The climb did not halt after Chen Long.
Li Wei's name continued to rise across the Stele in steady rhythm, each day etching itself higher.
Opponent after opponent came — spear-users whose thrusts blurred into storms, talisman specialists who painted the air with blazing sigils, even a dual-saber disciple whose technique had once carried him to the mid-five hundreds.
All fell before Li Wei's blade.
He was not untouched. One thrust carved a shallow line across his ribs; another duel left his forearm aching for days. But each scar was fuel. Each victory tempered his sword sharper.
By the end of the second week, whispers spread of his streak:
"From eight hundred to five hundred in ten days."
"Now he's past that — two hundred and thirty-eight."
"Too fast. This pace can't last."
Yet still he pressed on.
When the Stele rippled once more and revealed his next opponent, the murmurs in the square shifted tone.
Opponent: Rank 204 – Zhao Tian.
The name carried weight.
Zhao Tian, known for his Frost Serpent Steps — a movement art both elusive and suffocating. His blade struck like a serpent's fang, swift and cold, while his body flowed like ice water through cracks. Many had tried to corner him. None had succeeded.
A tall youth with sharp brows and a calm gaze stepped onto the platform. His robes were pale blue, faint frost glimmering along the hems. He carried a single longsword, its edge faintly rimed with frost qi.
"Li Wei," Zhao Tian said evenly, his voice carrying over the square, "you've climbed quickly. But speed does not mean height. Let me test your footing."
Li Wei's hand rested on his hilt. His tone was steady. "Then test it."
The array lit.
The duel began.
Zhao Tian moved first — his step sliding across the platform like a serpent's glide, sword flicking in a sudden thrust. Cold qi lanced outward, sharp enough that nearby disciples shivered.
Li Wei's blade snapped down, parrying, his Flowing Cloud Steps carrying him just beyond the serpent's bite. His counterstrike lashed back in layered arcs — Tempest Fang Slash roaring forth.
Wind met frost.
The clash rang sharp, air whipping as qi tore across the circle. Zhao Tian's form blurred, sliding away with another serpent step, his sword returning in a sweeping slash at Li Wei's flank.
Li Wei twisted, deflecting, his feet shifting like drifting clouds. Their movements wound around each other — serpent and wind, glide and drift.
The crowd leaned forward, murmurs low.
"They're almost mirror images…"
"No — not mirrors. Opposites. Zhao Tian flows like water, Li Wei like wind."
Back and forth, strike and counterstrike. Neither gave way. Zhao Tian's defenses were not as heavy as Chen Long's, but his evasion and precision made every exchange treacherous. Where Li Wei pressed, Zhao Tian slipped away; where Zhao Tian struck, Li Wei's blade deflected at the last breath.
Minutes passed. Sweat dampened brows. The ground bore scars of frost and storm alike.
Li Wei's chest rose with heavier breaths. His blade had not pierced through. Zhao Tian's calm eyes showed strain too, but his footing remained steady.
Then, in a sudden surge, Li Wei stepped deep, qi flooding into a compressed Tempest Fang Slash. His sword howled, afterimages layering into a claw that descended toward Zhao Tian's chest.
The frost serpent slithered.
Zhao Tian's form slid a half-step aside, his blade snapping in with chilling precision. The two attacks clashed at an angle, qi detonating in a sharp burst that hurled both back.
When the dust settled, both still stood, blades leveled, eyes locked.
Neither yielded ground.
The crowd grew tense.
"It's even…"
"No. Stalemates on the Stele…"
The runes rippled. The array dimmed.
The Stele had judged.
Since Zhao Tian was the challenged, and had not been defeated, the rank remained his. Li Wei's name, though brighter than before, stayed below.
The official verdict: Li Wei loses.
A hush settled across the square. Then, measured murmurs rose.
"His streak finally broke."
"Against Zhao Tian, though… that's no shame."
"He forced a stalemate with Rank Two Hundred. He'll climb back."
Even Zhao Tian lowered his blade, frost qi fading. His calm gaze lingered on Li Wei, then he gave a small nod. "Strong. Too strong to stop here. But next time we meet… I'll still be higher."
Li Wei met the words with silence, his eyes calm, his chest still burning with the weight of the clash. He gave the faintest nod, then stepped from the stage.
The Stele loomed overhead, its names glowing coldly.
His first loss. His first wall beyond Chen Long.
---
That night, Li Wei sat cross-legged in his courtyard, moonlight pooling over the worn stone tiles. His sword rested across his knees, its edge faintly catching the silver glow.
The clash with Zhao Tian replayed again and again in his mind. The serpent steps — fluid, ungraspable — slipping through the edges of his strikes. Where Chen Long had been a mountain to break, Zhao Tian had been a river, flowing endlessly, never still long enough for his blade to cut deep.
Wind cannot catch a serpent if it does not close the gap.
Li Wei exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the sword's ridge. His Tempest Fang Slash was sharp, precise, even overwhelming when layered — but each time he had sought to force an opening, Zhao Tian had slid aside, his flow unbroken.
I cut storms into the air, but he let them pass. I need more than force.
His gaze lifted toward the faint silhouette of the Stele in the distance, its glow visible even through the night haze. Zhao Tian's name still glimmered above his own, unshaken.
The first wall had been Chen Long. The second was Zhao Tian.
Walls that would not fall to the same blade.
Li Wei closed his eyes. His breathing steadied, slowing, as he let the memory of the duel etch itself deeper. Every slip, every exchange, every frozen breath of frost qi. Not as defeat — but as material to forge against.