"Go all out. Understand?"
"Understood." Qin Lan took a deep breath. His earlier hesitation melted away, replaced by surging fighting spirit.
He completed his martial soul manifestation, his eyes burning as he locked onto Chen Junting.
"I remember clearly—during our entrance exam, Gao Ming and I could barely do anything. That day, I swore I'd never feel that powerless again."
"But I know my talent is ordinary. So after becoming Elder Zhang's disciple, I dedicated myself to mastering this technique!"
Chen Junting smiled, nodding without interrupting.
When Qin Lan finished, he said simply:
"I know that move well. 'Only ghostly shadows, no soul rings visible,' right?"
Those eight words alone spoke volumes—the terrifying reputation of Elder Zhang Ming's signature skill.
It wasn't just speed. It was the phantom-like, traceless execution that chilled opponents to the bone.
After all, an assassin like that could end your life at any moment.
Qin Lan grinned, his five soul rings blazing. "But it's not just that. I've adapted it with my own soul skill. It's not fully refined yet, but…"
Awooo—!
A Phantom Wind Wolf silently emerged from his rings, then melded into his back—fusing seamlessly with him.
It was as if he'd clad himself in a translucent armor of Phantom Wind Wolf soul power, layered atop his martial soul form.
"This is…"
"Qin Lan has harmonized with his soul spirit to this degree?!"
The others gasped in awe.
Achieving this was no simple feat. Though they didn't know the exact method, it clearly required deep research into soul spirits and an intimate, soul-level resonance.
In that moment, even Gao Ming's expression shifted—from "let's see how badly you get beaten" pity to "let's see what you can actually do while getting pounded" curiosity.
(Admittedly, a rather bleak upgrade.)
"Watch closely."
Qin Lan stilled, all focus honed on Chen Junting. As his fourth soul ring flared, two identical, ethereal clones burst from his body—solidifying so rapidly that distinguishing the real from the false became impossible.
"Oh—a split-body soul skill," Chen Junting noted.
Stomp!
His words didn't slow him. In one step, his Seven Kill Sword cleared its sheath.
"I'm coming!"
Whether self-motivation or declaration, the three Qin Lans surged forward simultaneously—moving as one, then exploding into three streaks of light from separate angles.
Yet in Chen Junting's perception, no soul power fluctuations betrayed their positions. Since his eyes weren't deceiving him, Qin Lan's energy must be completely masked.
Even his spiritual sense…
"…detects nothing."
Chen Junting chuckled, tracking Qin Lan's flickering forms. "Worthy of Uncle Zhang's ultimate technique. Combined with your split-body skill, even your subpar speed fooled my eyes."
Swoosh—!
The words had barely left his mouth when all three Qin Lans struck—attacking from unpredictable vectors with bewildering trajectories.
But Chen Junting's sword merely lifted.
Shing—!
A single slash—trailing a ribbon of cold light—howled through the air!
It seemed to miss cleanly.
Then—
BOOM!
One clone shattered. Qin Lan rocketed backward—twice as fast as his charge—plowing into the earth like a cannonball.
The spectators stared, speechless.
That "ultimate technique"… we thought it'd be impressive.
Turns out he flew back even faster than he attacked!
Meanwhile, Chen Junting examined a severed scrap of cloth from his sleeve—his eyes gleaming with genuine approval.
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
Cough! Cough!
Qin Lan staggered upright, brushing off dust. "That's weird… I hid my real body perfectly. How did you pinpoint and strike me?"
"Simple. Instinct."
"Instinct…" Qin Lan murmured, staring at Chen Junting's serious expression.
Indeed—if perception failed, battle-hardened instinct was the perfect counter. Most experts could achieve it.
But few Title Douluos could deliver such a blow without a single strained expression.
Speed alone was enough to overwhelm opponents—as Elder Zhang Ming proved.
"Alright," Chen Junting announced, "Old Gu, Xiao Tian, Yuhao—step forward. Your strength is already overqualified for this round."
He wasn't arrogant enough to face them all at once—without True Body or arrays, at least.
Ning Tian's group obediently stepped aside—amid Wu Feng's grumbling. Chen Junting then turned to the remaining disciples, flashing a bone-chilling smile.
"The rest of you—attack together. Let's get this hellish training over with."
Silence fell over the arena floor.
Then—like dry grass igniting—Wu Feng exploded. "You arrogant bastard! I've never met anyone as cocky as you!"
ROAR—!
A dragon's cry shook the hall. Wu Feng shot onto the platform first.
The moment her foot touched the stone, her body surged upward. In a blink, her Red Dragon martial soul fully manifested.
She closed the distance in one stride—
"Think you can underestimate me, Swordy?!"
Her scaled dragon claw, wreathed in Red Dragon Flame (nearing Ultimate Fire temperatures), slammed toward Chen Junting's chest!
Chen Junting didn't draw his sword—or even flinch.
He simply raised his left arm and slapped outward, palm open.
On contact, Wu Feng felt her claw strike ten-thousand-year mystic ice—unyielding, radiating Ultimate Ice that threatened to extinguish her flames.
Meanwhile, Chen Junting's palm remained smooth as white jade—not a single scorch mark from her attack.
Snow Empress's soul bone skill!
Wu Feng's pupils shrank. Realizing her mistake, she tried to retreat—"Xiao Feng… too reckless."
But Chen Junting's voice boomed like thunder in her ears:
"Your path is fire—but fire has many natures. Will you pursue intense heat, explosive force, or something else? Choose your direction clearly."
Before she could process the advice—or freeze solid—Chen Junting retracted his hand and kicked—a blow like a rocket launcher to her gut!
THUD—!
Wu Feng's eyes bulged. She curled into a shrimp.
"URK—Swordy, you %$#@&—!"
She'd barely cursed when Chen Junting launched her flying again.
"Foul mouth."
Dusting off his hands, Chen Junting glared down at the frozen disciples below.
"Are you coming up to get… guided? Or do I have to drag you?"
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