A few breaths passed before Elder Mu finally stepped forward. His robes rustled faintly as he released a thread of qi, amplifying his voice so that it cut through the uproar like a blade.
"Winner of this round—Lao Xie."
The declaration rolled across the arena, silencing the chaos for an instant. Elder Mu's tone was steady, yet his eyes lingered on Lao Xie longer than usual. Even he had not expected this outcome. He had seen countless duels, countless prodigies rise and fall, yet the boy before him had overturned what should have been an unshakable result.
His gaze narrowed slightly. "That sword art… it carried no killing intent, yet its edge was sharper than anything Ming Yu could muster—overpowering the Flowing Crescent Sword Arts that only a limited few within the sect can wield. And yet… this technique is not of our sect. Just…. who taught this child?"
For a moment, the elder's heart stirred with unease. "This is beyond extraordinary. Not to mention, this will shake the entire sect. Ming Yu—the sect's treasure, who lit five stars in the talent evaluation—was defeated by Lao Xie, who failed to light even one. Impossible… no matter how one tries to explain it."
But the weight of the moment demanded composure. Straightening his back, Elder Mu folded his hands behind him, his face resuming its calm, impartial mask. The disciples needed order, not his doubts.
For a breath, the arena fell into silence. Then, like a dam breaking, noise erupted from all sides.
Ming Yu's words—"I lost"—still lingered in the air, hanging like a heavy bell that had just been struck. For a breath, no one moved, no one dared to speak. The sharp edge of the clash had faded, yet the echo of it still pressed against the hearts of every disciple watching.
Then, at last, the tension broke.
"Ming Yu actually admitted defeat!" someone gasped, unable to contain themselves.
"Unbelievable… Lao Xie actually won!" another cried, voice trembling with disbelief.
The silence shattered into a storm of voices. Some shouted in awe, some murmured in confusion, and others simply stood frozen, their gazes fixed on the two figures on stage. Ming Yu—the genius who had lit five stars during talent evaluation, who stood just a step behind the top three outer disciples—had been defeated before their very eyes.
"This makes no sense," one disciple muttered, shaking his head. "Ming Yu was supposed to be the closest to challenging Zhang Weiren, Mei Yan, and Shen Yun! If he had gone all out, he might've beaten even them!"
"And yet Brother Lao pushed him back…" another added, their tone hushed, as though afraid of the weight of their own words. "Doesn't that mean… Lao Xie's strength is already at the level of the ninth stage?"
Speculation ran wild, each voice feeding into the next, the assumptions climbing higher and higher with every exchange.
Ming Yu steadied his breath, the weight of his defeat pressing heavy on his chest. Yet his eyes carried no bitterness. Instead, he lifted his sword, turned it in his hand, and bowed deeply toward Lao Xie.
"Brother Lao," he said, his voice loud enough for the arena to hear, "your strength is far above mine. This match… I wholeheartedly accept my loss."
His words silenced some of the murmurs in the stands. A few disciples exchanged looks, startled—not by Ming Yu's defeat, but by his sincerity. It was rare to see the Ming Yu lower his head so willingly.
Ming Yu — or the Lone Star, as he was often called. His temperament had earned him that name. He rarely spoke, trained alone, and carried a cold distance that few dared to bridge. In duels, he never wasted words. Only those he respected ever heard more than his silence.
And now, before all, he bowed to Lao Xie.
The crowd froze in disbelief. To them, it was as though the aloof star of the outer sect had lowered his light before another.
Lao Xie regarded him quietly, his expression unchanged, his sword hanging loosely at his side. He gave only a small nod. "It was just a fluke. I was lucky."
That simple dismissal struck harder than any declaration could.
"No way.. The way he answered… He's too calm for this!" one disciple whispered, shivering despite the heat of the crowd. "It's like this victory was nothing to him."
"Nothing? He defeated Ming Yu! That should shake the entire outer sect!" another argued, though even their voice wavered.
On the platform, Ming Yu straightened and let out a faint laugh, though there was no self-mockery in it. "I'll remember this, Brother Lao. I'll defeat you… next time."
"Next time?… Hah." Lao Xie responded as he turned himself away, his footsteps steady as he walked off the stage.
The crowd's uproar surged again, yet in one corner of the stands, Ling Ruxin's gaze remained fixed on his back. Her fingers curled lightly into her sleeve, a subtle tension hidden beneath her calm expression.
She could still see it in her mind—the single slash in the forest when Lao Xie had cut down the Demonic Wolf without effort. Back then it had shocked her, leaving her in awe. But now, after watching him unleash that same technique against Ming Yu, unease gnawed at her heart.
"…Elder Yao," she whispered, her voice quiet enough that only the woman beside her could hear. "That sword art—are you certain it doesn't belong to our sect?"
Elder Yao's lips pressed into a faint line before she shook her head. "I have seen nearly every sword manual within these walls. That technique is not among them."
Ling Ruxin lowered her gaze. "Then where did he learn it…?"
Her mind turned to the clash once more. The force in his strike had been undeniable, but what unsettled her was its silence. No malice, no killing intent—only that calm, weightless sharpness. She bit her lip lightly. "Still… it felt dangerous. I was afraid Ming Yu would be hurt."
"There is no need for such worry." Elder Yao's tone was light, but her eyes were firm as they watched Lao Xie step down from the platform. "His strike was incomplete. He did not put his whole self into it. Had he done so, Ming Yu would not have been able to stand and speak afterward."
Ling Ruxin's heart skipped, though Elder Yao's calm expression gave her no room to argue.
"That boy…" Elder Yao continued softly, a faint glint in her eyes, "is already walking a path beyond the ordinary. Today's result will spread quickly. The sect will no longer be able to overlook him."
She paused, then added with a faint smile, "But perhaps this was a good turning point for both of them. They stood as rivals, yet neither cast the other aside. Like two stars crossing paths in the night sky—their light did not vanish, only shone brighter for the other's presence."