Ming's eyes burned as she raised her sword, grief and fury hardening into killing intent.
The body of her husband still lay behind her, skull split by ice, but she gave no time for mourning.
Her blade lifted in a smooth arc, and the air itself seemed to bend to her rhythm.
The greatsword in Wu Han's grip felt like a mountain compared to her flowing weapon.
He planted his stance, both hands gripping the hilt, and met her charge head-on.
Clang!
Steel rang, sparks scattering like fireworks in the dim glow of the pavilion. Ming slid to the side, her motion as effortless as a stream curving around a rock. She spun and cut again, her blade tracing a graceful crescent.
Wu Han swung to meet her, the giant blade whistling as it carved the air. The impact jarred his arms, the weight dragging at his shoulders.
"What's wrong? Dance, woman, DANCE!!" Wu Han laughed. Shifting his grip to the center of the hilt, he lashed out with a flying kick that cracked across her face and hurled her backward toward the doorway.
She reacted instantly, qi flaring as she twisted in midair, her movement technique pivoting her body so her boots struck the ground just a hair's breadth from the trapped threshold.
But Wu Han did not wait. He smiled viciously and brought the greatsword up high, then brought it crashing down with all his might.
Severing Current!
The blade's qi flared, shockwaves exploding outward. Ming's eyes narrowed as she braced. With a sharp pivot, she unleashed a rippling slash, a silver crescent cleaving through the air.
The collision shook the hall, shattered beams, and sent fragments of stone and wood skittering across the floor.
Cough!
Blood splattered from Wu Han's lips. He had taken the full force of the rebound, body thrown back, while Ming had turned the shock aside with fluid precision. She darted in, seizing the chance to counterattack.
Her sword danced, arcs flowing together without pause, every cut carving another shallow wound into his arms, shoulders, and chest.
She moved like a fish darting through a pond, untouchable, her rhythm perfect.
Wu Han only laughed through his teeth, voice raw but wild. "That's it… make it interesting!"
Planting his feet, he roared and swung in a wide horizontal arc, the greatsword ripping the air apart as it came for her side.
But Ming, years of combat experience sharpening every instinct, ducked low and drove in for the kill. Her blade shot forward, straight for his heart.
Wu Han saw at once how dire it was. He let go of the greatsword and threw himself backward, the steel tip grazing past his chest. The strike would have ended him if he'd been a breath slower.
She pursued without hesitation, her swordplay relentless.
His movement was fast, but it only barely kept him alive. Cuts traced across his body, robes soaked red, every breath biting into the wounds.
Still, a grin split his face.
They clashed again and again, the room ringing with steel and qi. Wu Han's muscles screamed. His ribs burned from a slash that had slid beneath his guard, his thigh throbbed from another shallow cut that threatened to buckle his stance.
Ming pressed like a serpent striking over and over, each thrust precise, elegant, merciless.
Just how much qi does this kid have?!
Her thoughts turned sharp with dread. She had bested him again and again, yet each time his body shuddered with another conjured shield of qi, softening her blow, just enough to keep him alive.
He slipped away with movement techniques, dodging finishing strikes that should have ended the fight.
Her own qi reserves dipped lower and lower, dangerously thin.
Then, in the middle of the storm, Wu Han stopped.
Sweat and blood dripped into his eyes, chest heaving. And in that breath, he understood.
She was stronger. She was faster.
She had lived in the Fifth Stage longer, and her control was worlds beyond his crude mimicry.
If I keep matching her like this, he thought, steadying his stance as his lungs burned, I'll lose.
He smiled anyway.
But that is how losers think!
"You have moves," he added smoothly. "If your husband were alive, you two would have killed me by now."
Ming's eyes flared. Color rose to her cheeks and she pointed the blade straight at him. "One more word and I will skin you alive."
"No, you will not," Wu Han said, voice casual. "It should be clear by now you are stronger than me, but not that strong."
She snapped forward like a coiled spring, blade aiming to finish him. He held up a hand. "Wait!"
She halted, sword trembling. "What now? If you mean to beg, it is too late."
"No begging. The opposite. I will give you my life."
"Huh?" Her brow furrowed. Confusion flickered in her features. "What do you mean?"
"Bare hands," he said. "Winner may do as they wish with the loser. I know you have that hatred in your heart. If this continues, the only end you get is to slice me clean. That would be too merciful, would it not?"
"Fine, as you wish!"
Ming snarled, fury hardening her features. She dropped her sword to the floor in one clean motion and launched herself at him. Her hand became a fan of blades, fingers flicking like knives.
She moved through the air with the lithe, flowing grace of someone who swam through wind rather than walked through it.
Wu Han met her with a technique of his own. His fists burned with hot temper, moving like a hurled stone.
Blow met blow. Her fan-like strikes cut through the air; his fist answered like a piston.
The rhythm evened out. Where Ming relied on years of swordplay and elegant footwork, Wu Han now leaned on raw power and the strange edge his silver bone gave him. Her training made her more skilled, but she lacked the kind of body-refinement that made every blow hit like iron.
He, for all his roughness, had a frame that took hits and pushed back.
Before she realized it, she had driven herself too far from her sword.
"Not bad, kid," Ming admitted through clenched teeth, grudging respect in her voice. "No wonder the leader wanted you dead. At your age you should be one of our finest, your future was bright." Her breath came harsh. "Now it ends."
"You too," Wu Han said. "I learned a lot. But I think it's time to finish this."
He stepped back, giving himself a breath of space. Ming tightened instantly, a thin veil of qi blooming across her skin in preparation for another wide, crushing wave.
BOULDER PUNCH!
Wu Han's body shot forward like a struck bell. His fist drove straight, rock-hard, into the narrow gap between her ribs.
Ming had braced for sweeping ice blast. Instead, he poured everything into a single, pinpoint strike.
She had been played.
BOOM!
The blow landed with the sound of iron on iron.
Force erupted down his arm, slamming into her core in one devastating burst.
Her veil of qi shattered under the precision of it, splintering like glass.
Her body folded around his fist. A strangled cry tore from her throat as pain flared through her chest.
Blood welled at her lips, bright against her paling skin.
She staggered back, eyes wide in shock. For the first time in the fight, surprise cut through her fury.
"I guess this counts as a win," Wu Han said, watching her stagger. His punch had torn through her guard; she could barely hold herself upright.
"You! You tricked me!" Ming roared, forcing herself to step forward, but her body betrayed her.
The fight was already over.
Wu Han's smile widened. He was satisfied.
Pluck.
A shard of ice flicked from his hand, faster than an arrow. It punched into her chest and ripped through her qi pathways in an instant.
"I gave you a chance," he said. "Go die beside your husband."
It sounded like mockery, but it wasn't. This was Wu Han's idea of fairness. She had given him the chance to fight on equal footing. Now he gave her the chance to fall beside the man she had loved.
Ming's eyes widened. She looked down at the hollow wound in her chest, disbelief frozen across her face.
Wu Han watched, fully expecting her to collapse beside her husband.
That would prove to be the first grave mistake he had made in this world.
Cultivators were warriors!
"DIE!!!" she screamed. Her body erupted in flame as she burned her own dantian, pouring her life into one final strike.
Like a tidal wave crashing down from the sea, she rushed forward, her fist fueled by death itself. Wu Han conjured a barrier in haste, but it shattered instantly beneath her last blow!
BANG!
His head snapped backward.