Chapter 601 - 597: Defeating the Enemy with a Single Sword Strike

Chapter 601: Chapter 597: Defeating the Enemy with a Single Sword Strike

Hearing the contempt for Fang Han in Ling Yue’s tone, many people in the audience looked over, their interest piqued by the prospect of a good show.

Fang Han glanced at Ling Yue without a word, simply raising his right hand and slowly resting it on the hilt of his sword.

The white-haired Elder glanced at the two of them, his voice flat.

"Begin."

The instant his voice fell—

Fang Han moved.

He simply drew his sword and struck.

The moment the Cloud Splitting Sword left its sheath, a clear, crisp ring like a dragon’s cry exploded through the venue.

The dark cyan blade shimmered with a restrained brilliance. Where its tip passed, the air silently split open. A thin, straight fissure hung in the air, refusing to dissipate, as distinct as a black slit in the morning light.

Below the stage, the few people who had just been whispering fell silent.

Everyone’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to the flash of the sword, as if their eyes were seized by some invisible force.

The smile on Ling Yue’s lips froze.

His pupils contracted. Almost at the same instant the sword light appeared, a sense of mortal danger shot up his spine to the crown of his head.

He wanted to draw his sword, to dodge, to retreat—

But it was too late.

The sword flash was too fast, so fast he didn’t even see how Fang Han had struck.

He only had time to see a streak of cyan light flash before his eyes, and the next moment—

*CHH!*

A soft sound.

A fine cut appeared on his waist.

His clothes were sliced open, revealing the Soft Armor beneath—which had also been cut—and his skin.

A line of deep red appeared on his skin, and then, threads of fresh blood seeped out.

It wasn’t serious, just a minor wound.

But it was obvious this wasn’t due to Fang Han’s lack of strength. Rather, he was mindful of the Martial Arts Assembly’s rules and had held back.

The entire Battle Platform fell into a dead silence.

Ling Yue stood frozen, his right hand still in the motion of reaching for his sword hilt, but his fingers were suspended in mid-air, refusing to move.

He looked down at the wound on his waist, then looked up at Fang Han, who had already retreated thirty feet away.

Fang Han had already sheathed his sword and was watching him calmly. There was no mockery in his eyes, but that was even more infuriating than ridicule.

He opened his mouth to say something but found his throat too dry to make a sound.

His earlier words felt like an invisible needle jabbing him in the face, stinging with a burning pain.

His complexion shifted from fair to flushed, then from flushed to pale, finally settling into an indescribable ashen gray.

He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug deep into his palms.

After a brief, dead silence, the crowd finally came to their senses, and low murmurs began to spread.

"One strike! He was defeated in a single strike!"

"Jinling County is one of the Central Thirty-Six Counties, yet he was defeated without even drawing his sword..."

"He was so full of himself, only to be beaten in one move. Ling Yue has truly lost a lot of face!"

...

The murmurs weren’t loud, but each one pierced Ling Yue’s heart like a needle.

He snapped his head up, his eyes locked on Fang Han, a storm of shame, indignation, and resentment churning within them.

Without a word, he turned and strode off the Battle Platform.

His gait seemed normal enough, but to a discerning eye, it had an air of frantic retreat.

As he walked through the crowd, people automatically parted to let him pass. Their gazes fell on him, then on the sword wound at his waist, their expressions varied.

Ling Yue kept his head down, hurried through the crowd, and disappeared into a side tunnel of the venue.

Fang Han turned and walked off the stage at an unhurried pace.

Below the stage, Zhen Feixuan’s gaze fell upon Fang Han.

A subtle ripple passed through her limpid, autumn-water-like eyes.

She had seen that last strike very clearly.

Clean, decisive, without a single superfluous motion—only pure speed and destructive power.

The air itself had been torn apart where the blade had passed.

Even she couldn’t help but feel a sense of danger.

The suspicion in her heart was confirmed at this moment—this young man, whom she had met once at the Linglong Pavilion, was no ordinary person.

’This man could be a formidable rival.’

’He’s definitely a formidable rival!’

It wasn’t just Zhen Feixuan. The other contestants, who had been watching with either indifference or scrutiny, now looked at Fang Han with solemn expressions.

Many of them kept their eyes fixed on Fang Han for a long time before looking away.

Qingyang County was just an ordinary county, ranking in the lower-middle tier among the One Hundred and Eight Counties. It wasn’t supposed to be worthy of much attention.

But that one strike forced them to re-evaluate this man’s strength.

Fang Han stepped off the stage, about to leave Battle Platform Ten to check on Luo Yuntian at Platform Twelve.

But then the white-haired Elder’s voice rang out again.

"Match nineteen: Zhen Feixuan of Brahma Heaven County versus Shi Xiong of Yellow Sand County."

Fang Han’s steps faltered slightly, and he came to a halt.

He turned around, his gaze falling on Zhen Feixuan’s figure, clad in white martial attire.

Hearing her name, Zhen Feixuan walked onto the Battle Platform with a calm and composed gait.

Opposite her, a burly, dark-skinned man also strode onto the stage.

The burly man held a heavy wolf-fang mace. Its shaft was pitch-black and covered in sharp spikes that glinted coldly in the morning light.

He glanced at Zhen Feixuan and grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

"Miss Zhen, fists and feet have no eyes. Don’t blame me if I accidentally injure you in a moment."

Zhen Feixuan didn’t reply, simply giving a slight nod in acknowledgment.

The white-haired Elder glanced at the two of them, his voice flat.

"Begin."

The moment his voice fell, Shi Xiong struck first.

He took a step forward, the platform trembling slightly under his foot. The wolf-fang mace whistled through the air as it smashed directly toward Zhen Feixuan.

The blow was so heavy and fierce that an ordinary Second Grade Martial Artist would have had to dodge it.

Yet Zhen Feixuan merely swayed, like a willow catkin caught in the wind, dodging the mace by a hair’s breadth.

At the same time, her right hand swept across her waist. A Soft Sword shot out like a silver snake leaving its hole, and with a flash of its blade—

*CHH!*

A fine cut appeared on the wrist of Shi Xiong’s mace-wielding hand.

The wolf-fang mace slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a heavy CLANG.

Shi Xiong looked down at his slightly trembling right hand, then back up at Zhen Feixuan, his face filled with disbelief.

He opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately, no words came out.

The white-haired Elder announced in his flat voice.

"Match nineteen, Zhen Feixuan is the victor."

Zhen Feixuan sheathed her sword and turned to walk off the stage.

From start to finish, it had also been just one move.

Fang Han watched Zhen Feixuan descend from the stage, feeling no surprise.

’A First Grade Martial Artist defeating a Third Grade Martial Artist in a single move is only to be expected.’

He didn’t watch any longer. He turned and walked toward Battle Platform Twelve, where Luo Yuntian was.

The atmosphere at Battle Platform Twelve was even more tense than at Platform Ten.

Fang Han’s gaze fell upon the stage.

Onstage, Luo Yuntian was fighting a young man dressed in dark blue martial attire.

Luo Yuntian’s swordsmanship was steady. Every thrust carried a dense and resolute force, the light from his blade weaving a net before him like an impenetrable cyan cloud.

This was the origin of his moniker, the Cyan Cloud Sword.

The blue-clad man’s Fist Technique was extremely fierce and powerful. The wind from his strikes howled, each punch carrying the force to split mountains and cleave rivers, shaking the web of sword light relentlessly.

The two went back and forth, quickly exchanging over a hundred moves.

Luo Yuntian’s breathing grew ragged, and fine beads of sweat began to form on his temples.

The blue-clad man wasn’t faring any better; large drops of sweat rolled down his forehead.

Although his Fist Technique was ferocious, he was held firmly in check by Luo Yuntian’s swordsmanship, unable to break through the net of sword light.

*CLANG—*

In another exchange, the blue-clad man smashed his fist against the body of the sword. Luo Yuntian’s longsword let out a hum, and his body swayed slightly.

But instead of retreating, he advanced. Using the momentum of the sway, his longsword transformed into a streak of cyan light, sweeping upward toward the blue-clad man’s ribs.

The blue-clad man’s expression changed. He pulled back his fist to defend himself, but he was half a beat too slow.

*RRRIP—*

The sword’s edge sliced through his lapel, sending a scrap of cloth flying.

The blue-clad man glanced down at the cut on his ribs, then looked at Luo Yuntian. After a moment of silence, he finally cupped his fist.

"I have lost."

Luo Yuntian sheathed his sword, panting slightly, and clasped his hands in a salute to the blue-clad man.

"You let me win."

The blue-clad man said nothing more and turned to leave the stage.

Luo Yuntian also came down from the stage. Sweat still glistened on his forehead and his breathing was still a bit ragged, but his calm eyes held a look of relieved ease.

He took a handkerchief from his robes, wiped the sweat from his temples, and looked up to see Fang Han standing below the stage.

"Senior Brother Fang, you won too, right?"

"Mhm."

Fang Han nodded slightly.

"Let’s go see how the others are doing."

The two walked side by side toward Battle Platform Fourteen, where Mad Saber was.

...

「In the afternoon, the sun began to set in the west.」

The first round of the Martial Arts Assembly was over.

Fang Han and his group walked out of the venue. The sunlight cascaded over them, stretching their shadows long.

Mad Saber was at the very front, carrying his door-panel-sized greatsword with a swagger. He hummed an unfamiliar tune, clearly in a good mood.

Liu Bai, still in his moon-white long robes, walked with a composed gait, his expression serene and unreadable.

Wu Xiang had his palms pressed together, his face peaceful.

Hua Jieyu’s eyes crinkled with a smile as she walked beside Xu Qing, whispering something to him.

Luo Yuntian walked at Fang Han’s side, also in high spirits.

But behind them, Meng Xian of Netherworld Pavilion and the other few prodigies from Qingyang County were all silent, their expressions grim.

They had all been defeated in the first round.

Of the ten people from the top ten of the Qingyang County Celestial Pride List, only seven had passed the first round.

Fang Han, Luo Yuntian, Liu Bai, Mad Saber, Wu Xiang, Xu Qing, and Hua Jieyu—seven in total.

The other three, including Meng Xian of Netherworld Pavilion, were all eliminated.

Meng Xian walked at the rear of the group with his lips pressed tightly together, not saying a word, his face quite unsightly.

Just then, the sound of a noisy conversation drifted over from nearby.

Fang Han looked over and saw a group of nine people, about twenty paces away, also leaving the venue.

Their attire was varied; they were the prodigies from Donglu County participating in the Martial Arts Assembly.

One of them spoke in a puzzled tone.

"Strange. Wasn’t Wang Zhen from Thunderlight Pavilion supposed to be at the Martial Arts Assembly this year? Why didn’t he show up?"

Another shook his head, his voice also laced with confusion.

"Could something have happened on the way here?"

"What could have happened? I heard Elder Lei Zheng is leading the group from Thunderlight Pavilion this time. He’s a Late-stage First Grade Martial Artist. With him protecting them, what could possibly go wrong on the road?"

The one who had spoken first frowned.

"That’s true... Forget it. It’s none of our business anyway. Why worry about it?"

The group walked off as they spoke, their voices fading into the distance.

Walking side by side, Fang Han and Luo Yuntian heard the conversation and exchanged an imperceptible glance.

Then, they both looked away, their expressions as normal as ever, as if they hadn’t heard a thing.

The group walked along the wide streets of the Imperial Capital, heading toward the Royal Villa.

The setting sun stretched their shadows long, long across the bluestone pavement, where they moved slowly onward.