The crowd swelled louder with every match. Mo Xuanyu's name, once a punchline, now rippled in whispers across the courtyard.
"Two victories already…"
"…but his luck ends now."
"His opponent is Chen Rong — fastest footwork in the outer sect."
On the platform, Chen Rong stood lightly balanced, blade resting against his shoulder. His frame was lean, his steps light, as if he barely touched the ground. His eyes gleamed with sharp amusement.
"You've surprised them all," Chen Rong said evenly. "Let's see if you can surprise me, too."
Joshua's grip tightened faintly on his blade. His stance was calm, but his chest ached with quiet tension. Fast. My body can't keep up. I'll have to read, not chase.
[Ding!]
[System: Warning — opponent specialises in speed and feints. Recommendation: Use the Rhythm Sense skill.]
Joshua lowered his lashes. "…Noted."
Lucian's voice rang from below, obnoxiously loud. "Careful, Ghost! Blink too slow and you'll be chasing dust!"
The instructor's hand lifted. "Begin!"
Chen Rong moved first. A blur of cloth and blade. His strike came from the side, so fast the crowd barely saw the arc.
Joshua's arm raised instinctively. Wood cracked against wood, the force skidding his feet sideways.
Another strike — already at his back. Joshua twisted, parried by inches.
The crowd gasped.
"Too fast!"
"He won't last a minute—"
Lucian leaned on the railing, golden eyes sharp despite his grin. "Tch. That speed's flashy… but he'll see through it."
Joshua's breath stayed calm, his eyes steady.
Every step, every blur, every arc of Chen Rong's blade — he didn't chase them. He listened.
One strike. Two. Three. Each had a beat, a rhythm beneath the speed.
Fast. But not unpredictable. He repeats in cycles.
Another strike came low. Joshua deflected, barely, blade sliding off with a hiss of friction.
Chen Rong smirked. "Not bad, trash."
Joshua's voice was flat. "…Predictable."
Chen Rong narrowed his eyes, speeding up. His strikes blurred into a storm, each aimed to overwhelm. Joshua yielded, retreating step by step toward the platform's edge.
Gasps erupted. "He's cornered—!"
One elder leaned forward in the shaded pavilion. "No… look closer. His defence tightens with each strike. He's learning mid-battle."
Another elder frowned. "Impossible. Mo Xuanyu was talentless."
The first elder's eyes glinted. "Not anymore."
On the platform, Joshua exhaled softly. Enough. I've seen it.
Chen Rong lunged again, blade flashing for Joshua's shoulder.
Joshua didn't retreat.
Instead, he stepped into the strike, blade twisting. The wooden swords clashed — but Joshua angled it just so, sliding Chen Rong's momentum past.
In the same motion, his foot hooked Chen Rong's ankle.
Chen Rong stumbled forward, balance broken.
Joshua's blade rose, pressing lightly against his neck before he could recover.
The courtyard froze.
The storm of speed ended in one move.
"Unbelievable…"
"He read him. He read him!"
"How…?"
On the platform, Chen Rong stilled, then slowly lowered his blade. His lips curved faintly in rueful respect.
"…You're no trash," he admitted. "Victory is yours."
The instructor raised his hand. "Match—Mo Xuanyu."
The crowd erupted, louder than before.
Joshua lowered his blade, bowing once, his expression as cold and impassive as ever.
From the railing, Lucian let out a triumphant whoop that made the disciples near him flinch.
"Three in a row! That's my Ghost — ice-cold killer of reputations! Elders, are you watching? I told you he wasn't boring!"
The instructor glared at him. "Lucian—"
Lucian ignored it, eyes fixed on the platform. His grin was as ridiculous as always, but his hand resting lightly on the railing trembled with pride he'd never admit aloud.
Good. You showed them. You're shining now, whether you like it or not.
In the pavilion above, the sect elders exchanged quiet voices.
"Three matches, all different opponents. Brute force, precision, speed… and he adapted each time."
"Impossible. This boy was a failure, a coward."
"Then what stands before us now?"
Their gazes sharpened. The name Mo Xuanyu, once synonymous with shame, now carried weight.