The courtyard pulsed with restless energy. Three rounds. Three victories. Mo Xuanyu, once trash, now stood undefeated.
The instructor raised his voice. "Final match—Mo Xuanyu versus…" He paused, eyes flicking toward the pavilion.
A ripple of unease swept the disciples.
"…Li Cheng."
A tall figure stepped forward. His robe was plain, his face unfamiliar to most outer disciples. Yet the way he carried himself — calm, centered, controlled — radiated pressure unlike any before. His blade rested against his shoulder like an extension of his arm.
Murmurs erupted.
"Who is that?"
"I've never seen him among us."
"His aura… that's no ordinary outer disciple."
Joshua's eyes narrowed faintly. Different. Dangerous.
Lucian's golden gaze sharpened, grin fading into something quieter. "…They've sent him a wolf among sheep."
In the pavilion above, one elder murmured, "So you sent him down."
Another elder's eyes gleamed. "The boy's growth is beyond outer sect measure. If he falters here, so be it. If he endures… then perhaps fate has chosen him."
A third frowned. "It is too soon. His foundation is weak—"
"Yet his mind is strong," the first cut in. "Let us see."
Their gazes fixed on the platform.
Li Cheng inclined his head respectfully toward Joshua. "You've fought well. But I was instructed to test you. I will not hold back."
Joshua's voice was quiet, flat. "…Good."
Li Cheng studied him for a beat longer, then raised his blade into stance — perfectly balanced, sharp as steel despite being only wood.
Joshua mirrored with his own, steady as still water.
The air thickened. The courtyard fell silent. Even the breeze stilled.
The instructor hesitated, then dropped his hand. "…Begin."
Li Cheng moved first — not fast, not slow, but with terrifying precision. His strike was a diagonal cut, clean and efficient, carrying force that made the wooden blade whistle through the air.
Joshua stepped in, not back, blade catching and redirecting the force. The impact rattled his frail arms, but he didn't falter.
Their blades parted. Both men adjusted.
A second strike. A parry. A third. A thrust.
Each exchange was sharp, efficient — not the chaos of Zhang Liang's brute strength, not the storm of Chen Rong's speed. This was measured, exact, deliberate.
The disciples whispered in awe.
"It's like… two mirrors clashing."
"No wasted moves."
"Mo Xuanyu is… keeping up."
Lucian stood with arms folded, his grin subdued but his eyes burning. Good. Don't break. Show them.
An elder leaned forward, voice tight. "Impossible. His body should collapse under this pace."
Another shook his head. "No… look closer. He is conserving strength. He yields where others resist. His body is weak, but his judgment is flawless."
A third elder frowned. "…He fights like someone who has lived through battles far greater than this sect has seen."
The first's gaze sharpened. "…Whose memories guide him?"
Li Cheng's strikes grew sharper, each one a test. Low sweep. Quick feint. A heavy downward cut meant to crush through the guard.
Joshua flowed with them. His blade tilted, his foot pivoted, his stance shifted — always at the edge of breaking, but never breaking.
The platform echoed with wood on wood, a rhythm that held the entire courtyard captive.
Sweat lined Joshua's temples, his breath steady but shallow. His body strained — thin wrists aching, lungs burning.
[Ding!]
[System: Host stamina at 30%. Survival requires adaptation.]
[New hint unlocked: Break his balance. Use the floor.]
Joshua's lashes lowered. "…Understood."
He adjusted his grip, waiting.
Lucian's voice, softer than usual, carried across the quiet crowd. "…Don't fall, Ghost. Not now."