Energy surged into the duelling platform from every direction. The arena lit up as spiritual energy flowed across it, gathering around the two figures standing opposite each other.
Mo Xuan moved first.
Lu Ming's brows rose slightly. It was the first genuine reaction he had shown since stepping onto the platform.
Mo Xuan's sword became a blur. A slash descended toward Lu Ming's head. Before the first strike had even finished, the blade reversed and swept low toward his legs. The third attack looked like another slash, but halfway through the motion the sword changed direction, turning into a direct thrust toward Lu Ming's chest.
Clang. Clang.
The first two strikes were blocked perfectly. The third came a fraction faster than Lu Ming expected. Instead of meeting it head-on, he twisted his body sideways. The sword slipped past his defence, cutting through the air close enough to slice several threads from his sleeve before passing harmlessly by.
Lu Ming's eyes narrowed. "So fast."
He retreated three steps before launching forward again. His sword erupted with pale-blue sword energy. Mo Xuan answered immediately, black-and-white sword energy climbing along his blade. The two collided once more.
Boom.
Their swords crossed again and again, sparks mixing with streams of sword energy that carved shallow marks into the reinforced arena floor. Each exchange became faster than the last. The disciples watching gradually stopped trying to follow individual movements.
"They're too fast."
Only flashes of light remained. The sound of steel echoed continuously across the arena. Minutes passed.
Finally, the two separated at the same time. They stood nearly twenty meters apart, both breathing steadily. Lu Ming lifted his sword. "Interesting." He looked directly at Mo Xuan. "If we continue like this, deciding a winner will take too long." He smiled. "Let's settle it with one strike."
Mo Xuan met his gaze without hesitation. "Exactly what I was thinking."
The arena erupted.
"One strike?"
"...to decide everything?"
Even the elders straightened in their seats. Elder Kui watched silently. He already knew Lu Ming's strongest technique. What interested him more was what Mo Xuan planned to use.
Lu Ming inhaled deeply. Behind him, his Cosmic Soul appeared — spreading its blade-like wings.
"Kreeeeee!"
Its piercing cry rang across the arena. Countless streams of wind gathered around its wings before flowing into Lu Ming's sword. The blade began humming. Wind spiralled around him until even loose stones rolled across the platform. His aura climbed steadily.
Across from him, Mo Xuan closed his eyes. Everything became quiet. The cheering disappeared. The spectators vanished. Even Lu Ming's overwhelming aura faded from his awareness. Only his sword remained in his heart.
His Cosmic Soul appeared behind him — the Rune-Sword, clearer now than it had ever been before, black-and-white light coiling steadily around its edges as though the manifestation itself were drawing breath.
Mo Xuan slowly raised his blade. He traced a circle through the air. The movement was slow and steady. Every inch carried perfect control. As the tip moved, spiritual energy followed its path like invisible ink.
He spoke calmly. "Let Heaven kneel."
The clouds above trembled.
The light dimmed.
The gathering spiritual energy froze for a heartbeat before rushing toward him.
"... Let Earth make way."
The arena shook. Cracks spread across the formation beneath his feet.
The circle grew brighter.
"... Let mountains bow."
The distant peaks surrounding the Sword Sect seemed to grow silent, and to anyone watching, they appeared to bow.
Energy flowed toward him from everywhere. The spiritual energy above the arena changed direction. Disciples noticed it first.
"The energy..."
"It's moving toward Senior Brother Mo."
The elders' expressions hardened.
Mo Xuan continued tracing.
"... Let rivers fall silent."
The sound of flowing water from the streams surrounding the arena vanished.
Each sentence made the glowing circle deepen. The air became heavier. Conversations gradually stopped. One after another, voices disappeared. Silence spread through the arena.
An unnatural stillness settled over everything.
Lu Ming tightened his grip.
For the first time since the duel began—
He felt pressure.
"... Let the winds stir."
Without warning—
The silence broke.
Wind exploded outward before reversing direction, spiralling back toward Mo Xuan.
His robes whipped violently as black-and-white sword energy climbed higher along his blade.
Behind him, his cosmic soul emitted a deep hum.
"... Let the stars bear witness."
The sky darkened.
Though it was still day, faint points of light appeared high above the swirling clouds.
Elder Kui's expression changed. Something was wrong.
The disciples stared upward in disbelief.
"Stars..."
"During daylight?"
"... Let all falsehood be severed."
The glowing circle became darker.
The sword in Mo Xuan's hand trembled.
Elder Kui quickly rose to his feet, his calm expression gone. He realised it was already too late to stop whatever was happening — any attempt to intervene now risked making things worse. He cast his eyes toward the sect master's pavilion instead.
The atmosphere in the dwelling area became suffocating.
"... Let all who stand yield."
Mo Xuan completed the circle. Without hesitation, he lowered his sword. The blade fell as though entering invisible water. Ripples spread through space. Then black ink erupted upward. It swallowed the glowing circle. The ink climbed around the sword before sinking into the air itself.
The sword disappeared.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the sky changed. High above the arena, the clouds twisted violently. A massive vortex formed. The sunlight dimmed. Wind roared. Deep inside the vortex, something emerged.
From the heart of the vortex, the tip of an ancient sword slowly emerged.
Its pressure descended upon the entire Sword Sect.
Elsewhere within the sect, the Sect Master had been discussing recent matters with Han Long. Mid-sentence, both stopped. They looked upward simultaneously. Han Long's carefree expression vanished.
"Impossible," he breathed.
The Sect Master's eyes narrowed. "That aura."
Without another word, both disappeared.
In the arena, Mo Xuan's consciousness shook. His surroundings blurred. The world disappeared, and a scene he'd once seen at the Sword Cliff reappeared before him in full.
Rain. Blood. Fire. An enormous immortal sect burned before him. Towering peaks collapsed. Protective formations shattered. Thousands of cultivators fought desperately. Thousands more fell. Hope disappeared.
Then a figure walked onto the battlefield. Old. Unsteady. A wine flask hung loosely in one hand. A rusted sword rested in the other. He laughed. He took one step. No killing intent flowed out or an elaborate technique. He simply swung.
One strike.
The sky split open. Everything stopped. The battlefield fell silent. The old man burped. Wiped his mouth. Muttered something Mo Xuan couldn't hear. Then he vanished. Only a single Sword Mark remained.
Mo Xuan's eyes snapped open. His back was completely soaked with sweat. His now... raised hand trembled from trying to hold onto that feeling.
That single strike.
The sword in the sky continued descending. More of its blade emerged from the vortex. Its pressure spread across the arena. Several outer disciples staggered backwards. Others found themselves unable to breathe. Some instinctively dropped to one knee.
"What..."
"I can't breathe."
Countless swords throughout the audience vibrated uncontrollably. Elder Kui slowly stood. His calm expression had disappeared. His eyes remained fixed on the descending sword.
Lu Ming refused to hesitate. "Azure Sky Severing Slash!"
The Wind Heron cried. Its wings exploded with wind. Lu Ming swung. A gigantic crescent of compressed wind shot toward Mo Xuan.
Still bound to his own incantation, Mo Xuan pressed on, his lips shaping the final word — "Seve—"
At that exact moment, space cracked open. A portal appeared. The Sect Master stepped onto the arena. His eyes swept across Lu Ming's attack. Then toward Mo Xuan. Then toward the sword descending from the heavens. He sighed. He raised one hand.
With a single wave, Lu Ming's wind slash dissolved. Another wave, and the emerging sword shattered into countless streams of harmless light. The vortex disappeared. The crushing pressure vanished. Sound rushed back into the arena.
Mo Xuan staggered.
The black-and-white glow around his raised hand flickered out and colour drained rapidly from his face until he looked almost bloodless.
The disciples gasped as they finally caught their breath. Some collapsed where they stood. Others stared blankly at the now-clear sky. Only then did everyone notice that the Sect Master had, at some point, appeared directly above the platform.
His gaze settled on the two disciples. "I declare this match..." He paused. "...void of victor."
Confused murmurs spread through the audience.
Lu Ming frowned. "Sect Master..."
The Sect Master looked at him. "If that strike had reached you," his voice remained calm, "Count yourself lucky to still be alive.
The arena froze.
Then his eyes turned toward Mo Xuan. "And you." His tone became sharper. "You forced yourself to grasp a sword beyond your current realm. If I had arrived one breath later..." He paused. "...your foundation would have been destroyed."
The words had barely fallen before Mo Xuan's legs gave out.
His sword slipped from his fingers.
He collapsed onto the platform, his consciousness swallowed by the backlash of the technique.
Elder Kui's expression tightened.
The Sect Master turned toward Elder Kui. His expression became cold. "You..." He snorted.
Elder Kui coughed awkwardly.
Without another word, the Sect Master turned, stepped back into the portal, and disappeared.
Silence lingered over the arena. No one spoke.
The disciples looked first to Lu Ming.
Then at the collapsed Mo Xuan.
Neither had won.
Yet everyone understood one thing.
From this day onward, the name Mo Xuan would no longer belong only to the outer court.
High above the Sword Sect, the last fragment of the vortex drifted into the clouds.
The sky became clear again.