The Left Dharma King, Meng Ming, let out a cold laugh. His eyes glinted with venom as he slowly said,"Boy, your fists and footwork may be impressive, but your skill with the blade and sword may not surpass mine!"
Even before his words faded, his gaze turned sharp as an eagle's, piercing straight into Wu Tong, as though he would strip bare his very will.
Wu Tong's lips curved into the faintest smile, a trace of scorn flashing in his eyes. He sneered,"Enough nonsense. Why don't you and I settle our grudges today—blade and sword! Life or death, once and for all!"
His voice rang out firm and fearless. At once the entire crowd fell silent. All eyes fixed on the two men—this duel promised to shake the world.
Under such scrutiny, Meng Ming was cornered. If he refused, he would be branded a coward. His face shifted slightly, then darkened with resolve. He snorted coldly,"Very well! No day better than today—life and death it is!"
With a sudden stomp, his inner force surged. A crisp swish! split the air as his longsword left the sheath. Sword light shimmered coldly, carrying a killing chill that seemed to freeze the very air.
Meng Ming, the Left Dharma King of the Black Dragon Sect, was naturally no ordinary swordsman. His opening strike came fierce and unmatched, sword aura blazing, the point of his blade thrusting straight for Wu Tong's throat! So swift was the strike, it split the air, and in the blink of an eye reached Wu Tong's chest.
The onlookers gasped as one: "What speed!"
Yet Wu Tong still held his saber sheathed, unmoving as if indifferent, though the sword tip was nearly upon him. The crowd looked on in confusion—why did he not move?
At the very instant of peril—
A resonant "wong!" rang out. The Wolong Saber flashed from its scabbard, a gleam cold as snow, its speed like lightning! The blade blazed like a silver arc cutting across the sky, crashing down like thunder toward Meng Ming's chest!
A dull "thud!" echoed. Blood sprayed—
The blade had pierced Meng Ming's left chest. Scarlet burst forth, soaking his robes in an instant! His eyes bulged wide in disbelief. His inner force scattered and he flew back like a kite with its string cut, crashing heavily to the ground.
The crowd froze in shock. The saber had been too fast—so fast no one saw it clearly. Only a single flash of steel, and the battle was decided. Meng Ming had not even parried one strike before falling in defeat, dead or near to it.
Wu Tong stepped forward coldly. With a flick of the Wolong Saber, blood beads slid off its edge. He snorted, voice laced with contempt,"Arrogant fool. You don't even know how you died."
With a smooth twist, he slid the blade back into its scabbard. His figure stood tall as a pine, utterly calm, as though this duel were beneath him.
The crowd erupted into awe and cries:
"North Jia Yong, South Wu Tong!""So this is Wu Tong? Truly, reputation pales before the man himself!""They say he mastered the Wolong Saber Manual—the first saber under heaven!""Not mere rumor—such speed, none alive can withstand!""He is already the Twelfth Hall Master of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness, sent by the court to Xuzhou to lead the heroes against the rebels!""The foremost young hero of our time—well deserved!"
With this single battle, Wu Tong's name thundered across the land, etched into the hearts of all martial men as the strongest young saber master of the age.
The Black Dragon Sect's Four Heavenly Kings rushed forth, swords raised to shield their fallen Dharma King. Meng Ming, pale and pained, staggered to his feet. He, a grand Left Dharma King, had lost in one strike. Three bouts today, three defeats—his pride was shattered. Rage overcame reason, and he bellowed,"Black Dragon Sect Kings! Join forces! Kill this whelp! Let him taste our might!"
Wu Tong merely slung the saber over his shoulder, sneering as he strode forward,"What? Weren't we to duel to the death? Now you want to gang up on me? Your mouths are fierce enough, but your skills? Pathetic."
The Black Dragon men fumed, but all knew the truth: if Meng Ming fell in one strike, even five against one offered little hope. Yet their leader's words left no retreat. To flee would shame the sect forever.
Meng Ming roared, "Attack!"
The Western King struck first, blade flashing. The Eastern King followed, the others closing in. But Wu Tong drew the Wolong Saber again, launching with "Single Saber Thrust"—a strike that split the air itself.
Blade and sword clashed, sparks and shadows weaving into a storm of steel. Wu Tong darted through the sword array, his saber arcs dazzling, his movements free and fierce. The Black Dragon swords crowded him, but their very numbers hindered them. In the cramped space, Wu Tong danced like a dragon, turning their strikes against one another.
When the Western King lunged, Wu Tong's saber flicked and deflected, twisting the sword back toward the Eastern King. The Eastern King cried out, raising his blade to block. The Northern King sought Wu Tong's back, but Wu Tong spun, redirecting the thrust toward Meng Ming himself. The Left Dharma King shouted in panic, "Careful!"
"Keep your eyes open—blade and sword know no eyes!" Wu Tong's voice rang sharp as steel.
Then, with a sudden shift, he unleashed the devastating technique: "Northern Victory to Reclaim the Central Plains."
His saber surged forth, a tide of violent force, cleaving through the air with the momentum to purge demons. The five men paled with terror. In but a breath, his blade flashed again and again—swift, precise, unstoppable.
Screams rang out. One by one, all five were struck, each cut across the waist. Blood sprayed as Wu Tong's form blurred, then stilled. With a single fluid motion he sheathed the Wolong Saber once more.
The crowd stood frozen, breathless, forgetting even to cheer.
At last, the boatmen of the Canal Guild shouted in fury:"Arrogant just moments ago, weren't you?""Defeated, yet still tried to kill—cowards!""Despicable villains!""Vermin!"
Seething with rage, they seized the swords of the fallen kings, and others joined in, fists and kicks flying. The five Black Dragon leaders, bleeding and battered, staggered like wounded beasts, only to find themselves surrounded. Shouts and blows rained upon them like thunder.
The proud Black Dragon kings, once so arrogant, now quailed like stray dogs. Their former might was gone, swept away like smoke. Truly, as the old saying goes—good and evil alike shall reap their due.