83 – After Tournament Challenges

Tiezhi exhaled deeply.

In the two weeks since arriving in Liu’an City, he had rented the best training room the Wànlì Merchant Guild could offer. He had believed he had already spent enough effort after returning from the future. Dying half a dozen times at the hands of the Xuan had quickly corrected that assumption. The world of immortals was incomprehensibly vast and deep. Without the mystical power residing in his heart, he would have paid the ultimate price and died for nothing. Returning from the future only to perish in vain.

He gazed across the training room. The walls were reinforced to withstand peak Foundation Establishment strength, yet slash marks still covered nearly every surface. Each mark was deeper and cleaner than the last. He had pushed the One Sword Art, nothing more than an outer-sect technique, incomparable to the true Heavenly Sword Art, to its absolute limit. At that extreme, its power already rivaled early Foundation Establishment.

Of course, he had cheated a little. Because he came from the future, his comprehension of Sword Intent had returned with him. His current Sword Intent was not as refined as it would become at higher cultivation, but it was still far stronger than it had any right to be at his present level. Combined with the battle experience he had brought back and the chance to rebuild his foundation properly, Tiezhi was confident. Once he stepped into Foundation Establishment, he would rapidly close the gap toward the early Golden Core strength he had once stagnated at. That would place him on equal footing with the heroes of the future and give him the opportunity to network with them properly this time.

Satisfied with his progress, he finally left the training room. Today should have been the last day of the tournament. He had not paid it much attention, already certain of the outcome. First place would belong to Bai Chengbei. Second would go to Gongsun Zhàoyè. Third would be Qin Weiming. Three men who would each create significant ripples in the years to come, for better and for worse.

Now Tiezhi could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

Once again, his knowledge of the future had been rendered partially obsolete. Bai Chengbei had still taken first place, yes. But Qin Weiming had claimed second instead of third. Third place had gone to the second son of a minor noble family of little note. All Tiezhi remembered of the Yè family was that they had fallen into ruin at the beginning of the demonic resurgence, leaving only a single surviving member within the Tianhe Sect.

And the Xuan was serving as Master of Ceremonies rather than the Imperial Palace Grand Advisor? Gongsun Qingchen had publicly challenged the Xuan in front of everyone? Why was the Sect Leader herself even present?

Tiezhi offered a formal greeting to the Sect Leader. The former deputy had fully assumed the position after she and her brother had stabbed the previous Sect Leader in the back. She acknowledged him with a brief nod before returning her attention to the arena.

“Senior Sister, what did I miss?” Tiezhi asked quickly as he took a seat beside Xueying.

“You missed most of the excitement. Don’t worry, we recorded everything.” Xueying answered before realizing her junior was asking about the present situation rather than the earlier matches. “The Master of Ceremonies fell asleep during the final stages. Everyone noticed because he started producing some kind of music through Illusion Arts. Quite a few of the noble families took it as an insult, and Gongsun Qingchen proposed this challenge as a result.”

Gongsun Qingchen. In the future he would become an extremely influential figure. effectively the spokesperson for the noble families. A conniving, scheming snake through and through. Petty to a fault, and a persistent thorn in the side of the Grand Strategist.

“I take it you already have a challenger in mind?” the Xuan asked in a calm voice.

The moment the question left his mouth, a Foundation Establishment cultivator leapt down and landed gracefully in the center of the arena. He wore the pure white robes of the Wuqing Sect and carried a longsword. Disciples of that sect, true to their name, cultivated techniques and sword arts that relied on severing emotion and attachment.

“Very well…” The Xuan’s voice carried a clear note of annoyance as he appeared on the arena floor. “Let’s get this over with.”

“This junior requests enlightenment.” The Wuqing disciple offered a polite martial greeting, which the Xuan returned.

A visibly nervous referee from the Wanli Merchant Guild took his place at the edge of the platform. The three tournament winners had already been escorted back to their seats. Cultivators from the various sects and noble families sat forward in their chairs. There were more reasons for this challenge than simple retaliation over a perceived insult. Nearly every faction present, except those from the North, had lost disciples during the hunt in the Southern Mountain Range. According to the survivors’ testimonies, no one had clearly seen how the Xuan and his party had killed nearly half of the assembled hunters. This match was, in part, an opportunity to observe the Xuan’s techniques and better prepare for the future.

The referee swallowed hard one last time before shouting, “Begin!”

In an instant the Wuqing Sect disciple assumed his stance. His Qi and killing intent erupted outward before locking directly onto the Xuan. The intensity far surpassed the casual killing intent the Xuan had displayed with his earlier footsteps, which made it a child’s play by comparison. Every mortal in the stands felt a cold chill of death settle deep in their hearts and along their spines. Sects and noble families alike cheered as the disciple immediately invoked the Heart Severing Sword Art and lunged forward.

The Xuan simply stood there, calm and unmoving. Then he snapped his fingers.

HOOONK! BAAM!

A massive horseless carriage with a pronounced, battering-ram nose materialized beside the Wuqing disciple. Its horn blared the moment it appeared. The vehicle was already moving at such speed that evasion was impossible. The heavy nose struck the disciple’s right side with bone-jarring force, lifting him clean off his feet and sending him cartwheeling horizontally through the air. Every trace of the grace and power he had projected a heartbeat earlier vanished. He crashed unceremoniously onto the arena floor, right arm and leg twisted at unnatural angles.

“ROADKILL!” the Xuan roared.

Celebratory fireworks erupted behind him, blooming above the arena in loud, colorful explosions.

The anger of the watching sects and noble families doubled at once. The entire display was a blatant insult. One person, however, did not share their outrage. In the Gu family’s viewing tower, Gu Linghua unfolded her fan and raised it to cover her face. Her shoulders trembled despite her best efforts at self-control. Maintaining the refined bearing of this world’s Gu Linghua had never been difficult, except for one critical difference.

She had, in essence, a very lowbrow humor.

The moment the Xuan summoned an American semi-truck and used it to flatten the Wuqing disciple, it tickled her funny bone in a way no one in this world can. When he then shouted “Roadkill!” with full theatrical pomp, her composure nearly shattered completely.

She was not the only one struggling. Among the mortal spectators, many were fighting equally hard to contain themselves. Mothers clamped hands over their children’s mouths while pressing their own lips into thin lines. Men grimaced and clenched their teeth. Old men pretended to choke on their drinks. Laughing openly at a cultivator’s public humiliation would have been a disaster.

“Ehem.” The Xuan cleared his throat, then skipped rather jovially over to the disciple still lying flat on the ground. He leaned down briefly to confirm the man was unconscious. “Hmmm. He needs medical insurance,” he declared, delivering the line with the cadence of an American stand-up comedian.

“Pffft.” Gu Linghua nearly lost the battle entirely. Her guardian elder and Zhaoge could only watch as their young lady fought desperately to maintain appearances.

Two other Wuqing Sect disciples quickly retrieved their unconscious senior brother and withdrew from the arena as swiftly as dignity allowed. Even those who had severed most of their emotions and attachments found the humiliation absolute.

“I take it that’s everything?” The Xuan nodded to himself, already turning to leave.

Before he could step off the platform, however, something Tiezhi had never expected occurred. One of his own senior brothers,  Jianxing’s right-hand man, entered the arena.

“This junior’s name is Jiànyán (劍炎|Sword Flame). This junior requests enlightenment.” Jianyan introduced himself and offered a formal greeting.

“This one’s name is Danxing. Likewise.” The Xuan returned the courtesy.

“Young Master Xuan, it is said that the Xuan clan possesses the most powerful sword arts in the world. Perhaps we might exchange a few pointers with the blade?” Jianyan proposed.

“I don’t see why not.” The Xuan drew a massive greatsword and gripped it with both hands.

Before he could speak further, Jianyan continued. “It is said that it takes a hundred days to master the blade, a thousand days to master the spear, and ten thousand days to master the sword. I look forward to…”

Clang!

The sharp sound of metal striking stone cut him off mid-sentence. What he saw next made him balk, then filled him with rising rage. Every sword cultivator present, Tiezhi included, felt anger surge from deep within their cores.

The Xuan had simply thrown the greatsword aside.

“On second thought, never mind.” The Xuan then pulled out a heavy warhammer. “Keep your pretentiousness for those who care.”

“Fine. Very well.” Jianyan’s voice came through gritted teeth, veins standing out on his face and the backs of his hands as he settled into the stance of the Heavenly Sword Art. He was fully determined to put the Xuan in his place.

The referee coughed as tension now simmered both inside and outside the arena. Every sword cultivator present glared toward the platform with open rage.

“Begin.”

Jianyan closed the vast distance in a single step. The Xuan made no attempt to evade or even raise a defense. He simply lifted the warhammer to his right side. With a fiery swing, Jianyan cleaved straight through the towering figure. A vast slash of Fire Qi, infused with the Heavenly Sword Art, tore across the arena and left a clean, still-melting scar on the far wall.

Yet the Xuan remained standing. His form shimmered like a blade passing through water rather than flesh. An illusion.

Jianyan immediately spread his divine sense, searching for the real body and in doing so ignored the descending hammer. The full force of Mountain Shaking Strike slammed into the left side of his head. Concentration shattered. He was thrown bodily across the platform.

Every spectator leaned forward at once. Illusion arts were widely regarded as a lowly means of deceiving the senses. Anyone who could see through the falsehood should have been able to locate the true body without difficulty. An illusion that could become tangible or intangible at will, however, was nearly unheard of. Such control required a mastery capable of deceiving not only the five senses, but heaven and earth themselves.

The Xuan took a thunderous step and gave chase. Jianyan had barely recovered when he lunged forward in a blinding thrust, Fire Qi and Sword Intent flaring together. Thunder gathered in the Xuan’s steps, then flowed into the warhammer as he swung. Sword and hammer seemed destined for a catastrophic clash…

… yet the hammer phased cleanly through the thrusting blade and the blade continued unimpeded into the Xuan’s own massive frame, thrusting through him but leaving him unharmed. The warhammer itself, however, struck Jianyan squarely in the left flank. The force of Mountain Shaking Strike, further amplified by the Great Thundergod Tandava, shattered ribs. Thunder and Earth Qi drove deep into his body as the swing hurled him toward the edge of the arena.

Jianyan popped a vitality pill with practiced speed and braced for landing. The Xuan appeared in front of him in a flash of thunder, warhammer already raised high. Gritting his teeth, Jianyan lifted his sword to block.

The hammer phased through the blade.

BOOM!

The impact shook the entire venue as though a meteor wreathed in lightning had struck the earth. A wave of force from one of the viewing elders immediately dispersed the resulting cloud of dust. When vision cleared, every eye saw the same scene: Jianyan sitting amid the broken floor, legs parted, the head of the Xuan’s warhammer resting a few centimeters short of his family jewels.

“My hammer’s name is Nutcracker,” the Xuan stated flatly.

The declaration was enough to send Gu Linghua’s fan snapping open again to hide her face.

“But I do not believe we are hostile enough to warrant that particular treatment.” The Xuan lifted the warhammer and rested it against his shoulder. “I believe we are done here.” He turned away.

Jianyan remained seated, head lowered, appearing defeated both in body and spirit. Then Tiezhi noticed something shift. Jianyan’s posture suddenly hardened, as though he had received an unseen instruction. In the next instant he seized his sword and struck from behind, aiming to sever the Xuan’s head.

The sight of the deer-skull head flying through the air produced an immediate uproar. Mortals recoiled in fear. The sects and noble families that had suffered losses in the Southern Mountain Range erupted in cheers.

Then a tired sigh echoed across the platform, not amplified, yet somehow loud enough to silence every cheer.

Bang! Bang!

Two thunderous sounds rang out. One bullet shattered Jianyan’s left knee from behind, blowing the lower leg clean away. The second struck the back of his head and was stopped only by a life-saving talisman. The flying deer skull vanished at once, revealing that the Xuan’s head had never left his shoulders. In his right hand rested a massive magnum revolver. (The caliber is 12.7mm, scaled three times into 38.1mm which is autocannon range). He braced the weapon with his left hand and rapidly emptied the remaining four chambers.

Jianyan scrambled aside with frantic movement arts while desperately stemming the bleeding from his severed leg. The Xuan calmly reloaded, spun the cylinder, and fired another six rounds. These bullets, however, were slow. Deliberately, insultingly slow. With practiced ease Jianyan cut each one from the air and answered with brilliant Sword Intent slashes. Every slash phased harmlessly through the Xuan’s body. Pushing his senses to the extreme, Jianyan finally noticed the truth, each time an attack passed through the intangible form, the Xuan’s Qi dropped. Another forced phasing would likely exhaust him completely.

Jianyan settled into a final stance, determined to end the match with the next exchange. The Xuan reloaded the revolver once more. Jianyan prepared to lunge the moment the firing began.

Bang!

Another thunderous sound echoed. But it did not come from the weapon in the Xuan’s hand.

Jianyan collapsed, body suddenly numb. He could not understand what had happened. He willed his limbs to move and found them unresponsive.

The Xuan walked forward at an unhurried pace. A similarly oversized Winchester repeating rifle now hung in the air above the fallen cultivator, its barrel angled downward. The Xuan simply reached up, took the rifle, worked the lever in a smooth spin-reload,

and fired a final shot into Jianyan’s head.

~ Valarion