The tournament continued in full swing, and the intensity in the air was palpable. After the previous round of fights, the remaining participants had become more cautious, knowing that each fight was now a direct step closer to either victory or elimination. Xing Wuye found himself seated among the spectators for a moment, trying to catch his breath from the earlier excitement. However, his moment of rest was short-lived.
The next fight was announced. "Xing Wuye versus Zhao Jian!"
Wuye's heart skipped a beat. He had heard of Zhao Jian's reputation— a sharp, disciplined sword cultivator, one of the most skilled among the outer disciples. His elegance with the blade was known throughout the sect, and his cold, detached demeanor made him even more formidable. Zhao Jian rarely engaged in aggressive battles, not because he couldn't, but because he always fought with precision, restraint, and a quiet intensity. Wuye had seen his earlier fight against Li Zhang—Zhao Jian had taken him down effortlessly without a single wasted movement. This would be a tough match.
As Wuye stepped onto the platform, he saw Zhao Jian already there, waiting with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His posture was calm, relaxed, but his eyes were sharp and focused, watching Wuye with the calculating gaze of a predator.
Zhao Jian's appearance was as refined as his swordsmanship. His long, dark hair was tied back neatly, and his robes were pristine, giving him the air of someone who valued discipline and order. His features were sharp—handsome but with an intensity that made him seem untouchable. But despite his outward calm, there was a subtle tension in his stance, as if he could spring into action at any moment with deadly precision.
Wuye swallowed hard. He knew this was going to be difficult. Zhao Jian wasn't like the other disciples he had fought. This was someone who could end the match with a single strike if he chose to. But something about Zhao Jian's stance told Wuye that the sword cultivator wasn't looking to hurt him; instead, Zhao Jian seemed almost reluctant to unleash his full strength.
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Wuye took the initiative, rushing forward with the agility and speed that had served him well in his previous fights. His fist lashed out, aiming for Zhao Jian's side. But Zhao Jian didn't draw his sword. Instead, he shifted slightly, deflecting Wuye's punch with the back of his hand, barely moving from his spot.
Wuye blinked in surprise. He had expected Zhao Jian to counter, to strike back, but instead, the sword cultivator remained calm and defensive, as if testing Wuye's abilities.
Not one to give up easily, Wuye pressed the attack, throwing a series of fast punches and kicks, trying to overwhelm Zhao Jian with speed. But Zhao Jian moved like a shadow, his body flowing with the movements, avoiding or deflecting every strike with the same minimal effort. He was toying with Wuye, not out of malice, but out of careful control. His every movement was efficient, elegant, and unhurried.
It was infuriating for Wuye. No matter how fast he moved or how hard he attacked, Zhao Jian was always one step ahead, easily parrying without even drawing his sword. Wuye began to feel the strain in his muscles as his breathing grew heavier.
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Zhao Jian's voice broke the silence. "You're quick, but you're not thinking. You're relying too much on brute force."
Wuye gritted his teeth. He knew Zhao Jian was right. In his frustration, he was throwing everything at his opponent, hoping something would land, but there was no strategy, no thought behind his strikes. He had underestimated just how strong Zhao Jian was, not in terms of power, but in sheer control. Zhao Jian could end this fight at any moment, and Wuye realized it.
"I see why Li Zhang took you in as his disciple," Zhao Jian said calmly, his voice as sharp as the blade he had yet to draw. "You have potential, but you're reckless."
Wuye's frustration boiled over, and he lunged forward again, this time attempting a feint with a low kick, followed by a punch aimed at Zhao Jian's face. Zhao Jian sidestepped, and before Wuye could recover, Zhao Jian lightly tapped the side of his head with the hilt of his sword, sending Wuye stumbling back.
It wasn't a strike meant to injure, but a reminder. Zhao Jian could have ended the fight then and there.
Wuye stood up, panting, his heart pounding in his chest. His body was screaming at him to stop, but his spirit refused to yield. He had to at least land a hit, something to prove that he could keep up, even if just for a moment.
Zhao Jian, sensing Wuye's determination, finally drew his sword. The blade shimmered in the light, its edge gleaming with a cold brilliance. But even now, Zhao Jian held back, not unleashing the full potential of his sword techniques.
Wuye narrowed his eyes. I need to be smarter, he thought. I need to predict his movements.
Summoning every ounce of strength and focus he had left, Wuye rushed forward again, this time with more caution. He watched Zhao Jian's stance, his breathing, looking for any sign of movement. When he attacked, he did so with calculated precision, aiming for gaps in Zhao Jian's defense.
But Zhao Jian was still too fast. His sword moved in a blur, deflecting Wuye's strikes with ease. Every time Wuye thought he had found an opening, Zhao Jian would shut it down with a simple flick of his wrist. It was like trying to fight the wind—Zhao Jian was everywhere and nowhere at once.
Finally, Zhao Jian decided to end it. With a swift, fluid motion, he knocked Wuye's leg out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Before Wuye could get up, Zhao Jian's sword was at his throat, the cold metal just inches from his skin.
Wuye froze. He had lost. There was no doubt about it. Zhao Jian had been holding back the entire time, never once needing to exert himself. The fight had been completely one-sided.
Zhao Jian lowered his sword and stepped back, sheathing the blade without a word. He turned and walked off the platform, his expression as calm and composed as ever.
Wuye sat up slowly, his chest tight with disappointment. He had given it everything, but it hadn't been enough. Zhao Jian's strength, his control, it was on a completely different level.
As Wuye left the platform, his shoulders slumped, he made his way back to Liu Chen and Mei Ling, who were waiting for him.
"You did well," Liu Chen said with a nod, his voice steady. "Zhao Jian is no ordinary opponent. He's been training for years. It's not a surprise that he won."
Mei Ling smiled warmly at him. "It's not that you were weak, Wuye. It's just that Zhao Jian was too strong. Don't be discouraged."
Wuye sighed, rubbing his aching shoulders. "I guess I wasn't ready for someone like him."
Liu Chen chuckled. "No one really is. But you did better than most. You lasted far longer than I expected."
As the next matches began, Wuye sat down with Liu Chen and Mei Ling to watch. The remaining fights were intense, with the remaining 16 participants showing their strength and skill. Bai Feng, as expected, dominated his match with overwhelming force, his strikes shaking the platform and sending his opponents flying. His frustration at not being able to fight Wuye was evident in the intensity of his attacks.
Li Zhang, meanwhile, won his match with his characteristic grace and precision, his techniques flawless as he moved with the wind, his Gale Burst Fist knocking his opponent off the stage in a single blow. Though he was relieved to have moved on, Wuye could see the disappointment in Li Zhang's eyes. His master had hoped for a different outcome, one where Wuye had advanced further.
By the end of the day, the top eight disciples had been decided, and the tournament was set to continue with even fiercer battles ahead. Despite his own loss, Wuye couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. He had learned a lot from his fight with Zhao Jian, and he was determined to grow stronger.
As the sun set, casting a golden light over the sect, Wuye made a silent promise to himself. I'll train harder. I'll get stronger. Next time, I won't lose so easily.