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Chapter 79 - Chapter 79- Battle Of Geniuses

Clang!

The sparks scattered again—brighter, fiercer—as both auras surged higher.

"Wait—why does it feel like Lao Xie's getting faster?"

"Is it just me, or is Shen Yun the one on the defensive now?"

"No way… he was dominating just a moment ago!"

On the stage, the clash grew heavier. The ring of metal echoed in rapid bursts, each impact sending tremors through the platform. Shen Yun's smile remained, but a faint line creased between his brows. Every time he tried to force through Lao Xie's guard, the other man's sword was already there—meeting him in perfect rhythm.

His smirk wavered. "You're hiding something," Shen Yun muttered, breath steady but eyes sharp. "No one reads my moves that cleanly."

Lao Xie tilted his head slightly, tone light. "Then maybe you should change them."

Clang!

The next impact burst like thunder. Shen Yun pushed forward, pseudo sword qi flaring once more—but Lao Xie's blade slid along the edge, diverting it with effortless precision. That calmness—unhurried, unnerving—made Shen Yun's chest tighten. It felt as though he was slashing at water; no matter how fierce his blade, the resistance simply flowed around him, and somehow, the pressure kept building.

He drew back half a step, eyes narrowing. "He's reading the flow itself…?"

Lao Xie's sword lowered slightly, his expression unreadable. A faint shimmer flickered along the edge—so soft it could be mistaken for reflected light, yet from the stands, Elder Yao's eyes caught it.

"That energy…" she murmured, voice low. "It's faint, but… could it be pseudo sword qi?"

Her words were uncertain, yet her pulse quickened. Something about that glow was different—quiet, restrained. It wasn't forced through will, but guided by intent.

Back on the stage, Shen Yun exhaled sharply. "Tch… then let's see how long you can keep up."

He lunged forward again, aura bursting outward like a breaking tide.

Clang!

Clang!

The noise roared through the arena. Lao Xie didn't yield an inch. His movements flowed faster, sharper—each strike precise enough to graze perfection. For a heartbeat, Shen Yun caught it—the faint glimmer along Lao Xie's sword, hidden beneath the sparks. His eyes widened slightly. "What was that?"

Clang!

The sound rang sharper, almost singing through the air. Shen Yun's grip tightened, his calm expression shadowed by curiosity. He had seen it—just for a flicker. That faint light wasn't mere reflection. It pulsed with rhythm, almost like the sword itself was breathing.

Shen Yun's eyes narrowed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That glow on your edge—what is it? Reflection doesn't move like that."

Lao Xie's reply came quiet, almost teasing. "You sure you're not seeing things?"

Clang!

Clang!

Their blades met twice more, neither retreating. Each impact rang louder, the pressure thickening until the air trembled. Shen Yun twisted his wrist, sending a circle of sparks bursting outward between them. "You're not as simple as you pretend to be," he said evenly. "I can feel it—the rhythm of your sword changed. It's reading mine."

Lao Xie's gaze stayed calm, almost amused. "Then maybe your rhythm's too easy to read."

A small laugh escaped Shen Yun's breath, low but genuine. "Heh… you talk like someone who's been holding back."

Clang!

The next impact sent a shockwave across the stage, scattering dust in all directions. The crowd gasped as both figures blurred, their swords flashing too fast to follow. The ring of steel filled the air in a relentless, pounding rhythm.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

"Is Lao Xie… matching him blow for blow now?"

"Shen Yun's pseudo sword qi can't be pushed back that easily—what's happening?"

The outer disciples leaned forward, unable to believe what they were seeing.

Shen Yun's breaths grew heavier, though his smile remained. "Impressive," he muttered, sliding a step back to deflect another strike. "You're stronger than I thought. But this pace… it's not something you can hold forever."

Lao Xie's head tilted slightly. "Do I look like I'm slowing down?"

Their blades met once more, and for an instant, the faint flicker along Lao Xie's sword flared brighter—thin, controlled, and dangerously stable.

That energy… he's manifesting it.

But it wasn't loud like Shen Yun's. It was silent, flowing perfectly with each motion, invisible to anyone not watching closely.

In the stands, Elder Yao froze mid-motion, her eyes widening.

"That resonance…" she whispered. "It feels like pseudo sword qi—but quieter. Refined. He's not forcing it… he's guiding it."

Back on the stage, Shen Yun straightened, pseudo sword qi burning at full strength. His grin returned, though a trace of strain hid beneath it. "Not bad," he said, voice calm yet edged. "Looks like I'll have to take this seriously after all."

Lao Xie's smirk stayed faint, his tone soft but steady. "About time."

Clang!

The next strike thundered across the platform. Shen Yun's aura flared to its peak, but Lao Xie's blade cut through it like a tide parting the storm. The shockwave tore through the air, scattering cheers into stunned silence.

Elder Yao's heart thudded once, hard. "That's… impossible," she whispered.

The dust rippled outward. When it cleared—both still stood where they were, neither yielding, eyes locked.

The tension between them pulsed, heavy and alive, as if even the air itself was waiting to see who would move first.

The platform trembled beneath each clash, but gradually… the sound changed.

The sharpness dulled, replaced by something steadier—less violent, yet far heavier.

At first, the disciples watching only saw Shen Yun's sword slow by a fraction. To them, it looked as if he had chosen to measure his pace, confident as ever.

But those with keener eyes—Elder Yao, Ling Ruxin, and a few seated elders—noticed something else.

"…That's not him holding back," murmured one of the elders. "The flow's being disrupted."

Ling Ruxin leaned forward slightly, her brows drawn. "It's like their rhythm has changed… Lao Xie's movements, they're matching Shen Yun?"

Elder Yao didn't answer right away. Her gaze was fixed on the faint shimmer tracing Lao Xie's blade, so faint it almost disappeared with every swing. It wasn't brilliance—it was precision.

Another elder spoke in disbelief. "Impossible. Shen Yun's sword rhythm is famous among the outer sect. He sets the pace of every fight he's in—how could an outer disciple like Lao Xie be dictating it now?"

"You really weren't joking Brother Mu." The bulky elder said with a surprised expression.

Even the spectators who didn't fully grasp sword rhythm felt something was wrong. The atmosphere around Shen Yun had changed—his aura still burned brightly, but it no longer reached forward. It was being drawn inward, compressed.

On the platform, Shen Yun felt it too. Each swing met resistance, not through brute strength, but through subtle correction. Lao Xie's sword wasn't clashing—it was redirecting, nudging the rhythm one beat off every time.

His eyes glinted with quiet realization. "You're reading me faster than I can mislead you," he said with a faint smile. "Interesting."

Lao Xie's tone was even, calm as still water. "You were leading. I just followed your steps."

Clang.

The sound rang clear—precise, like the stroke of a chime.

Shen Yun's smile deepened. "Followed, huh? Then you must have very sharp eyes."

"Only when the path is easy to see."

A soft laugh slipped from Shen Yun's breath. It wasn't mockery, but appreciation. "So that's it. You're not pushing against me—you're erasing the gaps between us. Every strike, you're learning."

He took a slow step back, his blade resting lightly at his side. The tension in his shoulders eased, though his eyes gleamed sharper than before. "You're not a brute, Lao Xie. You're an observer."

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