The rhythm of their battle sharpened.
Vurek pressed in close again, shoulders low, his blade flashing upward in a sharp arc meant to split Shen Hao from hip to shoulder.
Shen Hao shifted one step back, just one, and the blade cut nothing but air.
But he didn't stop there. His foot slid to the side, his palm lifted, and he pushed lightly against the flat of the sword as it passed.
The weapon veered off course. The force of the swing dragged Vurek half a stride forward.
Too far forward.
Shen Hao's knee rose swiftly, striking into Vurek's abdomen. Not crushing, not bone-breaking, but enough to steal his breath and bend him over.
Vurek staggered back, coughing once, his grip on the sword tightening until his knuckles whitened.
For a few seconds, the two men stood apart.
The courtyard was silent but for their breathing.
Vurek's eyes narrowed. He raised his blade again, holding it with both hands now, steadier, angling it across his body. His stance had changed, less reckless, more guarded.
Shen Hao simply rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension, gaze never leaving his opponent.
Neither spoke.
The torches flickered, the dust settled, and the air between them seemed to grow heavier.
Then, Vurek stepped in again.
This time slower. More precise. Testing.
And Shen Hao waited.
Their feet scraped lightly across the stone as the space between them shrank once more.
Vurek's blade dipped low, then cut upward in a sudden diagonal slash. The strike came sharp and fast, carrying the weight of his gathered strength.
Shen Hao turned his body sideways. The steel passed so close it brushed the fabric of his sleeve.
Before Vurek could draw the blade back, Shen Hao's elbow drove forward, colliding against the elder's forearm. The jolt sent a vibration up through the weapon, breaking the flow of the attack.
Vurek absorbed the impact, twisted his wrist, and swung again from the opposite side.
This time Shen Hao caught it.
Two fingers, thumb and forefinger, pinched against the flat edge of the sword near its tip. The momentum shuddered, halted.
Gasps rippled from the villagers watching at a distance.
Vurek's jaw tightened. He pushed.
The sword trembled between them, straining against Shen Hao's unmoving grip. Sparks of force flickered faintly along the steel, but the pressure didn't make him yield.
With a simple motion, Shen Hao released the blade and stepped back a half pace.
The steel wavered in the air, unbalanced by its own weight, and Vurek had to ground his stance quickly to steady it.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Vurek's breathing grew louder, more visible in the cool night air.
Shen Hao tilted his head slightly, studying him, calm, unhurried, waiting.
Vurek steadied his grip, shifting the sword into both hands. His stance lowered, knees bending, boots grinding into the dirt for leverage. The torchlight reflected along the edge, giving it the shimmer of a drawn breath waiting to cut.
Shen Hao, in contrast, did nothing. His hands stayed loose at his sides, posture straight, as though he was watching a passerby on a road rather than a seasoned fighter in front of him.
The air between them stretched thin. Even the groans of the defeated men around them seemed to fade, leaving only the scrape of steel against calloused palms and the soft exhale of breath.
Then Vurek struck.
His body blurred forward, sword sweeping in a low arc meant to carve through Shen Hao's legs.
Shen Hao stepped, just one step, and the strike cut empty space.
Vurek reversed instantly, blade whipping upward, aiming for the chest.
Shen Hao tilted his shoulders, the strike passing by, so close the wind of it brushed his robe.
Vurek pressed harder. Strike after strike, the steel whistled in the night, each swing delivered with ruthless precision.
Shen Hao's feet moved like water across stone, small, efficient steps that turned what should have been killing blows into harmless gestures.
Not once did he raise a hand to block.
Not once did he counter.
Only evasion.
And the longer it went on, the clearer it became: Vurek was the one burning energy. Shen Hao had barely begun.
The sword came down again, a heavy vertical cut meant to end it.
This time, Shen Hao moved.
His hand rose, quick as lightning, and caught the flat of the blade mid-swing. The steel vibrated under his grip, humming like a struck gong.
For the first time, Vurek's eyes widened.
Shen Hao looked at him calmly.
"You swing like a man carrying debts," he said quietly, voice steady. "Heavy. Desperate. Easy to read."
And with a simple twist of his wrist, CRACK.
The sword snapped in two.
The broken half clattered to the ground, the echo sharp in the silence.
Gasps rippled through the remaining valley men. Even the villagers at the edges, silent until now, stirred at the sound.
Vurek stumbled back a single step, empty hilt still in his hand, his chest heaving.
Shen Hao dropped the broken piece of steel at his feet.
"Now…" his tone hardened, "let's stop wasting time."
He stepped forward, aura pressing down in a sudden wave, and Vurek felt it, a weight not of muscle or speed, but of someone who had never once considered losing.
The air itself seemed to bend under the pressure. Dust curled upward, grass flattened in wide circles, and even the villagers watching from behind the barricades clutched their chests as if an invisible hand was pressing them down. This wasn't just strength. It was inevitability.
Vurek's jaw clenched. His blade trembled in his grip though his arms strained to hold it steady. No… no. I am not some nameless fool. I am Peak Eight. I am Vurek of the Black Valley. He forced his aura to flare higher, ice shards spinning into a storm around him, white mist blooming from the ground as frost ate into the soil.
"Don't think… you can crush me so easily!" he roared, voice shaking between fury and fear.
He lunged. His body blurred, blade cutting arcs of cold light, each strike heavy with killing intent.
Shen Hao didn't move at first. His eyes followed, calm, almost lazy, as if waiting for something only he could see. Then, just as the blade descended, his right hand rose.
No flourish. No wasted strength.
One palm.
It met the incoming strike with a sound like thunder muffled by snow.
CRACK!
The frost storm shattered on impact. Vurek's eyes widened as the weight behind that simple palm, forced his body backward mid-swing. His arms screamed under the force. The veins in his temples bulged as he resisted, unwilling to yield.
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
He twisted, forcing another strike. The ice around him whipped forward, forming spears that rained down like a storm of white death. The villagers gasped, some ducking instinctively though the fight was far from them.
Shen Hao's left hand lifted. Two fingers extended. He brushed the air.
The spears froze mid-flight, then exploded into harmless shards, scattering like broken glass across the night. A cold breeze brushed the field, carrying nothing but fragments of failure.
Vurek staggered back two steps, disbelief etched across his face. His body screamed at him to stop. His pride demanded he continue.
"YOU WON'T HUMILIATE ME!" he bellowed. He forced his Qi higher, burning through reserves recklessly, until the ground itself split under the pressure of his aura. His sword glowed white-blue, edges jagged, radiating frost thick enough to crust the ground in a thin sheet of ice.
He leapt, both hands gripping the hilt, bringing the blade down in a desperate overhead slash meant to cut through mountains.
The villagers gasped. Some turned away, afraid to see the outcome.
But Shen Hao only exhaled.
His palm struck upward.
BOOOOM!
The clash rang out like iron breaking. For a heartbeat, light drowned the field, frost against raw spiritual force.
Then came the sound no one expected.
Crack…
Not the ground. Not the air.
The blade.
A fracture split down its center. Vurek's eyes widened in horror as his weapon, his lifeline, his pride, split apart in his hands. The pieces scattered, falling like brittle ice smashed under a hammer.
"No… no, NO!" His scream cracked as panic overtook him. He lashed out barehanded, Qi erupting wildly, but his attacks had lost shape, coherence. They were the flailing of a drowning man.
Shen Hao stepped into the chaos, his aura swallowing it whole. He raised his palm once more, every movement smooth, measured, controlled.
The strike landed on Vurek's chest.
CRAAAACK!
The force lifted him clean off the ground. His body tore through dirt and stone, smashing into a wall with a resounding crash. Dust billowed high, swallowing his figure.
Silence.
The villagers stood frozen, unable to breathe. Even the Black Valley men who had come with Vurek stared blankly at the crater, their weapons slipping from their hands.