Through the settling dust, Bai Feng caught a glimpse of Mo Xuan already circling toward his exposed flank, having used the moment of impact to close distance rather than retreat further. Before Bai Feng could wrench the mace free from the small crater it had carved into the stone, Mo Xuan's palm touched his shoulder — not with a strike meant to injure, but a precise application of force at an angle to disrupt his balance entirely.
Bai Feng stumbled sideways, his grip on the mace faltering just long enough for Mo Xuan to step past him entirely, putting himself squarely at Bai Feng's back with the ease of someone who'd already known, several exchanges ago, exactly how this would end.
"Yield," Mo Xuan said quietly.
Bai Feng could feel Soul Power gathering behind that seemingly harmless palm. He didn't doubt that one push would have sent him crashing off the stage.
Bai Feng froze, his pride visibly warring with the plain fact of his position. After a long moment, his shoulders sagged, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. "I yield." He hadn't even gotten the chance to summon his Cosmic Soul, and everything had already ended.
The crowd, which had gone almost completely silent watching the exchange unfold, erupted the instant the words left his mouth — some in disbelief, others in scattered applause, and a fair number simply laughing at how anticlimactic the supposedly fearsome mace technique had turned out to be against someone who hadn't even bothered unsheathing his blade.
Elder Kui, still seated with his eyes half-closed, let out a low grunt of something that might have been approval. "Barely worth waking up for," he muttered, though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.
Jin Bao, meanwhile, was already recording the result in his ledger with the enthusiasm of a man watching his investment pay off spectacularly. "One down," he murmured to himself, glancing toward the line of remaining challengers still waiting their turn. "Eight to go."
Elder Kui waved a hand, and the cracked stage smoothed itself back into place almost instantly, ready for the next match.
The dust had barely settled on the first challenge before the second challenger stepped onto the platform, and unlike her predecessor, this one didn't rush into anything. She paused at the edge of the stage, cupped her hands respectfully toward Mo Xuan, and offered a short, formal bow.
"Su Yao," she said. "Level 40, Soul King realm." Behind her, a Frostwing Crane unfolded into existence, its translucent feathers shimmering like moonlight frozen into crystal. "My Cosmic Soul is the Frostwing Crane."
Mo Xuan inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Mo Xuan, Level 39 Soul Master. Rune-Sword Cosmic Soul."
Elder Kui gave a small signal. "Start," the old keeper said, not bothering to open his eyes this time.
Su Yao moved the instant the word left his mouth, and unlike the previous challenger, her approach favoured speed over raw force entirely. She closed the distance in a blur, the crane phantom's wings beating once behind her, and a flurry of thin, needle-like strikes lanced out from her outstretched fingers — Spiritual Energy condensed into something sharp enough to draw blood at close range.
Mo Xuan twisted aside, and the needles cut through the space where his shoulder had been a heartbeat earlier, embedding themselves harmlessly into the stone floor behind him. Su Yao didn't pause to assess the miss — she was already moving again, circling wide and low before launching herself upward, the crane's wings flaring wide behind her as she gained sudden, unnatural height.
From above, she loosed a second volley, this one raining down in a wider spread meant to box him in rather than land a single decisive hit. Mo Xuan read the pattern immediately and stepped sideways rather than backwards, letting the needles strike the ground in a rough arc around his previous position as he slipped free of the trap entirely.
"Frost Cascade," Su Yao called out, still airborne, and a fine mist began gathering around her hands, crystallising rapidly into shards of ice that she flung downward in a continuous stream rather than a single burst.
Since the challenge began, this was the first time Mo Xuan drew his sword. He raised it and began deflecting the shards as they fell, each contact producing a sharp, ringing chime, ice shattering into harmless fragments that scattered across the platform like scattered glass. He gave ground steadily as he worked, letting her maintain the initiative for the moment, studying the rhythm of her attacks rather than rushing to close the distance.
Su Yao descended gradually as her aerial assault continued, and just as her feet touched the stone again, Mo Xuan finally moved to intercept rather than simply defend. He closed the gap in a single fluid step, his sword flashing upward in a short, controlled arc aimed at disrupting her stance rather than injuring her outright.
She twisted away, narrowly avoiding the strike, but the movement cost her balance for just a fraction of a second. Mo Xuan capitalised immediately, his blade sweeping low and catching the trailing edge of her robe, pinning it briefly against the stone with the flat of the sword rather than the edge.
Su Yao froze, recognising the position for what it was. Had he wanted to end the exchange with lethal intent, that same motion could easily have opened her leg instead of her robe.
She let out a breath, half-laugh, half-resignation, and raised both hands. "I yield."
Mo Xuan withdrew his sword and offered her a hand up, which she accepted with a small, genuine smile.
The crowd's applause for this match carried a different energy than the previous two — louder, more animated, several disciples already discussing the exchange animatedly among themselves as Su Yao made her way off the platform. It had been, by unanimous unspoken agreement, the most entertaining fight yet.
Elder Kui, both eyes open now, gave a small nod of approval before closing them again.
The final challenger of the day was a tall, broad-shouldered young man who walked onto the stage, confidence radiating off him in waves. He bowed. "Zhao Feng. Level 40, Soul King realm. Cosmic Soul is Bronze Bull. I fight with my fists, and I don't believe in holding back to save face. If Junior Brother finds that too straightforward, I apologise in advance."
"Start."
Zhao Feng charged, and a phantom took shape behind him — an enormous bull, its hide the colour of hammered bronze, two curving horns catching the light as it lowered its head. The ground cracked faintly beneath his boots with every stride. His first strike came in low and fast, a straight punch aimed directly at Mo Xuan's midsection.
Mo Xuan pivoted, letting the punch pass along his side rather than meeting it head-on, and still felt the sheer pressure radiating off the fist as it swept by. Zhao Feng recovered immediately, pulling the punch back into a tight guard and following with a rising elbow aimed squarely at Mo Xuan's jaw.
Mo Xuan leaned back just far enough to let it pass, then answered with a short jab of his own — not with his sword, but with the flat of his palm, catching Zhao Feng's shoulder and redirecting his momentum sideways.
"You want to fight without your sword?" Zhao Feng paused, resetting his stance, genuine curiosity flickering across his face.
"You said you fight with your fists," Mo Xuan replied evenly. "It seemed fair to match that."
Zhao Feng grinned at that, a flash of real pleasure crossing his features, and pressed forward again, this time with a full combination — jab, cross, rising knee, all three chained together with barely a breath of space between them, the bronze bull's horns lowering as though preparing to gore something directly through its user's own fists.
The two of them traded several more exchanges in the same rhythm, Zhao Feng pressing forward relentlessly, refusing to give Mo Xuan a single moment to reset. When he realised he wasn't gaining the upper hand through sheer persistence alone, he bellowed, "Triple Tyrant Fist!"
The bull phantom behind him twisted, its energy swirling and flowing directly into his right fist until the entire limb turned the same deep bronze as the phantom itself. He threw the first punch, and a bronze fist phantom shot forward, tearing straight toward Mo Xuan.
Mo Xuan deflected it —
The second fist was already there, leaving him no time to recover before the next impact.
Believing the first punch had been the strongest of the exchange, Mo Xuan barely had time to recover before he noticed the follow-up already bearing down on him. His hands flashed through a seal, and a defensive rune bloomed into existence.
The barrier had barely stabilised...
Zhao Feng roared, throwing the third fist... An enormous bronze bull appeared.
It charged forward at Mo Xuan in full, its bronze horns lowered as the arena trembled beneath its charge. Mo Xuan activated Cloudwalk Script, weaving through the air to shake it off, but the bull tracked him through every shift in direction, refusing to lose its lock no matter how sharply he turned.
Left with no other option, Mo Xuan spun through another chain of hand seals.
One rune flared to life.
Then another.
Then another.
Golden chains erupted from the glowing scripts, lashing across the arena toward the charging bull.
The instant he succeeded in pinning the bull, the golden chains snapped taut. Mo Xuan used the same movement technique to close the distance to Zhao Feng. Zhao Feng, seeing him closing in for close combat, let out a loud, delighted laugh. "Come on!"