Light snow fluttered down. The square arena was paved with thick layers of brown animal hide and enclosed on all four sides by thick, black ropes.
"There are twenty-four front courtyard disciples in total. Based on the previous rankings, the duels will begin from the bottom of the list. A five-match winning streak will earn a special prize from the Observatory Master!"
The female Daoist Child who had been singing earlier held up a bronze gong, struck it once, and began to announce the simple rules of the competition.
Among the crowd below, the twenty-four front courtyard disciples moved forward of their own accord. They had changed into white Daoist robes, making them stand out in the crowd.
Senior Brother Chen Sui stood at the very front, cradling his sword and waiting quietly.
Behind him, Mu Qiaozhi was talking with Huang Shanqiu Yiren.
Further back were Wucheng and Chen Chong.
Wucheng looked confident. He had a strong build, his black hair was tied up high, and his smile was radiant. His bronze skin, set against his silver-white longsword, radiated an aura of immense vitality.
Chen Chong, in contrast, looked gloomy and worried. He clearly hadn't recovered from his last encounter with Lin Hui.
The front courtyard disciples behind them were much more low-key and relaxed. Both men and women, they felt no pressure; some were even flirting quietly and stifling laughter.
As a newly promoted disciple, Lin Hui stood near the back. Only three or four people were behind him—disciples who had been promoted even more recently.
At that moment, he was listening to two male disciples just ahead of him discuss the tournament.
"It seems whoever goes first in this tournament is at a disadvantage..."
"That's why there's a special reward for a five-win streak. It's to compensate. Besides, this is supposed to be a celebration. The duels start from the lowest rank, meaning the strongest fighters, like Senior Brother, will go last. The later you fight, the lower your chance of getting that five-win streak."
"So those who go first are trying to snatch the five-win streak, while those who go later can only compete for a spot in the top ten?"
"More or less. Who's up first?"
"Yu Fan. He was just promoted last month. He's from Mengshan Town. His match is basically a warm-up."
"Oh, him. Whoever's up against him first has it easy."
The two chatted in low voices while Lin Hui quietly centered himself. He was also curious to see how well he would do once he got into the arena.
In theory, the Qingfeng Temple's swordsmanship emphasizes speed, so fighting in a gauntlet shouldn't be too physically draining.
Unless a duel dragged on for too long, or one used a Secret Technique or a high-drain ability like the Light Body Effect, fighting three or four matches in a row wouldn't be too strenuous.
'In that case, ranked fifteenth, I could actually go for that five-win streak...'
Lin Hui lightly gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, flexing his fingers—loosening, then tightening them again and again.
"Ranked twenty-fourth, Yu Fan, please enter the arena."
The Daoist Child on the platform loudly called out the first name.
In the surrounding viewing stands, guests began to arrive and take their seats. The most conspicuous among them were the chief and deputy chief of the Xinyu Town constabulary, along with the heads of several of the town's prominent families. They chatted and laughed as they found their seats, which were marked with wooden name plaques. Then, Daoist Children served each of them tea.
WHOOSH.
A huge gray awning was unfurled overhead, covering a portion of the stands and shielding these more distinguished guests from the falling snow.
The twenty-fourth-ranked disciple, Yu Fan, who had been standing a few steps behind Lin Hui, heard his name called. Gripping his sword, he quickly walked up the wooden side-steps and onto the arena platform. He first bowed toward Observatory Master Daoist Baohe and the other Daoists of the Ming Generation. He then clasped his fist in salute to the constabulary chief and the other guests. Finally, he went to one side of the arena, cradled his sword, and waited for his opponent.
"Ranked twenty-third, Zhang Yuanchun, please enter the arena!"
As the announcement finished, a young woman with white hair leaped up, sword in hand, and landed on the platform.
"Your guidance, please."
Without wasting words, the two clasped their fists in salute, drew their swords, and tossed aside their scabbards.
In the next instant, their figures blurred as they slashed at one another.
CLANG.
The two swords met, then quickly slid apart.
Both unleashed their Nine-Section Swift Sword at the same time. The flickering afterimages of their blades looked like two gray snakes, constantly thrusting, jabbing, slashing, and parrying.
"This swordsmanship is quite dangerous," the constabulary chief, Ning Shaosheng, remarked while stroking his beard. "One careless slip and you'd have a bloody hole in you. The swift sword of Qingfeng Daoist Temple truly lives up to its name."
He was thirty-nine years old and in his first year as chief of the Xinyu Town constabulary after transferring from the Inner City. He had accepted the invitation primarily because Qingfeng Daoist Temple was considered the strongest martial arts school in Xinyu, and he wanted to show respect by attending their ceremony. He hadn't expected the very first match to make him feel the trip was already worthwhile.
"That's the Qingfeng Temple's Nine-Section Swift Sword. It prioritizes speed, with techniques focused on jabs, thrusts, slashes, and turns. It serves as the foundation for the more advanced Qingfeng Swordsmanship," the deputy chief, Yu Zhenhao, explained quietly from the side. He had been posted in Xinyu Town for many years and was very familiar with the Qingfeng Temple.
"This swift sword style would be quite suitable for our constabulary," Chief Ning Shaosheng said thoughtfully. "Against troublemakers, you could incapacitate them with a single, quick strike. Its speed and precision mean it wouldn't cause excessive harm. The Flying Cloud Fist we used before always resulted in internal injuries, which was a real hassle."
"That's true. Our partnership with the Qingfeng Temple has always been stable," the deputy chief agreed.
"Alright then. We'll hire an additional three people from here for the Rapid Response Team. Invite the next three in line from the front courtyard rankings," Ning Shaosheng said in a low voice.
"The Rapid Response Team... adding three people at once, isn't that a bit..." The deputy chief hesitated.
"Lately, more and more outsiders have been showing up in the Outer City District. It's putting a lot of pressure on law and order. More manpower is always a good thing," Ning Shaosheng explained.
The pay for the Rapid Response Team was high, but that wasn't the crucial part. The crucial part was that the position came with the authority of summary execution. In an emergency, they could act first and report later.
As long as this authority wasn't used against Inner City People, there would be no repercussions, even for an accidental killing.
That was why the deputy chief was hesitant.
"Enough. Let's watch the match. It looks like we're about to have a winner." Ning Shaosheng smiled, cutting off the deputy chief before he could say more.
In the arena, the two were reaching the climax of their fierce duel. The blurs of their swords clashed dozens of times in rapid succession before being knocked apart, returning to their owners' hands.
SWISH!
At that moment, Zhang Yuanchun, on the left, stepped forward. Her longsword spun, transforming into a cone of steel that enveloped her opponent's upper body.
Her opponent, Yu Fan, tried to block, but his wrist suddenly went weak, and he couldn't muster the strength.
TING!
The longsword was ripped from his grasp and sent flying. In the next instant, a silver blade hung motionless at his chest.
"You let me win," Zhang Yuanchun said, panting heavily.
"Zhang Yuanchun is victorious!" the Daoist Child announced from the side.
This outcome surprised no one. It was only natural for a higher-ranked disciple to defeat a lower-ranked one.
However, when the twenty-second-ranked disciple came on stage and was also defeated by Zhang Yuanchun within a few exchanges, everyone was a little surprised.
Then, she defeated the twenty-first and twentieth-ranked disciples as well. Though Zhang Yuanchun was clearly exhausted, she forced herself to remain standing on the platform.
From below, Lin Hui watched the woman quietly. 'If I used only my regular strength,' he calculated, 'how many moves would it take to beat her?'
Judging by the afterimages she left when she struck, Zhang Yuanchun had already reached Second Grade Body Tempering.
Her ability to win so many consecutive matches at this level had a great deal to do with her understanding of swordsmanship. After all, her Body Tempering cultivation wasn't particularly high.
Soon, another challenger took the stage. This time, Zhang Yuanchun finally couldn't hold on any longer. She was defeated in three moves and collapsed, then was carried off the platform by two people.
Still, everyone in the crowd gave her a round of thunderous applause.
In the matches that followed, victory and defeat were unpredictable. The fighters changed with every bout, and no one managed to win even two in a row.
Finally, Lin Hui heard his rank being called.
"Ranked fifteenth, Lin Hui!"
Lin Hui gripped the hilt of his sword and walked onto the platform, his expression placid.
SHING.
He drew his sword, tossed the scabbard aside, and heard Chen Zhishen cheering for him in the distance.
His opponent was the sixteenth-ranked disciple, a handsome young man with sharp brows and bright eyes. Compared to the plain-featured Lin Hui, he was quite popular with the female disciples in the audience.
"Feng Cheng'an, ranked sixteenth. I ask for your guidance, Senior Brother," his opponent said with a cupped-fist salute.
"Lin Hui, ranked fifteenth. After you, Junior Brother." Lin Hui's sword tip pointed toward the ground.
He had watched the earlier fights and knew his opponent's caliber. He was at the Second Grade of Body Tempering at most—hardly a challenge.
In a real fight, his opponent wouldn't even be enough for a warm-up.
'I'll just focus on defense, then,' he told himself. 'Treat it as training for my defensive abilities.'
Ending the fight too quickly would be impolite. The previous matches had all gone on for many exchanges before a winner was decided. If his ended in an instant, it would be too abrupt, too conspicuous.
Lin Hui didn't like to stand out.
Therefore, he decided to end the fight gently.
CLANG!
The instant the bronze gong sounded to begin the match, Feng Cheng'an struck with all his might. His Nine-Section Swift Sword erupted in a blur of gray, jabbing fiercely at Lin Hui's right shoulder with speed a fraction faster than any seen before.
CLANG!
But as if by pure coincidence, Lin Hui blocked the strike with a simple backhand motion.
Without hesitation, Feng Cheng'an retracted his sword, gathered his strength, and instantly changed techniques, thrusting toward Lin Hui's abdomen.
CLANG!
Another crisp clang rang out.
Feng Cheng'an's expression flickered. He changed his attack again, the afterimage of his blade becoming a gray snake as he launched a flurry of strikes.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Strangely, no matter how he attacked, the blur of his blade would seem to freeze abruptly near Lin Hui's body before being parried away.
Lin Hui remained rooted to the spot. The longsword in his hand became a nearly invisible gray line, floating and dancing as it deflected every gleam of steel that tried to approach him.
The ringing clashes sounded like a frantic melody, erupting continuously and accelerating with each passing moment.
Lin Hui's expression remained unchanged. He hadn't moved his feet a single inch, simply standing in place and precisely deflecting every single one of his opponent's strikes.
Half a minute later...
At some point, the clamor from the surrounding stands had died down, replaced by a hush.
Lin Hui narrowed his eyes slightly. The longsword in his hand shot up vertically, becoming motionless as it blocked the tip of his opponent's sword, which was aimed between his eyes.
TING.
Amid the soft chime, he looked at his opponent. Feng Cheng'an was panting, his face a mask of disbelief.
He raised his empty left hand. His index finger shot forward, a sword in itself, and tapped lightly on the point between his opponent's eyebrows.
THUMP.
Feng Cheng'an could no longer stand. He staggered back several steps and collapsed, sitting hard on the ground.
He had just unleashed everything he had, launching over a hundred strikes in a single furious barrage, each one at full power, yet...
His face was now flushed a deep purple, and his lungs heaved like a bellows.
"Next," Lin Hui's voice rang out, as if he hadn't moved an inch.
Feng Cheng'an tried to get up but couldn't. He was completely spent. He had to be carried off the stage by two attendant Daoists.