The arena had grown restless after that last exchange. Fang Ge's chained strikes had crashed against Lao Xie like waves against a cliff, only to be swept aside, caught, and broken barehanded.
And then—Lao Xie lifted his hand.
From the glow of his storage ring, the familiar sword emerged, its silvery blade glinting faintly under the light. The runes along the edge pulsed once before settling, the dark leather hilt steady in his grip.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That sword again!"
"He finally drew it…"
"I always felt a chill ran down my spine every time he draw that sword!"
"If even Fang Ge forced him to bring it out… does that mean—"
On the stage, Fang Ge's shoulders stiffened. A bead of sweat traced down his temple before he let out a low, shaky laugh.
"So that's… the storage ring, huh? How convenient…" His lips curled faintly, the sound of his laugh carrying no mockery, only the dry acceptance of someone who already knew the end. "Hah… guess I was naive to think I could bridge this gap."
"You can consider yourself lucky, I'm pretty much in the mood to fight. I'll show you the gap between us."
Yet even as those words fell, Fang Ge steadied his stance once more. His fists clenched, veins bulging as qi coursed through his arms. His breathing slowed, his eyes sharpened.
"If I'm to lose, then let it be to your sword, Brother Lao."
Lao Xie's fingers tightened faintly around the hilt, the runes along the blade giving a subtle flicker as if answering his intent. His voice was calm, but carried a weight that pressed on the air itself.
"Do not disappoint me. I'll make sure to make great use of you."
A stir rippled through the stands.
"He drew his sword…" one disciple whispered, voice trembling.
"That's it then. Fang Ge doesn't stand a chance."
Some shook their heads, pity in their eyes, while others leaned forward, eager, almost hungry. To see Lao Xie actually unsheathe his blade was rarer than any victory Fang Ge might claim.
"Even if he loses, at least Fang Ge made him take it seriously," someone muttered.
"Hah, seriously? You call this serious? If Lao Xie wanted to, Fang Ge wouldn't even have time to breathe."
Still, there was no mocking laughter, no jeers. The hall had grown taut, as though everyone could sense that the next few breaths would decide everything.
The murmurs died the moment Lao Xie shifted his stance. His sleeve fell back, the blade in his hand catching the light as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.
Across from him, Fang Ge exhaled, his fists trembling slightly before tightening again. The glow of qi surged around his arms, veins bulging as if his very body resisted the weight pressing down on him.
Then—he moved.
Fang Ge roared, driving his fist forward with all the force of his chained strikes. His body blurred, closing the gap in a heartbeat, the sound of cracking stone echoing underfoot.
And Lao Xie—
His sword lifted, not hurriedly but with smooth precision, cutting upward in a single arc. The silvery blade met Fang Ge's fist mid-strike.
The clash erupted like thunder.
A wave of force exploded outward, rattling the platform. Disciples cried out, sleeves whipping in the gust. For a brief instant, Fang Ge's fist and Lao Xie's sword locked together, qi colliding in a storm of sparks.
But the blade did not budge.
Lao Xie's expression remained calm, his voice quiet—yet it carried through the hall.
"Is this your full weight? If so… then it ends here."
The clash rang out like iron bells colliding, sparks scattering as Fang Ge's fist pressed stubbornly against the silvery blade. His muscles trembled under the strain, veins bulging, teeth gritted so tightly they nearly cracked.
Lao Xie's arm didn't move an inch. The sword in his hand gleamed faintly, runes pulsing as though mocking the effort before it.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, Lao Xie slid the blade past Fang Ge's guard, the edge grazing close enough to slice a few strands of hair from the side of his head. Fang Ge staggered back, breath ragged, sweat flying from his brow as he steadied himself again.
He roared and charged once more, fists like boulders slamming forward in relentless rhythm. One, two, three, four—each strike heavier than the last, the arena floor cracking beneath his feet.
And yet every blow was met.
Lao Xie's sword flowed like water, his movements minimal, precise, his figure never shifting more than a half-step. Each deflection rang clear, steel singing with the echoes of dominance.
Then, as Fang Ge threw another desperate strike, Lao Xie's voice cut through the clash.
"If this is your full power… then you would need three of yourself just to stand a chance against Ming Yu."
The words struck harder than the sword. Fang Ge froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening. His fist trembled mid-swing, nearly losing its force altogether.
"Three… of me?" His voice cracked faintly, disbelief and exhaustion mingling as sweat poured down his face. "The gap is that wide…?"
Lao Xie's gaze was calm, merciless. The silvery blade flicked once more, brushing Fang Ge's fist aside with casual ease.
"You've worked hard. But effort alone cannot close what was never equal to begin with."
The silvery blade brushed aside another strike, ringing sharp against Fang Ge's knuckles. His arms trembled, sweat flying from his jaw with every motion, but he still pressed forward, his voice breaking through the clash.
"Effort alone cannot close the gap that was never equal… then what about you?" His fists slammed again and again, knuckles splitting, but his words carried more weight than his blows.
Lao Xie's eyes narrowed faintly, but he said nothing.
"Tell me, Brother Lao!" Fang Ge roared, qi burning frantically from his veins. "If effort means nothing, then how did you climb this high? You—who once had nothing, who was called talentless, who lit up not even a single star in the evaluation while Ming Yu shone with five! How did you do it?!"
Another strike thundered forward, his fist cracking against Lao Xie's blade, sparks flying between them.
"I wanted to grow strong! I wanted strength so I could avenge my mother—yet no matter how much I train, no matter how much I bleed, that wall never breaks! Tell me, Brother Lao—how did you close the gap?!"
His roar echoed through the hall, his fist pressed hard against Lao Xie's blade.
And then—silence.
The ringing of steel and flesh ceased. Fang Ge's fists hovered in place, trembling, but unmoving. Across from him, Lao Xie had gone still, his sword frozen mid-guard. His eyes lowered faintly, unreadable, as though Fang Ge's words had struck something deeper than the clash of qi.
The arena, once thunderous with shouts, fell into a strange hush.
"What's going on…? Why isn't Lao Xie finishing it?"
"Did Fang Ge… shake him?"
"Impossible—Brother Lao doesn't get shaken. Not by anyone."
Yet no matter how the whispers rose, none dared to break the tension fully. All eyes were fixed on the white-robed figure standing calm at the center of the storm, his blade motionless, as if he was… thinking.
Elder Mu's brows knit faintly, his hand twitching at his sleeve but not yet interfering. Even he seemed curious.
And up in the stands, Ling Ruxin's gaze sharpened, her fingers tightening over her lap. Elder Yao's eyes narrowed, watching the way Lao Xie's stance had not shifted, yet his silence alone had unsettled the entire hall.