The massive white crescent of sword light tore across the sky, its brilliance drowning the arena in pale radiance. The ground quaked beneath its pressure—stones cracked, banners fluttered wildly, and the crowd held their breath.
But Mihawk didn't move.
He stood there—unblinking, unshaken—his golden eyes half-lidded in calm disdain. The black blade of Yoru rested at his side, drinking in the light that tried to smother it.
"What is he doing?"
"Why isn't he moving?!"
"He'll be cut apart if he stands there!"
The white crescent roared toward him like a falling moon.
Then—
SHHHH—KRRRRM!
A single, crisp hum resonated through the arena as Mihawk raised Yoru vertically, the tip aimed skyward. The air warped around him, distorting like water around a blade. Within seconds, the atmosphere itself compressed under the sheer precision of his control.
Spectators stared as the air thickened, shimmering green, twisting around the black sword like a coiled serpent.
"The air… it's bending!"
"What kind of technique is that?"
Before anyone could speak again—
BOOOOOOM!
The compressed air detonated in a single instant, releasing a massive emerald energy wave that split the stage in half as it roared forward. The slash rose higher than the arena walls, brighter than the white crescent racing toward it.
Its birth was instantaneous. No chant. No gathering. No time.
Just—swing.
The entire audience gawked.
"He cast it instantly?! That's impossible!"
"Even Elder Ling Hai took seconds to form his technique!"
"What kind of monster channels energy like that?!"
Ling Hai's heart thundered in his chest. For a swordsman, awe and fear often shared the same edge—and he felt both.
Instant channeling… without any buildup?! This is the sword control I've dreamed of my entire life…!
Excitement surged through his veins even as terror crawled up his spine. The vast crescent of his own sword light met the emerald slash head-on.
When they collided—
BOOOOOOOOOM!
The impact drowned the world in light and sound. White and green energy swallowed the entire arena, a storm of brilliance that turned day into chaos. The sound of air ripping apart thundered through the barrier.
BOOM!CRACK!BOOM!
Each echo shook the arena foundation. Dust whipped through the stands. People shielded their eyes as the explosion consumed the stage. Even Mo Jianfeng could barely stay standing as the shockwave slammed into his platform.
"I can't see anything!"
"The light—it's blinding!"
"What's happening?! Who's winning?!"
But not everyone was blind.
From the VIP area, four figures sat still amid the roaring winds—Retsu, Cang Yue, Mio, and Kon—their eyes glowing faintly blue, their vision cutting through the chaos.
They saw everything.
They saw how Mihawk's green slash coiled around Ling Hai's white crescent like a serpent constricting its prey. They saw how, inch by inch, his energy consumed the elder's technique—devouring it.
On the stage, Mihawk's cloak whipped violently in the torrent of wind. His stance didn't waver. With one hand, he lifted Yoru again—and with a smooth, almost lazy motion—he flicked the blade upward.
SHWING.
The emerald energy surrounding his sword surged once more, engulfing Ling Hai's fading white arc entirely. Then, in a final, sky-splitting roar, Mihawk's slash blasted upward into the heavens—dragging the white energy with it.
BOOOOOOM!!!
The resulting explosion ignited the entire sky. Green and white lights intertwined before bursting apart like a colossal firework, illuminating the entire Gao Ling City below.
A tremor rippled through the ground, windows shattered, and the shockwave rippled far beyond the arena walls.
When the dust finally settled, silence reigned.
The sky glowed faintly green from the fading energy, like the afterglow of a dying star. The barrier shimmered weakly, cracked in several places. The stage was split clean down the middle.
And there stood Dracule Mihawk, calm and unscathed, Yoru resting lazily on his shoulder.
Across from him, Ling Hai was frozen—his sword shattered halfway down the blade, his body trembling as he stared at the fading sky.
"One… one swing…""He countered Heaven's Might Absolute Sword… with one strike…""He didn't even chant a technique…"
Mo Jianfeng's lips parted in disbelief.
"That wasn't a profound art… that was pure sword mastery."
His attendant whispered faintly.
"If he wanted to… that attack could have cut through the city itself."
The arena was quiet. Quiet as the dark sea after a storm — when the waves dared not rise, when even the wind forgot how to breathe.
Dust still drifted lazily in the air, faintly green under the glow of the fading energy. Broken stones and fractured tiles covered the stage like ripples of a shattered mirror.
Not a single person dared to speak.
Every eye, every breath, every heartbeat in the entire coliseum was locked upon one man — the swordsman who had just cut through a legend with a casual swing.
Forget the other matches. Forget the victories of the sects or the so-called geniuses. Nothing, not even Li Yue's battle against the Wu Clan, could compare to what they had just witnessed.
Even Li Yue herself, usually composed and indifferent, stood frozen in place. Her eyes had been wide since the moment Yoru was drawn, and she had not blinked once since the strike.
Then —
"Ha… ha… ha… ha… HA!"
A burst of laughter shattered the silence.
Ling Hai, his hair disheveled and robes torn, stood trembling with his sword broken halfway down the blade. Yet his laughter carried no madness — only exhilaration.
"The sword technique that took me decades to perfect…" he said between breaths, "was effortlessly broken by you. This old one is… truly humbled."
His lips curved into a trembling smile.
"That move just now… that slash that devoured heaven and earth — does it have a name?"
Yun Che tilted his head slightly, as if thinking. Then, in his typical calm and unbothered tone, he replied:
"No."
"It's just a normal flying sword slash."
The words hit the audience harder than any explosion.
"N… normal?!""That— that was normal?!""Did he just say that was a normal attack?!"
Half the cultivators in the stands nearly coughed blood on the spot. That normal slash had split the entire arena clean in two, cracked the protective barrier, and sent shockwaves throughout the city.
If that was "normal," then what in the heavens did he consider serious?
Around the arena, whispers spread like wildfire:
"He must not be human."
"If this is his casual swing, what happens when he goes all out?"
"We have to recruit him—whatever the cost."
Even the most arrogant clans fell silent. Greed warred with terror in their eyes. Some imagined the glory of recruiting such a man. Others imagined the ruin if they ever angered him.
Up in the high pavilion, Mo Jianfeng still hadn't sat down. His eyes were fixed on the crack that bisected the entire arena, stretching straight toward the wall where the black energy had cleaved through solid stone.
He muttered, almost to himself,
"Did you see it? He… he countered a Heavenly Sword Villa ultimate art with a single swing."
His attendant swallowed hard.
"Yes, my lord. It wasn't a contest. It was domination."
Mo Jianfeng ran a hand down his face, disbelief etched deep in his eyes.
"To think, I believed he would dodge. Never did I imagine he would meet it head-on. A man who can crush the Heavenly Sword Villa's techniques is not someone we can offend."
"Have you found anything about his origin?" Mo Jianfeng asked after a long pause.
The attendant bowed deeply.
"None, my lord. Not a single trace. Even the Black Merchant Guild came back empty. It's as if he appeared from thin air today."
Mo Jianfeng frowned.
"A man with no history, no origin, and strength that shakes the heavens… and now his name will spread through every corner of the empire."
"The same goes for that black-clothed woman, doesn't it?"
"Yes, my lord. Both of them appeared out of nowhere."
Mo Jianfeng leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly.
"Even if they refuse our invitations, we must stay on this man's good side. A single swing from that sword could level Gao Ling City itself. I will not risk offending a man who can destroy our city with one motion."
Below, as the echo of those words hung in the air, Yun Che turned his back on the stage and began to walk away, Yoru resting lightly against his shoulder.
The crowd parted in silence as he passed — not out of respect, but out of instinct. The instinct of lesser beasts before a predator.
The silence after the first clash had been absolute, but the instant both men leapt into the arena again the atmosphere changed—still hushed, but now trembling with the weight of what might follow.
Shattered stone still smoked from the earlier strike, and Yun Che's boots crunched over the cracked tiles as he landed. The long fissure his last blow had carved ran from the edge of the arena straight toward him, a reminder of how little power he'd actually used.
He glanced down the line of the cut and exhaled softly. Good thing I didn't use Getsuga Tenshou. There might not even be an arena left.
Across from him, Ling Hai steadied his breathing, his eyes wild with both fear and exhilaration. The elder of the Heavenly Sword Villa had spent decades polishing the technique that had just been erased; pride refused to let the humiliation stand.
"Then let me test the true capabilities of the mysterious Dracule Mihawk!"
He vanished.
A rush of displaced air, a faint crack—and he was gone from sight.
Yun Che tilted his head, Yoru resting lazily against his shoulder.
"Hmm?"
A streak of white light sliced through where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. He simply shifted a fraction, letting it pass. The blast struck the tiles and detonated, showering shards of stone skyward.
"Sneak attacks?" he murmured. "How tiresome."
Ling Hai's voice echoed from all directions, distorted by speed and energy.
"Impressive. You carry power far beyond any Sky Profound cultivator. But let's see if you can withstand this! My—Heavenly Sword of Extreme Lightning!"
A hiss filled the air as bolts of sword-light formed around the arena, crackling with lightning. Three lances shot toward Yun Che—he leaned left, right, then back, each motion no larger than a breath. The streaks screamed past him and burst against the far wall, gouging craters into the stone.
Then the sky brightened.
Dozens became hundreds; hundreds became a storm of radiant blades. The air itself pulsed with spiritual pressure as every sword light locked on the same target.
High above, Ling Hai spread his arms.
"No matter how fast you are, you cannot dodge them all! Now—be gone!"
The lights fell like rain.
Yun Che raised his free hand, two fingers together, a faint black shimmer crawling over them as his Haki condensed into a razor edge.
"Who said I was going to dodge?"
He swept his hand once, almost lazily. Tiny arcs of green energy shot from his fingertips, meeting the first wave of sword-light head-on. Each collision burst into a sphere of flame and lightning that hung momentarily before vanishing into smoke.
Ling Hai blinked. He countered them all? With his fingers?!
Rage flared through him. He clenched his teeth and poured his entire profound energy into the technique, loosing the entire swarm. Hundreds of bolts screamed downward in unison.
Below, Yun Che exhaled once. He set Yoru at his waist, hand poised on the hilt like a swordsman about to draw from an invisible sheath.
The world seemed to slow.
Then—SHING!
He drew.
No light, no visible slash—only a distortion, a ripple that raced through the air faster than sight. It passed through the falling storm like a silent tide.
The entire sky froze.
The countless blades of lightning halted mid-flight, suspended as though time itself had stopped. Then—
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
One after another they detonated, each explosion folding into the next until the arena was wreathed in a rolling chain of thunder. The shockwaves beat against the barrier like waves against cliffs.
When the smoke cleared, Yun Che was still standing exactly where he'd been, the hem of his coat fluttering gently. Overhead, Ling Hai hung motionless in the air, staring in disbelief at the empty sky where his technique had vanished.
Yun Che rested Yoru against his shoulder again, gaze calm and steady.
"How… impossible!!"
Ling Hai's voice cracked through the smoke and echo of collapsing stone — furious, disbelieving. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere at once, his aura scattered like mist to mask his location.
Yun Che's brows lowered slightly. He couldn't sense him through aura alone — the old man was smart, suppressing his profound presence while letting his voice ricochet across the arena.
Fine.
With a calm inhale, Yun Che's pupils shifted. From golden amber to a deep, molten crimson. The Sharingan flared beneath the guise of Mihawk's eyes, its tomoe spinning slowly as the world sharpened into perfect clarity.
Every tremor of air. Every distortion of dust. Every flicker of movement behind the veil of smoke — he saw it all.
"So, there you are…"
He whispered, closing his eyes as if to mock the act of sight. Yoru lifted, humming faintly in his hand.
Then —
SWOOSHHHHHHH!!!
A single vertical slash tore through the arena, its force screaming across the shattered stage. The green arc cut through stone and smoke alike, swallowing everything in its path.
A strangled cry split the air.
"Aaaaarghhh!!"
Ling Hai's silhouette was flung out of the haze, spinning helplessly before slamming into the ground with a heavy crack. Blood splattered the floor as his body skidded across the broken tiles.
The massive energy slash dispersed into glimmering motes of green light as Yun Che lazily swung Yoru to the side, scattering the remnants of the attack like dust.
He hadn't moved from his spot.
Ling Hai coughed blood, staring wide-eyed as he clutched the bleeding gash on his shoulder. His mind reeled.His movement technique— refined through decades of practice, perfect and untouchable — had been read like an open book and crushed in a single strike.
"You… how did you—?"
Yun Che's tone was cool, detached.
"Hmph. You were in range."
Just that. As if the explanation alone carried finality.
Ling Hai's teeth ground together.
"In range, you say? Then let's see how you fare when I'm close enough to carve your arrogance apart!"
He flicked his right hand toward the ring on his finger, drawing out two streaks of blinding light. The light solidified into a pair of slender, gleaming blades — Sky Profound Realm swords, humming with killing intent.
The audience gasped as their aura filled the arena.
"Sky Profound weapons!"
"Only the elders of the Heavenly Sword Villa are permitted to wield those!"
"He's not holding back anymore!"
Ling Hai leveled both swords at Yun Che, his killing intent surging like a tide.
"You forced my hand, Mihawk! Now, witness the twin blades that will sever your rise!"
He burst forward, twin trails of light splitting the air. Yun Che tilted his head slightly, one hand sliding Yoru horizontally before him.
When the swords met —
CLANG!!!
The shockwave cracked the stone beneath their feet. Sparks burst like fireworks, painting gold across green and black.
Then—
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Blades danced faster than the eye could follow. Each clash sounded like thunder against steel. Ling Hai's dual swords came from every direction — sweeping arcs, feints, thrusts — each strike reinforced with profound energy.
Yun Che didn't even step back.
Yoru moved only when necessary — a flick of the wrist, a subtle turn of the blade. Each motion was precise, minimal, and absolute. The difference between their swordsmanship was clear — Ling Hai fought with power, Mihawk fought with perfection.
"Hmph… as I expected."
Ling Hai staggered a step back, breathing heavily, his twin blades trembling against the sheer pressure emanating from Yoru. His gaze darted to the black sword in Mihawk's hand — flawless, unblemished, humming faintly with quiet, dreadful power.
"His sword's grade… it's higher than mine," he muttered, eyes narrowing with a glint of obsession. "No wonder—no matter how hard I strike, it doesn't even chip. That craftsmanship… flawless. Such purity in a blade—"
His breath grew heavier, greed clouding his thoughts. A swordsman who forges his own weapon… a craftsman and warrior in one. If the Villa could possess both the man and the sword…
Ling Hai's grip tightened. His fighting spirit surged, twisting with something darker.
A bright, violent light began to bloom from his swords. Yun Che instantly sensed the shift in energy — his strikes were becoming heavier, denser, more feral. The sound of every clash now carried the weight of a falling boulder.
Within moments, the white aura around Ling Hai's blades thickened, lengthening them until they shimmered like two radiant fangs. The air warped around him as howling winds spiraled outward, shredding dust and stone from the floor.
The arena's barrier flickered, barely containing the raw pressure spilling from him.
Up in the stands, his escorting disciples rose to their feet, their eyes wide.
"Elder Ling Hai…! He's using the Twin Blade Combination!"
"That technique! He's forcing his profound veins past their limit—he'll cripple himself if he loses control!"
"He must be desperate. To be pushed this far by one man…"
The wind roared louder, a silver-white cyclone swirling at the center of the stage. Ling Hai's aura blazed like a second sun, the arcs of his swords leaving molten streaks in the air.
"Huuraaahhh!!!"
With a roar that split the sky, he charged forward once more.
Yun Che steadied Yoru in front of him, analyzing the flow of Ling Hai's profound energy through his movements. His calm gaze dissected the storm.
"The Twin Blade Combination…" he murmured." An art that fuses the user's aura with their weapons, amplifying power while bypassing defenses… interesting."
He pivoted, deflecting each strike with minimal effort, his blade turning aside Ling Hai's frenzied slashes as easily as a tide rolling off stone. The wind whipped at his coat, his hair dancing in the torrent, yet not a single strike reached him.
To the crowd, it looked like two storms colliding—Ling Hai's brilliance and Mihawk's darkness—but only one storm was breaking apart.
Ling Hai's muscles screamed. His arms trembled under the strain, veins pulsing with unstable light. Pain raced through his body like fire, but he gritted his teeth and pressed harder.
"Damn it… damn it all!!!"
His strikes grew wilder, heavier — each swing of his glowing swords crashed against Yoru like thunder, yet the black blade remained unmoved, its surface absorbing the storm with tranquil defiance.
"This can't be! Even Emperor Profound weapons can't withstand this force!"
In desperation, Ling Hai broke away, leaping backward as sweat and blood mingled down his arms. He drew in a shuddering breath and thrust both swords into the air.
The heavens answered.
High above the arena, streaks of light began to converge — thousands of sword-lights flickering like falling stars. Yun Che's eyes narrowed as he felt the air distort.
"Hoh… this is—"
Recognition flickered in his gaze as his mind pieced together the technique from memory. He had seen this pattern before — recorded in the system's archives, a technique unique to the Heavenly Sword Villa.
Just like the White Moon Arc and the Hundred Sword Lightning, this one gathered sword-lights into a single, condensed manifestation — a strike forged not of steel, but of will and destruction.
"So that's your next card…" he whispered, tightening his grip on Yoru as the sky above the arena burned white.
=============
Cang Yue's eyes widened as the sky filled with dazzling sword-light.
"Heavens… the Heavenly Sword Villa truly lives up to its name. No wonder they're the second-strongest sect in the empire."
Kon, perched lazily on her shoulder, blinked.
"Second? Then which sect's stronger than that?"
Cang Yue kept her gaze on the battle, but she smiled faintly.
"That would be Sister Yuechan's Frozen Cloud Asgard, of course. They rose to first only because their sect master ascended to the Throne Realm. With her power now… the Asgard is practically unstoppable."
Kon's ears perked up.
"Wait… Frozen Cloud Asgard? What's that, some kind of ice-cultivating group?"
Still watching the arena, Cang Yue explained patiently,
"The four strongest sects all focus on different paths. The Burning Heaven Clan cultivates fire, the Xiao Clan trains their bodies, the Heavenly Sword Villa hones pure swordsmanship—and the Frozen Cloud Asgard masters the profound arts of ice. But…"She lowered her voice slightly. "It's also a sect for women only."
"Women?!"
The word echoed in Kon's head like a temple bell. His imagination immediately betrayed him—an endless field of graceful women in snow-white robes, cold on the outside but warm and soft within—
He forced a cough, straightening his little lion body.
"A-ahem! Purely for research purposes, of course, but… what kind of women train there?"
Cang Yue, utterly oblivious, answered with the innocence of a saint.
"Their Frozen Cloud Arts suppress emotion, but also refine the body. Every disciple is said to be… ethereally beautiful. Like snow spirits descended from heaven."
"HUUUIIIIYOOOOOO!!!"
Kon's jaw dropped, drool practically forming.
"A sect full of gorgeous, icy big-sister types? Paradise! Count me in, Nee-san—here I come!"
His celebration was cut short by a sudden shiver down his spine. He froze—every hair of his mane standing on end. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around.
Behind him stood Retsu and Mio, smiling… but not the friendly kind of smile. It was the calm, murderous kind.
Retsu's voice was sweet enough to curdle blood.
"Kon-kun… what's this about the Frozen Cloud Asgard?" Her hand shot out, gripping his head like an iron vice. "Were you thinking something perverted again, hmm?"
Kon's tail puffed like a torch.
"N-nothing! I-I swear! I was just, uh… appreciating cultural diversity!"
Mio crossed her arms and sighed dramatically.
"Retsu-chan, remind me—didn't Danna-sama once say lion meat was surprisingly tender?"
"Indeed." Retsu's grin widened. "Maybe we should find out for ourselves tonight."
"E-eh?!? W-wait, no, please—I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I swear!"
Cang Yue sweat-dropped, watching them drag the wailing lion away by the scruff of his neck.
"R-Retsu-sister… Mio-sister… you're not really going to—"
Retsu turned back with her serene, terrifying smile.
"Don't worry, Cang Yue. We'll just… have a little talk with him."
Cang Yue nodded stiffly, her face pale.
"Ahh… h-hnn… O-of course."
As Kon's panicked yowls faded into the background, she turned back to the arena—quietly deciding, from that day forward, to never get on Retsu or Mio's bad side.
And then, silence. Well—silence, except for the muffled sound of a lion begging for mercy somewhere off-screen.
==================
In the VIP room, several guests suddenly shivered without knowing why. A chill crept down their spines, and they exchanged uneasy glances.
"W-what was that? The match's pressure?" "No… that felt… murderous…"
Even Yun Che paused mid-thought. A bead of sweat traced down his temple.
That killing intent…
He sighed inwardly.
What in the world are they doing up there?
With a quiet exhale, he shifted his gaze back toward the sky—and froze.
The heavens themselves seemed to split open.
High above the arena, a thirty-meter sword of pure light had formed, its edges blinding white, its core pulsing with destructive power. The sky trembled under its weight. Each ripple of energy warped the air, distorting the sunlight into waves.
Even Yun Che couldn't help the small flicker of appreciation in his eyes.
"Hoo… he really decided to go all in."
The sword's presence was suffocating. If that thing fell, even the arena's barrier wouldn't hold. The impact alone could flatten half the city.
From across the stage, Ling Hai's voice thundered with profound energy:
"Dracule Mihawk! I admit you've bested every technique I've cast—but let's see you stop this! A strike even Emperor Profound cultivators fear to face!"
He spread his arms wide, his twin blades glowing like the sun.
"Heavenly Might Absolute Sword, Final Form—Radiant Sky!!!"
The giant sword began to descend. Slowly. Inevitably. Its fall carried the majesty of judgment itself.
Spectators gasped, clutching their seats as light filled the air.
"That sword… it's enormous!"
"It's the Heavenly Sword Villa's forbidden art!"
"Even a throne-level master would dodge that!"
Somewhere among them, Qin Wu smirked, his eyes cold.
Good. If that monster dies here, I won't have to hire someone later.
Down below, Ling Hai didn't let up. Even as the colossal blade descended from the sky, he lunged at Yun Che again, his body cloaked in the raging storm of the Twin Blade Combination. Each strike now came with the force of an earthquake.
Yun Che parried idly, watching the descending sword through the corner of his eye. He could tell—Ling Hai had already locked onto him. The plan was simple: distract him long enough that the Radiant Sky would fall directly on his position.
Yun Che almost chuckled.
So that's your plan. Stall me until the heavens crush me, then move at the last second? He sighed inwardly. Predictable.
Ling Hai barked between strikes, veins bulging at his temples.
"Your techniques are impressive—but none of them work in close combat! You can't cast those massive slashes at this range! That's your weakness, Mihawk!"
Yun Che blinked once.
Weakness? He exhaled softly through his nose. It's not that I can't use them. It's that I don't want to.
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
But maybe… it's time I show them what happens when I stop holding back.
He took a single step backward, his boots cracking the tiles beneath him. The air around him shifted.
Yoru tilted—slowly—until its black edge rested behind his head.
A gust swept through the arena.
The instant Yun Che opened his eyes again, their color had changed. The yellow-gold of Mihawk's eyes bled into crimson red, three tomoe spinning lazily in each pupil.
The air trembled.
"Let's end this," he murmured, voice barely audible.
Then, he looked directly into Ling Hai's eyes.
"Haha! I knew it!" Ling Hai shouted as he advanced, confidence flooding his veins. "As long as I keep you at bay, you're finished!"
He charged forward, locking eyes with Mihawk's calm, unblinking gaze — those sharp, golden irises that seemed to peer through his very soul.
Then—
—something changed.
The world around Ling Hai flickered. The light, the air, even the sound of his heartbeat seemed to vanish. In its place, he saw himself.
He saw his own image, mouth open mid-cry—
"Dracule Mihawk! Die for—"
The words never finished.
Slash.
His head—severed from his body—tumbled into a void of silence.
And just like that, the vision ended.
Ling Hai gasped, stumbling to a halt, drenched in cold sweat. His hand shot to his neck, as if checking it was still there. His breath came out ragged.
"What—what was that?! I saw it… I felt it! My head—he—he cut it clean off…"
He glanced up, horror twisting through him. Mihawk hadn't moved. He was still standing exactly where he had been — sword lowered, eyes faintly glowing.
"What kind of trick is this? Why… why am I seeing those visions!?"
But before he could regain his composure—
Swoosh.
He blinked, and Mihawk was gone.
Then suddenly — there he was, right in front of him.
Too close.
Too fast.
The elder's eyes widened as time itself seemed to slow. His instincts screamed, his muscles froze. The only thing he felt was fear — a primal, suffocating terror he hadn't felt in decades.
Mihawk's voice cut through the air like a whisper from death itself.
"You could've stayed level-headed."
Then came the sound.
SLASH!!!
The air howled. The ground split. A black crescent tore across the arena, its edge glowing a deep, searing green. The pressure of the swing crushed the air itself, forcing spectators to cover their faces as the shockwave rippled through the barrier.
Ling Hai twisted his head aside just in time — narrowly escaping instant death — but the aftermath left no doubt of the strike's power.
The radiant slash screamed skyward, tearing a line of light through the sky before vanishing in a storm of collapsing energy. The echo alone left the ground trembling.
And then… everyone saw it.
High above the arena, the thirty-meter radiant sword—Ling Hai's ultimate technique, his proudest creation—shuddered.
From its gleaming white surface, a single green line appeared. A crack. A wound.
It split from the tip down to the hilt, glowing brighter with every passing heartbeat—
—and then it broke.
SHHKKRRRKK—BOOM!!!
The radiant sword shattered like fragile glass, its remains scattering into a million fading motes of light. The fragments rained across the arena in silence, vanishing before they touched the ground.
Not even an explosion followed. Just the sound of disbelief.
Ling Hai fell to his knees, unable to speak. His lips trembled as he stared at the remnants of his strongest technique dissolving into nothingness.
The crowd — utterly still.
Not a breath, not a whisper.
Because all of them now understood — the thirty-meter sword that could crush mountains had not been deflected.
It had been cut.
By a single swing.
"He… sliced it…"
A trembling voice broke the suffocating silence.
"The Heavenly Sword Villa's grand technique—sliced through as if it were nothing. Heavens above… what in the world am I seeing?"
Another spectator clutched his chest, face pale.
"That wasn't a clash… it was execution. That man—he's not human. He's a monster among monsters."
Across the VIP dais, City Lord Mo Jianfeng sat frozen, his knuckles white as his body trembled. His attendant leaned closer, whispering hesitantly.
"M-My Lord… are we still planning to… recruit him?"
Jianfeng swallowed hard, eyes still glued to the arena where Yun Che stood unmoving, his sword lowered in calm silence.
"R-Recruit him? No… just… just try not to offend him. That man's power—it doesn't belong to the Sky Profound Realm. It's beyond it."
The attendant opened his mouth to reply—but stopped. His face drained of color. His arm rose shakily, finger pointing upward.
"M-My Lord… the sky…"
Jianfeng turned his gaze—and his breath hitched.
The audience followed his line of sight.
And then the entire coliseum gasped as one.
The sky above the city—the endless canopy of clouds—was split.
A vast, clean line ran across the heavens, as though an invisible hand had drawn a blade through the very firmament. The clouds that once hovered thick above the arena were now severed perfectly in two, sunlight spilling through the rift like golden blood.
One man in the crowd fell backward onto his seat, voice quivering.
"T-The sky… he cut the sky…"
Another whispered, almost in prayer.
"He sliced the sky itself… dear god, what are we witnessing?"
==============
From the viewing box, Cang Yue stood frozen, her wide eyes reflecting the broken sky. She had seen Yun Che wield terrifying powers before—his strange techniques, his black sword, his incomprehensible speed—but this… this was different. This was divine.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She didn't even have the strength to be shocked anymore.
Beside her, Retsu exhaled softly, pressing a hand to her forehead with an exasperated sigh.
"Mouu… that Yuu-kun. Even when he tries to hold back, he ends up cutting the sky. What kind of 'simple performance' is this supposed to be?"
Mio laughed gently, though even she couldn't hide her awe.
"Sigh… No worries, Retsu-chan. No one here truly knows who he is anyway. But with that single strike, he's already told the entire city—he's the strongest swordsman beneath the heavens. The empire will remember this day forever."
Retsu smiled faintly, her gaze softening as she looked down at the man she loved.
"Then again… I wonder what else the world has waiting for us."
===============
Thud.
The sound of a body hitting the ground drew all eyes back to the arena.
Ling Hai—elder of the Heavenly Sword Villa, once hailed as the mightiest swordsman under the Emperor Profound Realm—lay collapsed on one knee, trembling. His twin blades hung loosely in his hands, his aura in tatters.
Before him stood Yun Che—Dracule Mihawk—his black sword Yoru resting calmly on his shoulder, his coat fluttering in the dying wind.
Ling Hai's heart pounded violently. He cut the heavens. He broke my strongest technique like it was nothing. What kind of being am I fighting?
For the first time in decades, he understood fear.
Mihawk's voice was quiet, but it carried across the arena like the toll of a great bell.
"So… what will it be?"
The elder clenched his jaw, eyes burning with shame. His hands trembled—but he straightened his back, forcing himself upright. His body screamed in pain, but his voice was steady.
"Dracule Mihawk!" Ling Hai's voice trembled, but his spirit did not. "My pride will never allow me to lose. Please—let's settle this with one final strike. As swordsmen… we never admit defeat."
Yun Che looked at him in silence. Those words… they carried the same fire he'd once seen in another man—a green-haired youth who had stood before Mihawk's blade with nothing but resolve.
He let a faint smile touch his lips.
So, that's how you wish to fall.
Straightening his stance, he raised Yoru and planted its point lightly on the ground. The black sword gleamed like night itself, catching the light of the shattered sky above.
"I'll remember that," he said softly. "Let me send you off with this sword."
Ling Hai exhaled, his shoulders steadying. "It will be my honor."
From the viewing stands, his disciples shouted in panic.
"Elder Ling Hai! Stop! Please concede! There's no way you can defeat him!"
But Ling Hai didn't move. His eyes never left the swordsman before him. This was no longer a battle to win. This was the last act of a swordsman's life—to die standing.
The arena was silent as the two men faced each other across the ruined floor, their cloaks whipping in the wind.
"What will it be?" His own voice carried through the air. "The spot… or my honor?"
Then—both men moved.
The elder's profound energy flared as he drew his swords into a glowing cross.
"Heavenly Might Absolute Sword—MOON BREAK!!!"
At the same instant, Mihawk's knees bent. Yoru tilted. His hat shadowed his eyes. And then he leapt forward like a black gale, cutting through the world itself.
Slash.
The sound rang across the sky—a sharp, clean note that silenced everything.
Both men landed, backs to each other. Neither spoke. Neither moved.
Then—
Cling. Cling. Cling.
Tiny shards of metal rained to the ground.
Ling Hai's twin swords—Sky Profound Realm treasures—split neatly in two, their fragments scattering like falling petals.
Blood blossomed from his shoulder, painting the cracked tiles crimson. His body trembled, the weight of the blow forcing him down to one knee.
"Elder!!!" his disciples screamed, vaulting over the barrier.
But Ling Hai raised a trembling hand to stop them. "No… stay back…"
He looked down at the blood staining his hands, then up at Mihawk—at the man who hadn't even ruffled his coat. A faint, broken smile formed on his lips.
"Well… fought…"
Then, coughing violently, he forced out his final words.
"If you're… this strong… why enter this selection?"
Mihawk sheathed Yoru with a soft metallic click. The sound echoed like the closing of a chapter.
He turned slightly, yellow eyes glinting beneath his wide hat.
"To kill some time."
Ling Hai laughed weakly—hoarse, bitter, but genuine.
"Ha… such an answer… What kind of… powerhouse are you? This wasn't even… a fight…"
Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth as his disciples rushed to his side, pressing pills to his lips.
"Elder, please… stop talking."
He smiled faintly as his vision blurred.
"A monster… walks among us…"
Yun Che exhaled slowly and began to walk away. Each step echoed against the silent arena.
No one spoke. No one dared to breathe.
Even the clans that once mocked him bowed their heads in awe. The elders, the city lord, the spectators—every soul in the coliseum knew what they had just witnessed.
The man with the black sword had not only defeated the Heavenly Sword Villa's strongest elder—he had cut the sky itself.
And from that moment forth, the empire would remember this name whispered through trembling lips—
Dracule Mihawk, the Strongest Swordsman in the Empire.