving perfect mastery would require at least the eighth layer of True Essence, or an extraordinarily elevated martial comprehension.
He flipped through manual after manual, searching diligently. He came upon several defensive arts along the way, yet none captured his interest—not for lack of rank, for some were top-tier Mortal-Rank techniques.
They simply did not suit him. One such art, the Crimson Fire Shield, allowed the practitioner to manifest a protective barrier of crimson fire upon beginning cultivation. Once formed, the shield consumed only true essence and defended automatically, requiring no conscious control.
The crimson fire offered both defense and offensive power, a versatile art of both protection and attack.
Upon perfect mastery, the art formed an unbreakable crimson fire aura around the user, its searing flames igniting the air around them while bolstering defensive power to incredible heights.
Gao Han was deeply impressed, yet the art was fire-aligned, clashing violently with the frost-attuned true essence within his body. He could never cultivate it.
Manual after manual passed through his hands, examined and set aside. Half an hour slipped by, and Gao Han still had not found a technique that resonated with him, leaving him utterly frustrated.
It seems I neglected to check my fortune before leaving today, he thought to himself. Not a single suitable art to be found.
Glancing at the darkening sky, Gao Han decided to abandon his search for the day and continue another time. He had planned to leave the city and retreat to the graveyard.
It was the only place he deemed truly safe. Not only was it ideal for cultivation, but it was also profoundly secluded. Had Gao Han not followed the zombie there, the graveyard would have remained entirely isolated from the world.
He had taken only a few steps when his gaze flicked to a corner, where a strangely dressed old man sat unnoticed.
Every other vendor here was a True Essence cultivator, neatly and cleanly dressed, with not a speck of grime upon them.
This man was different. His tattered gray robes were filthy, covered in patch upon patch. His shoes were worn thin at the heels, and his hair had not been washed in so long that it matted into thick locks. His once-snow-white beard was stained grey with grime, making him look little better than a beggar.
In such a state, he hardly seemed fit to sell anything. Who would approach him, repulsed by his appearance?
Gao Han studied him for a moment, then steeled his resolve and walked over. Despite the man's squalor, not a single fly or insect buzzed around him. Upon the tattered cloth before him lay only three cultivation manuals.
Approaching the elder, Gao Han bowed politely. "Senior… might I examine the manuals you sell?"
The old man lifted his head, cracked open his bleary eyes, and glanced at Gao Han. He then waved a hand as if shooing away a fly. "Look if you wish. Spare me the chatter. These manuals are expensive, boy—best you be off."
Gao Han smiled wryly. No wonder no customers came near him. He was not only filthy but unbearably rude.
Yet he did not leave, angered by the man's words. Instead, he crouched down and picked up one of the three manuals, beginning to read.
The sword technique within was obscure and inscrutable; he could not discern its rank from the pages alone. He asked the elder for clarification, only to receive a reply that left him speechless.
The old man snapped just one line: "Can't understand it? Then what business do you have cultivating? Go beg instead. You're hopeless—utterly worthless."
Had anyone who had witnessed Gao Han's triumph heard those words, they would have roared in outrage. If the Ice Hero, whose fame had swept the battlefield, was worthless, what did that make them? Less than worthless?
This manual held little meaning for Gao Han. He set it down and picked up the second, which he could understand but found plain and unremarkable, with no mention of its ultimate potential.
He did not trouble the elder again, not foolish enough to invite more verbal abuse.
Suppressing the urge to leave, Gao Han picked up the third manual. The moment he laid eyes on its contents, he was completely captivated.
It was exactly the defensive art he had been searching for. Its name was simple, inscribed in just two characters.