CLANK!
The deafening echo of clashing metal reverberated through the sun-drenched courtyard, the crackle of sparks punctuating the air like bursts of lightning.
Gusts of warm wind whipped through, fluttering the loose fabric of martial robes as shadows danced against shadows in an unrelenting, intricate choreography of battle.
CLANK!
The metallic clash rang out again, ringing in Ji Wuye's ears. Yet his expression remained an inscrutable mask of calm disinterest, unfazed by the chaos swirling around him.
Beneath that tranquil facade, however, his mind was a flurry of activity as countless translucent screens flickered into view, each one triggered by the resounding impact.
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Amidst the frenzy, a faint bluish trail of Qi energy trailed behind Ji Wuye's movements, guiding his steps like ethereal lightning. His narrowed gaze, sharp and contemplative, briefly flicked skyward before snapping back to his opponent.
In that fleeting instant, his grip on the hilt of his jian loosened ever so slightly—a calculated feint lasting no more than two breaths—before tightening again.
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Time seemed to slow as a glinting blade arced towards his head with lethal precision. Ji Wuye's body blurred into motion, evading the strike with an almost feline grace as his skills activated in response. In that frozen moment, his fingers danced along the jian's hilt, adjusting his grip with a deft twist.
Then, with surgical precision, he retaliated—slashing forward in a blur of steel.
CLANK!
The cacophony of metal striking metal rang out once more, followed by a shrill, piercing cry that cut through the air like a knife.
Ji Wuye's strike was carefully measured, yet unorthodox. Rather than targeting his opponent's vulnerable flesh, he directed the full force of his blade against their weapon itself.
The impact reverberated through steel, sending violent tremors coursing down the length of the assailant's jian as it quaked audibly under the strain. Another translucent screen materialized before Ji Wuye's focused gaze.
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BOOM!
Following the next moment was, a thunderous explosion rocked the courtyard, a shockwave of force violently flinging the Wudang disciple off his feet.
He let out a strangled cry of shock and pain as he was hurled backward, his body tumbling through the air in defiance of all balance and control.
With a bone-jarring impact, he slammed into the packed marble stairs outside the vast wooden platform arena, the collision forcing a guttural "GAH!" as the air was expelled from his lungs. A plume of dust billowed around his crumpled form as he lay there, winded and unmoving.
This brutal scene had repeated itself nearly a hundred times in the span of just a hundred breaths, affecting almost all the Wudang disciples.
Ji Wuye stood amidst the chaos, his calm, piercing crimson gaze sweeping over the courtyard as he surveyed the defeated Wudang disciples strewn about like broken dolls.
The once-vast wooden sparring platform had become a battlefield, littered with groaning disciples and the remnants of failed attacks.
The remaining spectators, mostly curious common folk and frenzied elderly men with wild smiles on their faces, watched the fight with rapt attention.
Meanwhile, the elevated guest area still held its onlookers, but they watched the scene below in tense silence.
An uneasy hush had fallen, the only sounds the labored breathing of the fallen and the snap of tattered banners flapping in the hot, dry wind.
At last, Ji Wuye broke the tense silence, his cold, dispassionate tone cutting through the stillness like a knife. "For those who preach justice and accuse me of using evil arts, you are truly pathetic heroes."
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His mocking words hung in the air as his crimson eyes slowly swept across the battered Wudang disciples.
Not a single one remained standing, all lying in various states of dishevelment and defeat. Exhausted and bruised, their normally impeccable blue robes were torn and stained, marred by dirt, sweat, and the evidence of the vicious blows they had endured.
Streaks of dust and grime painted their faces, mingling with the shame and weariness etched into their features—the indelible marks of their failures laid bare before the crowd.
Ji Wuye's gaze then lingered briefly on the hastily constructed wooden sparring platform at the courtyard's center.
Despite bearing the brunt of their intense exchanges, the sturdy surface had held firm, showing only a single trap hole—created earlier by a Wudang disciple to ensnare him—while the rest was veined with a spiderweb of hairline cracks.
With a final sweeping glance at the disciples strewn about like broken toys, Ji Wuye's eyes lost their crimson sheen, fading back to their usual indiscernible hue. Gripping his slender jian in a deceptively relaxed reverse grip, he exhaled a slow breath and sheathed the blade in one smooth, practiced motion.
Lifting his eyes to the elevated guest viewing area, he brought his hands together and cupped them formally before his body, utterly unbefitting of the violence that had just transpired.
"Distinguished guests," Ji Wuye's clear voice rang out, his tone now composed and politely inquisitive as it carried through the stunned silence. "Is there anyone among you willing to guide this Ji on his martial path?"
A clear and blatant mockery from him—it was painfully obvious. Of course, as a martial artist who followed the orthodox path, he still needed to maintain his courtesy at all times.
His piercing crimson gaze methodically swept across the elevated guest area, seeming to linger briefly on each face as he gauged their reactions.
But, none of the esteemed guests dared make a sound or rash movement.
They swallowed hard, masking their apprehension behind stoic expressions as the tension mounted. Even Murong Yu, could not conceal the hardening of his features.
And who could blame them? Ji Wuye had just laid waste to over a dozen Wudang disciples with an almost casual indifference.
He had also defeated all his fellow Martial Siblings—Official Disciples—in one fell swoop, leaving them burdened with infamy.
His prowess had proven overwhelming, to the point effortlessly brushing aside the Sword Auras wielded by those Wudang disciples.
Even Xing Shufen, that vaunted genius prodigy of the Emei sect whose reputation preceded her, had been no match for Ji Wuye.
But more importantly...
Despite the fury of blows exchanged, Ji Wuye's stark white martial robe remained unsullied—not a single tear or bloodstain marring the pristine fabric.
Aside from the slender jian remaining unsheathed in his hand, there was no outward sign that he had even participated in battle.
Yet for all his outward poise and elegant demeanor, an unsettling aura clung to Ji Wuye like a shroud. There was something deeply disquieting about the strange martial arts techniques he had unleashed, seemingly capable of sealing or disabling multiple opposing styles simultaneously.
Coupled with his uncanny ability to deflect the Sword Auras, it left the guests visibly ill-at-ease and hesitant to engage him further.
The uneasy silence stretched until at last, it was broken by, "What are you saying, Brother Ji?"
Unsurprisingly, it was Murong Yu who first found his nerve, descending the raised platform with steady, deliberate steps to stand before Ji Wuye on the battered wooden stage.
Despite the undercurrent of tension, the Young Master's polite and humble demeanor remained firmly in place as he cupped his hands in a respectful gesture.
"I am Murong Yu of the Murong family," he introduced himself, the very image of noble martial decorum despite his shorter stature next to Ji Wuye's towering frame.
Murong Yu cut an impressive figure nonetheless, his muscular build and solid frame conveying a sense of wiry strength honed through strict discipline.
The dark blue of his martial robe was offset by the intricate Murong family crest emblazoned across the right breast. His spiky chestnut hair only added to an overall aura of youthful vigor and intensity.
Yet, even as he spoke, Murong Yu's gaze briefly flicked toward the elevated guest area—a subtle gesture, but...
The heavy silence blanketing the courtyard was deafening, not a single guest daring to so much as shift their weight as they watched the confrontation unfold with bated breath.
All eyes were fixated unblinkingly upon the figures of Ji Wuye and Murong Yu facing one another on the battered wooden platform below.
Not one of them made a move to descend and engage Ji Wuye. Murong Yu's normally affable smile grew strained at the corners as he registered their reticence.
Ji Wuye, however, appeared utterly unfazed. With his hands still cupped formally, he cast a measured look down Murong Yu.
"The Young Master of the Murong family—truly, 'a jade that has turned to stone.'" The insult landed like a slap, Murong Yu's mask of politeness cracking slightly as Ji Wuye continued in a voice of scathing disdain. "You sit here like 'a mantis trying to stop a chariot,' helpless as evil deeds flourish right under your nose."
Those unnerving crimson orbs remained locked on Murong Yu, observing every subtle shift in his expression as Murong Yu's polite smile finally faltered.
"There is no reason for you to provoke me, Ji Wuye of Kunlun." The words carried an undercurrent of menace now. "You have not only injured the guests invited by Kunlun but also your own Martial Siblings. And now, you dare to insult me and question my judgment?!"
A faint shimmer of bluish Qi began to coalesce around Murong Yu's form, swirling in a hazy miasma as his hand came to rest upon the hilt of his jian. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing to mere slits as he glared up at the taller Ji Wuye.
The very air seemed to grow heavier, the tension thickening as Murong Yu's Qi intensified—causing the fabric of his dark blue robe to flutter and snap in an unseen wind.
Then, without warning, the atmosphere compressed violently inward, as if crushed under the immense weight of some unseen force. The faint aura of Qi surrounding Murong Yu exploded outward in a concussive shockwave, splashing forth like a tidal wave crashing against an immovable object.
RING!
The piercing cry echoed through the courtyard as pebbles and shards of splintered wood were instantly pulverized underfoot, crushed to dust by the sheer concussive force of the invisible "Zone" that erupted from Murong Yu's being.
His gaze burned with barely restrained fury as it locked onto Ji Wuye, fully expecting to see that expression of infuriating calm and arrogance finally shattered by the immense pressure bearing down.
But then, something wholly unexpected happened.
CLANK!
The clash of metal rang out, sharp and piercing, shattering the tense silence like a thunderclap. Murong Yu's brow furrowed as the sudden noise broke his concentrated stance, his eyes widening in bewilderment.
But his expression quickly contorted into one of shock and agony as an invisible force slammed into his abdomen with the brutal impact of a battering ram.
Simultaneously, he felt like a giant's merciless hands had clamped down on his head and shoulders, crushing him in place with overwhelming pressure.
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"GAH!" Murong Yu cried out, a guttural yell torn from his lungs as he crumpled to the floor.
Ji Wuye watched impassively, his crimson eyes glinting with a hint of cruel satisfaction as he casually dismissed the translucent notification screen with a flick of his wrist. His gaze remained fixated on the half-kneeling figure of Murong Yu.
With slow, purposeful strides, Ji Wuye advanced towards his downed opponent. The wooden platform creaked underfoot with each step, the sound of his approach ringing like a death knell.
Without a shred of hesitation or mercy, he drew back his leg and lashed out with a vicious kick.
SMASH!
The thunderous impact reverberated across the arena, the shockwave whipping through the air like a physical force. Ji Wuye's kick, powered by the immense physical prowess of an 8th-realm martial artist, struck Murong Yu squarely in the chest with seemingly effortless lethality.
Still reeling from the Deflecting Blows backlash, Murong Yu's buckled form offered no resistance.
The sickening force of the blow sent his body ragdolling sideways, lifting him clean off the platform before he crashed back down in a sickening thud. His eyes rolled back, revealing just the whites as a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his trembling lips.
Murong Yu's ragged, wheezing breaths mirrored the state of the defeated Wudang disciples scattered around the arena floor like broken dolls.
Ji Wuye's expression remained coldly impassive as he approached Murong Yu's broken form once more.
"Ha...aghhh..." The Young Master of the Murong family coughed up a spattering of crimson, his once proud, regal bearing crumpled and pitiful in the face of utter defeat.
But before the ruthless Ji Wuye could take another step towards his fallen foe, a new figure descended between them in a blur of saffron robes, halting the advance. "Amitabha. Benefactor, that is more than enough," a firm, commanding voice rang out.
It was a young monk, his shaven head gleaming like polished bronze under the arena's bright rays. Though garbed in the humble orange kasaya robes, his muscular build spoke of tremendous strength honed through years of disciplined training. Thick, bold eyebrows framed an expression of resolute determination as he stood with an unwavering front before the imposing presence of Ji Wuye.
This was none other than Shao Mu, the original practitioner of the Unbreakable Vajra.