Xu Fu had fought against countless peers who wielded swords.
He understood the sword.
The sword was light and agile, emphasizing avoiding strength to strike at weakness, winning through finesse.
When facing a swordsman, the key was to seize the initiative, suppressing their flexible variations with raw, fierce power.
Yet the sword technique of the Chen Zui standing before him did not resemble swordplay at all.
It was aggressively overbearing, fiercely unyielding, seizing the initiative with every move, clashing head-on with every form.
Xu Fu gritted his teeth and shifted techniques, switching his twin hammers from offense to defense in an attempt to steady his position.
Yet the moment he retreated, Chen Zui’s sword pursued him like a shadow clinging to bone.
The tip of the sword pierced through the gap between the hammerheads, grazing his wrist and releasing a spray of blood.
Xu Fu groaned, the hammer in his right hand nearly slipping from his grip.
He scrambled back three steps, glanced down at the shallow trail of blood on his wrist, and cold sweat finally broke out on his forehead.
Comprehending the sword mid-battle?
Those words flashed through his mind, leaving his scalp tingling in shock.
If that was truly the case, how terrifyingly gifted was the man before him?
At this moment, Chen Zui was immersed in a world of his own.
His mind was clear as never before.
The three spear techniques rewarded by the system:
Wind and Snow Night Return Spear, Coiling Serpent Willow Spear, Thirteen Ghost Shadow Spears.
Every stance and form was etched deep into his very bones.
He needed no recall, no deliberate thought.
Because they had already become instincts of his body.
And now, what he had to do was not recall these spear arts, but “betray” them.
The forms of spear and sword were inherently different.
Yet the core essence of the Martial Dao was one and the same.
The bleak, solitary desolation of the Wind and Snow Night Return Spear transformed into unstoppable momentum within the sword techniques.
The tip of the sword sliced through the air, devoid of fancy flourishes, driving straight for the center.
Like the instant a traveler returning through wind and snow pushes open a wooden gate.
No hesitation, no turning back.
This was the first sword technique:
Wind and Snow Night Return Sword.
The tip of the sword broke through the air as howling winds blew, resembling the bitter wind and snow pushing open every door in a cold night.
Simultaneously, the pliable, unpredictable nature of the Coiling Serpent Willow Spear transformed into tricky, ruthless sword maneuvers.
The blade slithered between Xu Fu’s twin hammers, winding up along the handles like a venomous snake coiling around a branch—seemingly soft and feeble, but gathering force for a single lethal strike!
This was the second sword technique:
Coiling Serpent Willow Sword.
The edge of the blade traveled not in straight lines, but in curved arcs to bypass the opponent’s weapon, thrusting from the most unthinkable angles, every strike aiming for a vital spot.
Furthermore, the eerie domineering force of the Thirteen Ghost Shadow Spears transformed into elusive, unpredictable sword variations.
With a single thrust of the sword, the blade left countless afterimages in the air.
Xu Fu could not distinguish which sword was real and which was fake. He felt as though he were surrounded by over a dozen swords simultaneously, sword tips pressing close from every direction, closing off every route of retreat.
This was the third sword technique:
Thirteen Ghost Shadow Swords.
From spear forms to sword forms, that insidious, unfathomable intent remained the soul of the Thirteen Ghost Shadow Spears.
The three sword techniques had taken preliminary shape within his heart.
Chen Zui’s eyes suddenly lit up.
In this moment, the three sword techniques fused together seamlessly in his mind.
He retreated no longer.
True qi surged violently through his meridians, pouring into the blade.
The nameless, worn sword gave off a rare, low, yet resonant hum!
Xu Fu’s pupils constricted violently.
He felt the oppressive pressure washing over him, suffocating him.
He let out a furious roar, unwilling to show weakness, and poured his entire cultivation into his twin hammers. The thunder patterns on the hammerheads exploded with dazzling purple light.
He unleashed the final form of the Eight Rushing Thunder Strikes:
“Heavenly Thunder Descends!”
The twin hammers crashed down from above, woven with lightning in a terrifying display of force.
This hammer blow concentrated all his true qi and all his pride.
He refused to believe he could not block someone who was comprehending the sword mid-battle!
Chen Zui stepped up to meet that cluster of thunderous light.
A single sword strike cleaved the air.
No fancy flourishes, no complex variations—only a single thrust.
The instant the sword tip drove forward, the air around the blade compressed sharply, releasing a piercing sonic boom.
That plain, unadorned worn sword enlarged rapidly in Xu Fu’s eyes!
Though clearly a sword only three feet long, it speared forward like a twelve-foot spear.
The tip of the sword met the face of the hammer.
“Boom!”
A deafening roar erupted.
The shockwave from the clashing true qi swept outward in all directions, centered on the two of them.
The maple trees outside the mountain gate rustled and trembled under the impact.
Red leaves fluttered down in showers like rain.
The onlookers felt a gale-force wind slam into their faces. Those with weaker cultivation stumbled back, raising their sleeves to shield their eyes.
The red leaves settled.
Xu Fu knelt on both knees in a pit of shattered stones, his arms hanging limp at his sides. The webbing between his thumbs and forefingers was torn, blood dripping down his fingers onto the cracked bluestone slabs below.
One of his proud purple-gold twin hammers had flown from his grip, slamming heavily into the ground dozens of feet away!
As for Chen Zui, the tip of his sword rested against Xu Fu’s Adam’s apple.
The point was merely half an inch from his skin.
Xu Fu could even feel the faint chill emanating from that worn sword!
Knelt on the ground, his entire body trembled uncontrollably.
Xu Fu slowly raised his head, looking up at Chen Zui standing before him.
Chen Zui stood against the light, the mountain breeze rustling his green robe, the golden glow of the setting sun outlining his lean silhouette.
His breathing remained steady, his face devoid of joy or sorrow as he calmly withdrew his longsword.
Then, facing the proud young prodigies of the various sects, he spoke slowly.
“Next.”
At this, none of the young prodigies dared utter a single word.
The young geniuses who had been rubbing their hands in eagerness moments ago, regretting that they hadn’t acted faster, now looked as if they had all been grabbed by the throat.
They exchanged glances, their eyes darting away.
Xu Fu’s strength was solidly among the top rank among them.
A peerless genius of the Fuyang Sect in centuries, possessing Abyss-Facing Realm cultivation, his Eight Rushing Thunder Strikes rarely met an equal among his peers.
Yet such a person had failed to last even the time it took to drink a cup of tea before Chen Zui.
What chilled their hearts even more was that Chen Zui had defeated Xu Fu using not even his best weapon—the spear—but a worn sword he had drawn on the spot from his waist.
A sword they had mocked before the fight began.
Their gazes unanimously drifted toward two people.
Han Shuanghe, standing at the very front.
And Wu Yang beside him, who was quietly fanning himself with a folding fan without saying a word.
Among these twenty-plus people, those in the Abyss-Facing Realm were few to begin with, and the only ones capable of decisively surpassing Xu Fu were these two.
Han Shuanghe, Young Master of the Ten Directions Sect, mid-stage Abyss-Facing Realm.
Wu Yang, Young Pavilion Master of Canglang Pavilion, likewise at the mid-stage Abyss-Facing Realm.
If even they did not make a move, today’s grandly staged “challenge” would turn into a complete laughingstock.
Han Shuanghe felt the weight of those gazes.
He was the instigator of this operation, the one who had rallied the heroes from all quarters, and the one who had shouted the loudest outside the mountain gate.
If he retreated today, the reputation he had built over a decade in the martial world would be wiped out entirely.
Yet he did not panic.
He was confident he had the strength to fight, and even more so, reasons why he must win.
He took a slow step forward, his white robes fluttering gently in the mountain wind as his right hand rested on the hilt of the longsword at his waist.
“Han Shuanghe of the Ten Directions Sect,” he declared aloud, his voice clear and resonant, carrying the composure and confidence characteristic of a scion of a noble sect, “asks Young Hero Chen for guidance.”
Han Shuanghe slowly drew his sword. The moment the blade left its scabbard, a gleam of clear light spilled forth.
Like autumn water and cold frost, it cast a chill across his face.
The sword was named “Frost Pattern.”
The sword carried by successive heirs to the Sect Master of the Ten Directions Sect.
The frost pattern on the blade was left by a secret sword-forging method passed down through three generations.
Every line represented a layer of tempering.
This sword had been in Han Shuanghe’s hands for seven years, and in those seven years, he had never tasted defeat with it.
“Observing the battle between Young Hero Chen and Brother Xu just now,” Han Shuanghe said, pointing the tip of his sword obliquely at the ground, his tone unhurried, “your swordplay was indeed unique. To enter the Way of the Sword through spearmanship, defying convention and breaking free from rigid forms—I admire it. However...”
He shifted his tone, his sword tip slowly rising to point at Chen Zui.
“Though Young Hero Chen’s swordplay is brilliant, it was comprehended on the fly after all. Reinventing swordplay out of spearmanship sounds formidable, but a spear is a spear, and a sword is a sword. Fitting the soul of spearmanship into the shell of swordplay might catch Brother Xu off guard, yet it may not overcome three hundred years of sword heritage of my Ten Directions Sect.”
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