The training square of the Outer Court (Azure Spirit Sect) was pervaded with an expectation. Before the match started, wood figures dotted around it under years of adze marks rippled. All their armor-clad frames inherited witness to countless repetitions of basic movements.
Rows upon rows of young disciples crowded the stands beyond them. They were haggling in a frenzy of gossip and betting for every possible consequence of the contests that lay ahead. There was only one thing now for these new disciples of Howth Mountain, according to whether they would climb higher in status or plummet downward.
One victory could lead to respect and better chances of cultivating resources; a single defeat would cause everyone to laugh, making each meal, each chore onerous, and forcing one as never before.
And Lin Xuan had a look on his face that told everyone, "He will not last long."
"Why bother, if you do not at least make the first move?" he heard a sudden voice from the crowd.
Fine sleight-of-mouth for people to trade smacked of magical power today no less than ever before. Meiwai Lingmao said, "I don't think you give up so easily."
How could a soldier of repute bear such shameful slander? They had not yet begun, but these whispers were his death sentence.
Wu Ming jockeyed through the milling disciples, bearing a skewer of grilled spirit beans. From the edge of the square, he spotted Lin Xuan, spear slung casually across one shoulder, completely expressionless.
"Senior Brother!" Wu Ming called, leering, "But if you lose, don't worry; this, your opponent bribed the heavens themselves, I'll tell everyone!"
Lin Xuan gave him a look from the corner of an eye. "…Eat your beans."
Wu Ming guffawed and filled his mouth, his eyes glowing. "See? Already full of confidence."
The master of ceremonies, a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair and faint scars around his eyes, entered the square. His voice cut through the din like a blowtorch through metal.
"Disciples! Today, you will demonstrate your mettle not only by strength, but by discipline. Anyone who wants to challenge, step forward!"
As the shouting died down, a youth wearing a black armband stood up at once. His movements were sharp, his chin elevated.
"I hereby challenge Lin Xuan, Zhao Kun!"
The crowd yelled. A few jeered, some cheered, but all craned their necks. Zhao Kun was well known for his speed and ruthlessness during a duel; he often made contests longer than necessary to fully savor his opponent's humiliation.
Lin Xuan stepped into the square without a moment's hesitation. His face expressionless, he took the spear from its support, the sound of steel sliding against wood.
"Even a cripple dares hold a spear. I will both ruin your pride and destroy your weapon." Zhao Kun chuckled.
The instructor's hand slashed through the air. "Start!"
Like a serpent coiled to strike, Zhao Kun, sword flashing in a silver arc, lunged at once. His footwork was deft, body bending forwards, coiling like a snake about to spring.
[System Notice: Technique Detected – Serpent Flow Sword.]
[Replication Possible. Efficiency: 83%.]
Lin Xuan shifted very slightly, his spear low. He didn't come right up to the strike. Instead, he matched the footwork, stepping sideways with precise timing. Zhao Kun's sword swung past, mere inches from his side.
The crowd sighed.
Zhao Kun's eyes tightened. "You … had... move?"
Lin Xuan's voice was calm. "The moment you moved, your pattern was revealed."
He poked, although not with a killing reach. The spearhead lightly hit Zhao Kun's shoulder, then made a touch before its owner twisted away. A faint tear appeared in his sleeve.
Sounds came from every corner.
"He touched him just now?"
"No... Zhao Kun is swifter. He shouldn't even be able to..."
Zhao Kun breathed out in fury. The sword turned into one ribbon of silver after another, all brandishing toward Lin Xuan. In every quarter of the sky.
[Undeceived; Serpent Flow Sword, perfect copy.]
[Remain Perfectly. Since setting out, working until withdrawal, rethought pierced her weakness.]
The spear he was using changed. Everything that had been simple and cautious defense precision all of a sudden. He smoothly dodged Zhao Kun's blows and turned Zhao's spear into a flash.
The first thrust was aimed at the side of Zhao Kun's chest. With another, his sword was thrown back. The third stopped an inch from his throat.
The contest grew still silent. The audience held its breath.
Zhao Kun staggered back. His face went pale, and he looked at his trembling right hand, which held the sword.
Then the instructor's artificial voice sounded heavy as rock. "Winner, victory - Lin Xuan."
The whole place went up in an uproar.
"H-He… He won!"
"Heck no! Isn't he supposed to be crippled? Wasn't he?"
"Did you see? He moved exactly, but as if he had been performing with this sword manner his whole life!"
"What is on his arm– when he has the time later maybe even he'll go over it." Meng Zhao's men exchanged glances in the throng that were slightly hesitant initially, before they even jeered at anyone else; their eyes caught the twinge off guard.
Wu Ming leapt about, hollering with his mouth spitting beans madly: "Senior Brother Lin! Terrific! For her nose next time, that would've been cool!"
At the edge of the square, Lin Xuan retreated unhurriedly. In the opinion of onlookers, only the most terrifying from one minute to the next could be real and make sense at all.
No sooner had the buzz of voices quietened down than a muscular figure appeared. Han Lei was broader and thicker set than Lin Xuan, and his fists were wrapped with bandage strips.
"As from Han Li, for 林萱."
Cries of surprise flew through the audience; how could Han Li be an exception, he was always strong as an ox and had once smashed a wooden mannequin to splinters with a single blow.
Wu Ming groaned aloud. "Senior Brother, it looks like your addiction to virtual reality is slow to dissipate."
Lin Xuan's eyes narrowed in disdain. In fact, all the people sent by Meng Zhao had arrived.
Once more, he moved in, spear tip glinting in the sun.
The referee's hand fell. "Start!"
Han Lei was running madly with both fists pounding the air at once. The ground seemed to tremble under his weight.
[System Notice: Technique detected -- Iron Mountain Fist.]
[Can Replicate. Weakness: Overcommitted to initial attacks, slow on recovery.]
The first of those blows came on like a warhammer. Lin Xuan deviated to one side, the spear skittled off the edge of the fist. His spear point was cracked, and dirt and dust sprayed up into the sky.
Everyone in the crowd roared back.
Han Lei's lips twisted, revealing a vicious smile. "You'll never be able to dodge forever, cripple!"
He began showering blows on the cripple's head. Each one might be heard as it fell. But Lin Xuan was dodging between them; his spear flashed about with the precision of a surgeon's knife. And in each collision, he picked up more pieces of your rhythm, more holes to penetrate.
Just then, he made his move. The iron spear shaft pummeled Han Lei's knee with a blow that sent a shock all through it. Lin Xuan maintained his balance and followed with another cut: this time, the leg came apart.
Han Lei fell to the ground, choking on dirt. Lin Xuan's spear came down against his chest in a light tap.
The instructor's voice chimed in again. "Winner--Lin Xuan."
Everyone shouted. Two victories in a row--precision and adaptability.
The whispers had turned to a roar.
"He's no cripple."
"He's dangerous."
"So it's in this way that Meng Zhao fears him?"
Up at the balcony, Meng Zhao's smile did not move, but the venom grew darker in his eyes. 'So you finally show your fangs to me. Good. The higher you climb in life, the longer a fall there'll be for me to catch you.'
Lin Xuan calmly returned to his place on the square. His spear gleamed faintly in the sun; his gaze was steady.
Whispers are on the wind, but let it roar. I shall silence them all when the time comes.
But this was not the end. The matches to come tomorrow would be even more fiercely contested, and Meng Zhao's hand would press just that much harder."