His tone was not aggressive, even polite, but a firm certainty reverberated between his words.
That certainty stemmed from his family legacy.
The Ten Directions Sect had been founded on sword technique for three hundred years, possessing over seven hundred manuals of sword scriptures.
Han Shuanghe had been steeped in them since childhood and had witnessed all manner of sword arts. His understanding of the sword far surpassed that of a hammer-wielder like Xu Fu.
Chen Zui’s swordplay might seem bizarre and unpredictable in Xu Fu’s eyes, but to Han Shuanghe, it was not entirely without trace.
Entering the sword through the spear, after all, was not as pure as pure swordplay.
This was his judgment.
He stared fixedly into Chen Zui’s eyes, the corners of his mouth suddenly curling slightly.
“When Young Hero Chen fought Xu Fu just now, your realm remained strictly at the early stage of the Abyss-Facing Realm throughout, devoid of the air and majesty expected of a Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster.
“Rumors in the martial world claim that Young Hero Chen broke through two realms in succession in Jinyang City, entering the Wind-Riding Realm directly.
“I do not fully believe it.
“Seeing it with my own eyes today, Young Hero Chen’s cultivation is likely comparable to Brother Xu’s.
“Though you are indeed a fine warrior within the Abyss-Facing Realm, you are by no means a Grandmaster of a generation.”
He pressed the tip of his sword down half an inch, his clear voice carrying far beyond the mountain gate.
“Since you are merely in the Abyss-Facing Realm, there is nothing left to fear. Please.”
As his words fell, he said no more. His body shifted, and he lunged forward with his sword first.
Frost Pattern traced a cool, clear arc in the setting sun, its blade slicing through the air without the slightest tremor.
The sword techniques of the Ten Directions Sect emphasized uprightness.
Righteous, grand, balanced, and unbiased.
Han Shuanghe thrust his sword with composure and stability, the move carrying the natural dignity of a renowned sect—neither reckless nor conservative, perfectly balancing offense and defense.
This was precisely the opening stance of the Ten Directions Sect’s sect-guarding sword style, the Thirteen Upright Earth Forms.
Chen Zui offered no reply, swinging his sword to meet the strike.
The instant the twin blades collided, Chen Zui immediately sensed the difference.
Xu Fu’s twin hammers had been fierce and overbearing, every strike threatening to smash a crater into the ground.
Yet the variations in hammer technique were relatively straightforward.
Han Shuanghe’s swordplay, however, was dense, intricate, and continuous. Every strike held hidden counter-moves, and the transitions between stances flowed like floating clouds and flowing water, leaving almost no flaws.
More importantly, Han Shuanghe’s understanding of swordplay was far above Xu Fu’s.
He knew how to use a sword to deal with a sword.
Seeing that Chen Zui’s sword momentum was as fierce as a spear, he refused to clash head-on, instead neutralizing the offensive with light, agile variations, entrapping Chen Zui’s sword trajectories within a dense web of steel, denying him any chance for a deep thrust.
The two engaged in a rapid exchange on the open ground before the mountain gate, sword light intersecting amidst the relentless clashing of steel.
The spectating crowd watched with dazzled eyes.
Disciples in the Mountain-Viewing Realm with lower cultivation could only see two blurry clusters of sword shadows flickering and clashing in the setting sun, entirely unable to tell who held the upper hand.
Han Shuanghe grew steadily more composed as he fought.
He felt his judgment had been proven correct.
Though Chen Zui’s sword technique formed a style of its own, it was ultimately comprehended on the spot.
In its finer details, it lacked the seamless perfection of a true sword grandmaster.
His Thirteen Upright Earth Forms had already firmly secured the initiative.
However, on the fifteenth exchange, as the edge of Han Shuanghe’s blade grazed along the spine of Chen Zui’s sword, his wrist suddenly quivered slightly.
The surge of true qi coming from the sword had changed.
It was no longer the force of the early Abyss-Facing Realm, but a substance far deeper, far more condensed.
This was distinctly at the level of the mid-stage Abyss-Facing Realm, identical to his own!
Han Shuanghe’s pupils constricted slightly, but he quickly composed himself.
So what if he was in the mid-stage of the Abyss-Facing Realm?
He was in the mid-stage Abyss-Facing Realm himself. Within the same realm, his swordplay would yield to no one.
He let out a cold snort, and his sword moves suddenly accelerated!
The final six forms of the Thirteen Upright Earth Forms surged forth like a roaring river!
The sword momentum in his hands surged wave higher than wave, seeking to crush Chen Zui completely!
Yet a faint, subtle smile touched the corners of Chen Zui’s mouth.
“After all, as someone in the Wind-Riding Realm, winning against you wouldn’t be very glorious.”
His voice was unhurried, and the sword techniques in his hands showed not the slightest trace of disorder.
“So I’ve been suppressing my realm to fight you.”
Hearing this, Han Shuanghe’s heart jolted violently.
He leapt back half a step abruptly, pointing the tip of his sword at Chen Zui from afar as he barked sternly.
“Still putting on a grand display!
“If you were truly a Wind-Riding Realm Grandmaster, why have you hesitated to reveal a Grandmaster’s aura and pressure?
“Everyone present sees it clearly.
“Your realm is merely on par with mine!”
Chen Zui looked at him with a calm gaze, saying nothing.
Yet Han Shuanghe knew he could not wait any longer.
Regardless of whether Chen Zui was in the Wind-Riding Realm or not, the current fact was that he had no certainty of victory.
Though Chen Zui’s sword technique was not as pure and seamless as his Thirteen Upright Earth Forms, that fierce sword intent derived from spearmanship was far too strange. Every strike aimed straight for vital spots, forcing him to devote a massive amount of focus just to handle it.
If this battle dragged on, he dared not gamble on who would win or lose.
He needed a variable—a variable capable of breaking the deadlock.
He turned his head to look at Wu Yang at the side, his eyes steady and resolute.
“Brother Wu, let us join forces today to expose his true colors!”
The moment these words left his mouth, an uproar erupted both inside and outside the mountain gate.
The Young Master of the Ten Directions Sect and the Young Pavilion Master of Canglang Pavilion teaming up against a young man several years younger than them.
If word of this got out, whether they won or lost, it would look disgraceful.
Yet Han Shuanghe could no longer care about that.
Even as he shouted those words, he had already calculated all the gains and losses in his mind.
If Chen Zui was not in the Wind-Riding Realm and the two of them defeated him together, the world would only praise Han Shuanghe as resourceful and decisive, resorting to any means necessary for the righteous cause of unmasking a fake Grandmaster.
If Chen Zui truly was in the Wind-Riding Realm, there would be no shame in their defeat together.
It would certainly look much better than being defeated one by one.
Wu Yang’s folding fan paused slightly.
He glanced at Han Shuanghe, then at Chen Zui, a touch of helplessness flashing in his eyes.
He hadn't wanted to wade into these muddy waters in the first place, but Canglang Pavilion and the Ten Directions Sect had been on friendly terms for generations. With Han Shuanghe calling him out publicly, if he refused to make a move, it would be betraying the bond between their families.
With a soft sigh, he folded his fan and slipped it into his sleeve, stepping forward into the battle area.
“Young Hero Chen, forgive my offense.”
Wu Yang produced a refined steel throwing fan from his sleeve. The fan bones were pitch black, and when opened, a faint cold light shimmered across the surface.
It was Canglang Pavilion's exclusive weapon, the Flowing Cloud Flying Fan.
Using the fan as a weapon, it could attack or defend with fickle, unpredictable variations.
The two stood shoulder to shoulder.
Han Shuanghe held his longsword across his chest, his sword momentum as solid and steady as a mountain.
Wu Yang gently waved his flying fan, his stance nimble and fluid as the wind.
One hard, one soft; one orthodox, one unorthodox.
Their sects had been on good terms for generations, and the two had practiced martial arts together since childhood, knowing each other thoroughly. As they joined forces now, their offense and defense formed a seamless whole.
Han Shuanghe struck first, launching all-out with the final move of the Thirteen Upright Earth Forms: Shocking Rainbow Treading Sleeves.
The sword light erupted like the noon sun, its edge thrusting straight for Chen Zui’s face.
Simultaneously, Wu Yang’s flying fan left his hand, drawing a bizarre arc in the air to circle behind Chen Zui.
The twelve steel needles hidden inside the fan ribs glimmered with an eerie blue light under the setting sun, dipped in Canglang Pavilion’s secret anesthetic. Though not lethal on contact, a single prick would numb an entire arm for half a day.
Their coordination was flawless.
A sword in front, a fan behind.
One attacking forcefully from the front, the other harassing from the flank.
Such tacit understanding was impossible for a temporary pairing; it was forged only through countless sparring sessions together.
Chen Zui parried Han Shuanghe’s frontal attack with a single sword strike.
The flying fan had already arrived behind him.
Without turning his head, he reached back with his left hand, snapping his index and middle fingers together to securely catch a steel needle shot from the fan ribs.
At the same time, he ducked his body, letting the flying fan graze past the back of his head.
He tossed the steel needle casually onto the ground, looked up at the two men before him, and suddenly smiled.
“Since you want to see the might of the Wind-Riding Realm, I shall grant your wish.”
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