Chapter 139: THE CRIPPLE CAN RAISE A SWORD(2)

"Tsk, what use is having a handsome face? His dantian was drained, and his meridians were corroded by Rank Nine miasma. He’s practically a mortal now!"

"Coming to the Sword Techniques Department when you can’t even circulate Qi... is he hoping to learn mortal sword dancing? How laughable!"

The hushed murmurs buzzed through the air like annoying flies.

Gu Jun’s face darkened instantly. His knuckles popped as his hands gripped the hilt of his broadsword, his fiery temper threatening to explode. "Those bastards—"

"Gu Jun," Li Yan’s voice cut through the air, cool and entirely unruffled.

Gu Jun paused, looking back at him.

Li Yan’s expression was as tranquil as a deep, autumn pool. He did not spare a single glance at the whispering disciples around him, walking forward with light, steady footsteps.

To him, these people were no different than wayside weeds or stray dogs barking at the moon. He had not cultivated to win their applause, nor was he here to prove his worth to a flock of mediocre fools. If they believed he was ruined, let them think so; the lower their guard, the easier they would fall when the time came.

"Don’t waste your energy on dead weight," Li Yan said indifferently. "Let them talk."

Gu Jun took a deep breath, forcing down his rage, and nodded solemnly.

"Understood."

At the front of the training grounds, an instructor clad in heavy gray armor stood with his arms crossed behind his back.

It was Instructor Han, a stern-faced, middle-aged cultivator with a scar running across his temple.

He was known throughout the Outer Sect for his merciless discipline and unyielding standards in martial foundation.

"Silence!"

Instructor Han’s thunderous roar reverberated across the granite plaza, instantly cutting off all lingering whispers.

He swept his sharp, eagle-like eyes across the gathered disciples. When his gaze landed on Li Yan, his brows twitched slightly, but he showed neither disdain nor special favor, remaining entirely professional.

"Today is the foundational sword lecture," Instructor Han announced in a harsh, ringing tone. "Many of you think that cultivating the sword merely requires channeling spiritual Qi through a flying blade, waving your fingers, and looking divine. Utter foolishness!"

Instructor Han stepped aside, pointing toward a long wooden rack resting beside the stone stage.

Upon the rack sat dozens of massive practice broadswords forged from dark, dull metal.

"True sword mastery begins with the vessel! If your hands cannot hold a blade steady, if your bones cannot endure the recoil of a strike, all your flashy Qi techniques are nothing more than castle walls made of sand!"

Instructor Han kicked the side of the weapon rack, making the heavy blades rattle.

"These are Xuan-Iron Training Swords. Each one weighs precisely two hundred and fifty catties! Every disciple will take one, step onto the stone lines, and maintain the ’Mountain Piercing Stance’ for an entire hour! You are forbidden from circulating your Qi to levitate the blade; you must rely entirely on the strength of your arms, waist, and stance!"

Hearing the instructor’s words, a collective gasp rose from the crowd.

"Two hundred and fifty catties?!"

"Without circulating protective Qi to lighten the weight, how can anyone hold that for an hour? Our arms will snap!"

Several disciples stepped forward apprehensively. Even after gathering their courage, they struggled to lift the dark iron swords with both hands, their faces flushing crimson, their knees trembling violently the moment they attempted to hold the heavy weapons horizontally.

A few disciples who had been gossiping earlier sneered quietly, their eyes darting toward Li Yan.

Two hundred and fifty catties without Qi? That pampered cripple won’t even be able to budge it from the rack!

Li Yan did not pay them the slightest attention.

His mind was completely focused on Instructor Han’s words: True sword mastery begins with the vessel.

For a body cultivator, every movement, every weight, was an opportunity to temper bone and sinew.

Li Yan walked calmly toward the weapon rack.

Under the watchful, mocking eyes of dozens of disciples, he reached out his right arm.

His slender, fair fingers—looking as delicate as carved porcelain, without a single visible callus—wrapped around the rough, dark grip of the Xuan-Iron sword.

He did not use two hands.

He did not grit his teeth, nor did he squat to gather leverage.

With a casual, effortless flick of his wrist, the two-hundred-and-fifty-catty chunk of black iron was lifted clean off the wooden rack!

Whoosh—!

The heavy blade cut through the air, stirring a faint gust of wind.

Li Yan stepped forward onto the granite line. Without the slightest hesitation, his arm extended straight out, holding the massive, blunt iron blade perfectly level with his shoulder.

His posture was like an ancient pine rooted in the cliffside.

His arm did not shake by even a fraction of a hair. His slender waist remained straight as a javelin. His breathing was so steady and rhythmic that the faint flutter of his cyan sleeves was the only movement on his entire body.

Holding a two-hundred-and-fifty-catty heavy iron sword with a single arm was, to him, as effortless as holding a willow branch!

The surrounding disciples froze mid-stride, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"What... what just happened?"

"Single-handed?! He lifted a Xuan-iron blade with one hand?!"

"Did he use spiritual Qi? Did anyone sense Qi fluctuations?"

"None! Not even a wisp! It’s pure physical strength!"

The disciples who had been snickering moments ago felt their faces burn with a dull, stinging heat, as if someone had slapped them across the jaw with an invisible iron palm. They were struggling to even keep the blades off the dirt with both arms, yet this supposedly "crippled" youth was holding it with a single hand as if it were a toy!

Instructor Han’s eyes, usually as cold as steel, widened slightly.

He strode over to Li Yan, his heavy boots clicking sharply against the stone. He circled the youth, observing his immovable shoulders, the perfect alignment of his spine, and the calm, unrippled depth in his phoenix eyes.

"Good stance," Instructor Han grunted, a rare, genuine spark of appreciation flashing in his stern gaze. "Your bone structure is firm, and your foundation is clean. A true martial seed."

Li Yan’s expression did not change. He merely inclined his head slightly in a courteous nod. "Thank you, Instructor."

He did not look around to savor the stunned expressions of the crowd. He did not smile, nor did he boast.

To Li Yan, their shock was completely irrelevant. His mind was entirely turned inward, feeling the subtle tension in his tendons, adjusting the weight against his shoulder blade, and letting the brutal weight of the Xuan-iron act as a whetstone for his newly forged bone marrow.

In the distance, behind the shadow of a stone pavilion overlooking the training plaza, two figures stood watching in silence.

Cui Ahjun’s face was dark as a storm cloud, his fingers digging into the stone balustrade until fine cracks spread beneath his nails.

Beside him, Li Wei’s smug, arrogant sneer had completely stiffened, replaced by a sick, nauseating disbelief.

"Single-handed..." Li Wei muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with venomous hatred. "How could a cripple have such monstrous brute strength?!"

Cui Ahjun let out a cold, chilling hiss, his lips peeling back over his teeth like a snarling wolf.

"So what if he has brute strength? A beast in the wild also has brute strength, but in front of a True Warrior cultivator’s spiritual arts, brute force is nothing more than a bigger target!"

Cui Ahjun turned to a burly inner disciple standing behind him, a murderous glint flashing in his eyes.

"Gao Shan. Go down there. It’s time to teach this arrogant little bastard what true cultivation looks like."