The two stood across from each other, quiet tension filling the air. Shen Yun's expression carried his usual calm, but beneath that calmness was a faint glint—a guarded curiosity, like someone measuring an unfamiliar blade.
"It's been a while since I've looked forward to a match," he said, his tone even, almost conversational. "I've watched one of your previous fights, but… they never quite showed your full hand."
Lao Xie's gaze was tranquil, unreadable. "Perhaps there wasn't a need to show it."
Shen Yun's lips curved faintly. "Confident."
Suddenly the elder who was presiding as the referee at the moment, raised his hand, voice echoing through the arena.
"Both sides ready—begin!"
In the same instant, Shen Yun's aura surged outward, steady and sharp like a drawn blade. His robe fluttered under the pressure, the ground beneath his feet cracking slightly as he shifted into stance.
"Then I'll take the first move," he said lightly, though his tone held the faint weight of intent.
He lunged forward—swift and precise. His sword drew a line of silver through the air, the technique was textbook-perfect, representing the very essence of Azure Edge Peak's discipline. Every motion was controlled, neither wasteful nor hesitant.
But Lao Xie didn't flinch. His sleeve stirred once—graceful, unhurried—as his sword materialized from the storage ring in a flash of cold light. His foot slid half a step forward, his movement so smooth it seemed almost lazy.
The clash rang out, bright and crisp.
Clang!
For a breath, the force trembled between them—then stilled. Lao Xie's blade held firm, his expression barely shifting.
The air rippled with gasps.
"What—he blocked that?" someone blurted out, eyes wide.
"That was Shen Yun's opening strike! Did you see that speed?"
A younger disciple leaned forward, disbelief etched across his face. "He parried it like nothing!"
Another scoffed, though his voice wavered. "Tch, probably luck. No one blocks a strike like that so cleanly."
But even those who scoffed couldn't tear their eyes away. The platform shimmered faintly from the lingering clash, spiritual energy crackling between the two figures.
Shen Yun exhaled softly, stepping back half a pace. His smile returned—but his gaze had changed. The ease in it was still there, yet a trace of caution flickered underneath.
"Not bad," he said evenly. "You actually met that head-on… with so little effort."
Lao Xie's grip didn't waver. His eyes held quiet amusement, "Was I supposed to try harder?"
The corner of Shen Yun's mouth twitched, but he said nothing, his sword lowering slightly as his aura gathered once again. This time, there was no lightness in his tone—only a focused calm, like a hunter reassessing his prey.
The clash resounded again.
Clang!
Sparks scattered between their blades as Shen Yun pressed forward, his strikes clean and precise. Yet every blow, no matter how sharp, met the same unyielding stillness. Lao Xie's sword moved only when needed—each motion light, precise, almost casual.
A third strike came. Then a fourth.
Clang! Clang!
The rhythm quickened, steel ringing in crisp succession. But Lao Xie's composure didn't waver. His movements remained calm, neither hurried nor strained, as if Shen Yun's attacks were no more than falling rain brushing against stone.
Shen Yun's eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped back, breathing steady. "He's fast, he thought. And that sword… it feels heavy."
Each clash sent a faint tremor through his wrist. It wasn't overwhelming—but it carried a strange, grounded weight, one that pressed steadily against his flow.
He refocused, stepping in again. Clang! Their blades met once more.
After a few rapid exchanges, both figures halted, blades locked for a brief moment before disengaging.
Shen Yun straightened slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You don't plan to attack, do you? Or do you just enjoy waiting for me to make the first move?"
Lao Xie's sword lowered a fraction, his gaze unreadable.
"Mhmm, Should I?."
Shen Yun chuckled softly, tilting his head. "Should you? Am I not enough to make you fight seriously?" His tone was light, but beneath it, a subtle sharpness lingered.
His stance shifted. The air around him changed instantly—his aura compressed, sharp and flowing like water rushing through a narrow pass.
A faint hum rippled from his blade. The Qi around it shimmered with faint azure light, dancing like mirrored waves.
"Flowing Edge Sword Style…" someone from the crowd whispered in awe.
A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through the spectators.
"That's the Flowing Edge Sword Style! He's not holding back anymore!"
"But it's different—look at the flow of his Qi! He's in the peak of Body Tempering, he can use it far more smoothly than any of us!"
Even some of the younger disciples leaned forward, excitement flashing in their eyes.
"Even though it's just a basic sword form, it's still one of the most effective styles for us outer disciples!"
"Right! Once he enters the Inner Court, he'll be able to learn the advanced variations—imagine how strong he'll be then!"
A few others nodded in admiration, though one or two scoffed under their breath.
"Tch, that's only if he wins this fight."
The platform shimmered faintly as Shen Yun's Qi surged again, his sword glowing brighter.
He lunged. His movements were faster now—precise arcs, each one flowing seamlessly into the next. The azure light of his sword left faint streaks in the air as he pressed forward.
Lao Xie's blade met his once more.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
But instead of rigidly blocking, Lao Xie began to flow—his wrist turning just slightly at the moment of impact, letting Shen Yun's force slide past him. His footwork glided lightly across the stage, each step smooth and perfectly timed.
To the spectators, it almost looked as though he was dancing through the storm.
As their swords clashed again, Shen Yun's brows furrowed slightly.
Every swing found resistance—but never where he expected it. Each time he advanced, Lao Xie was already there, deflecting at the exact angle needed, neither late nor early.
He's controlling the rhythm, Shen Yun realized. Every time I attack, it feels like he's already waiting for me.
A faint bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He hasn't even attacked once… yet I can't find an opening.
Still, his smirk returned, though his eyes now carried a flicker of unease—and amusement.
"You move like you can see the future," Shen Yun said, voice low as their blades locked again. "Are you reading my thoughts now?"
Lao Xie's tone was calm, almost indifferent. "Not your thoughts though," he said. "It's just your habits."
Shen Yun's smile deepened faintly, though it no longer reached his eyes. "Then let's see how long you can keep reading me."
He pushed off the ground, his Qi flaring stronger than before. The tiles beneath his feet cracked as he vanished from sight, his speed blurring into a streak of azure light.
Gasps erupted from the stands.
"He vanished—!"
"No, that's the Azure Edge footwork! He's merging it with Flowing Edge Sword!"
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Blades met in flashes of light, each impact ringing sharper than the last. Sparks rained like scattered stars across the stage as Shen Yun's strikes poured down in a relentless sequence—flowing, overlapping, no pause to breathe.
But even under that flurry, Lao Xie remained unshaken. His sword turned, brushed, and redirected, his stance rooted yet fluid, each movement simple but perfect. It was neither speed nor force—it was rhythm.
Every deflection carried a quiet precision that twisted Shen Yun's timing just slightly out of sync.
By the tenth exchange, Shen Yun felt it. The subtle loss of rhythm. His flow breaking like water against an unseen stone.
"How…?"