The crowd was still buzzing from Long Chen's brutal victory when Elder Gan called the next match.
"Number 14! To the platform!"
Dugu Jian stepped forward.
The Young Clan Master moved with the same casual grace he'd shown earlier, hands still clasped behind his back. His opponent—a Stage 6 outer disciple—looked confident, a smirk on his face.
Long Chen watched from the sidelines, arms crossed.
The match began.
Jian's opponent attacked immediately, launching a flurry of sword strikes that looked impressive to the untrained eye. His blade moved fast, each strike flowing into the next with practiced precision.
Jian sidestepped. Once. Twice. Three times. His movements were minimal, efficient, almost lazy.
Then he countered.
A single palm strike, delivered with perfect timing, sent his opponent stumbling backward. Before the disciple could recover, Jian closed the distance and swept his legs out from under him.
The disciple hit the ground hard.
"Yield," Jian said calmly.
The disciple yielded immediately.
The crowd applauded politely. It was a clean victory, technically sound, showing considerable skill.
But compared to Dugu Shenlie's overwhelming speed or Dugu Feng's flawless precision, it looked… ordinary.
Long Chen's eyes narrowed.
'He's treating this as a joke'
Dugu Jian had Sword Intent, peak Qi Gathering Realm. He could've ended that fight in three seconds if he wanted to. Instead, he'd drawn it out, made it look like effort.
'Why?' The thought gnawed at Long Chen as Jian descended the platform and returned to his position near the pavilion.
Long Chen's next two matches came quickly.
The first opponent was a Stage 4 disciple with a spear. He charged aggressively, trying to use reach advantage.
Long Chen didn't draw Demon Dweller. He just sidestepped, caught the spear shaft mid-thrust, and drove his palm into the man's chest. Sword Aura flared. The impact lifted the disciple off his feet and sent him crashing into the barrier.
One move. Five seconds.
The crowd murmured louder this time.
His second opponent was smarter—a Stage 5 swordsman who kept his distance, probing for openings.
Long Chen gave him ten seconds before closing in with Phantom Step. The disciple's eyes widened. He tried to block, but Long Chen's strike came from an angle he didn't expect. Sword Aura cut through his guard like it wasn't there.
The man yielded before hitting the ground.
Another single-move victory.
Whispers spread through the stands like wildfire.
"Dark horse."
"Stage 5 but fights like Stage 7."
"Where did he come from?"
Elder Gan announced the end of the first round. Twenty-four participants had been reduced to twelve. The second round would be different.
"Challengers may now issue formal challenges," Elder Gan declared. "Victory grants advancement. Defeat means elimination."
The crowd leaned forward. This was where grudges were settled, where rivalries became public.
Long Chen's hand rested on Demon Dweller's hilt. He was about to step forward when—
"I challenge Dugu Jian!"
The voice rang out across the courtyard, sharp and angry.
Dugu Feng stood at the edge of the platform, his expression cold, his eyes locked on the Young Clan Master.
The crowd went silent.
Jian turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Second Brother. Are you sure?"
"Don't call me that," Feng snapped. He stepped onto the platform, his sword already drawn. "You're not fit to be Young Clan Master. A 1st-rank martial spirit? Pathetic. The clan deserves better."
Jian's expression didn't change. If anything, he looked… bored.
"You think you're strong because Father favors you," Feng continued, his voice rising. "But talent speaks louder than politics. I'm Qi Gathering Stage 8. You're barely holding on to stage 4. And my martial spirit is 4th-rank. Yours?" He sneered. "Trash."
The elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats. This kind of public challenge between direct bloodline members was rare. Dangerous, even.
The Clan Master said nothing. He just watched with an unreadable expression.
Jian sighed softly. "Are you done?"
Feng's face twisted with rage. "I'll show you what real strength looks like!"
His aura exploded outward—Qi Gathering Stage 8, dense and powerful. Spiritual pressure rolled across the platform like a wave. Disciples in the stands stumbled back from the sheer force of it.
Feng charged.
His sword came down in a vertical slash infused with qi, fast and brutal. The strike carried enough force to split stone.
Jian raised two fingers.
Clang.
The sword stopped dead. Jian had caught the blade between his fingers, halting its momentum completely.
Feng's eyes widened. "What—"
Jian flicked his wrist. The sword flew from Feng's hand, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the platform twenty meters away.
Feng didn't stop. He abandoned the weapon and attacked with his bare hands, launching a series of palm strikes and kicks that blurred together.
Jian dodged every single one. His movements were minimal, precise, almost casual. He didn't counter. Didn't strike back. Just evaded, his hands still behind his back.
Long Chen watched, transfixed.
'He's toying with him.'
Feng attacked faster, desperation creeping into his movements. His qi flared wildly, unstable, burning through his reserves.
"You're wasting energy," Jian said calmly.
Feng roared and threw a full-power palm strike at Jian's chest.
Jian caught his wrist mid-strike. Then he countered.
A single finger strike to Feng's shoulder. The impact sent a shockwave through the platform.
Feng stumbled back, clutching his arm.
Jian yawned. Actually yawned.
Then he swiped his hand through the air.
A crescent-shaped arc of light shot forward, thin and deadly. It moved faster than Feng could react.
The attack struck Feng's chest and sent him flying backward. Blood sprayed from a shallow cut across his torso.
The crowd gasped.
The elders stood.
Long Chen's breath caught.
'Sword Aura.'
Not just Sword Aura. Sword Aura projected without a weapon. That was beyond the first stage. That was mastery edging toward Intent.
Feng hit the ground hard, coughing blood. He tried to stand, failed, and collapsed again.
Jian walked toward him slowly. "You said I'm not fit to be Young Clan Master. That I'm trash"
He stopped a meter away and looked down at his half-brother.
"But that trash just defeated you, doesn't that make you worse than trash?"
Another slash. This one opened a cut across Feng's shoulder. Then another across his leg. Each strike precise, controlled, meant to wound but not kill.
After the fifth strike, Feng finally gasped out, "I yield!"
Jian stopped. He looked at Feng for a long moment, then turned and walked off the platform without another word.
Feng lay there, bleeding, humiliated.
As Jian descended the steps, his eyes met Long Chen's across the courtyard.
He nodded once.
Long Chen nodded back.
The crowd was still reeling when Long Chen stepped forward.
"I challenge Dugu Shenlie!"
The murmurs stopped. Every head turned toward him.
Shenlie stood near the pavilion, arms crossed, his expression shifting from surprise to amusement.
"You?" Shenlie laughed. "You think you can challenge me?"
"I know you sent the assassins," Long Chen said loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "You tried to have me killed in the Fallen Dragon Mountains."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Shenlie's smile didn't waver. "So what? You have no proof."
"I don't need to." Long Chen stepped onto the platform. "I'll just settle it here."
Shenlie's expression darkened. He walked onto the platform slowly, his hand resting on his sword. "You've gotten arrogant, trash. A little cultivation goes to your head and now you think you're someone?"
"We'll see."
Elder Gan looked between them, then raised his hand. "Begin!"
Shenlie attacked immediately.
His sword moved in a blur, each strike faster than the last. Qi Gathering Stage 6, fully unleashed. His blade carved through the air with killing intent, aimed directly at Long Chen's throat.
Long Chen sidestepped. The blade missed by inches.
Shenlie pivoted and slashed horizontally. Long Chen ducked. Phantom Step carried him backward, creating distance.
"Stand still!" Shenlie snarled.
He unleashed a technique—Three Mountain Slash. Three overlapping strikes that came from different angles simultaneously.
Long Chen blocked the first. Dodged the second. Caught the third with Sword Aura coating his fingers.
The blade stopped dead.
Shenlie's eyes widened. "You—"
Long Chen twisted his wrist and ripped the sword from Shenlie's grip. It clattered across the platform.
Shenlie stumbled back, disarmed, his face pale.
"You wanted to kill me," Long Chen said quietly. He stepped forward. "Multiple times. The assassins weren't enough. So you kept trying."
"I don't know what you're—"
Long Chen's hand shot out, wrapped around Shenlie's throat, and lifted him off the ground.
"Admit it."
Shenlie choked, clawing at Long Chen's hand. "Fine! Yes! I sent them! You were an eyesore! A rootless servant who should've died years ago! How dare you covet yan'er?"
The crowd erupted in shocked whispers.
Long Chen's expression didn't change. "Thank you for the honesty."
He released Shenlie's throat.
Then his fingers, coated in Sword Aura, stabbed forward.
Straight into Shenlie's dantian.
The technique pierced through protective qi like paper. Long Chen felt the core inside—swirling, dense, powerful—and crushed it.
Shenlie screamed.
The sound echoed across the entire courtyard, raw and agonizing. His cultivation base shattered, spiritual energy hemorrhaging from the wound in his dantian.
Long Chen pulled his hand back and stepped away.
Shenlie collapsed, clutching his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers. His aura flickered once, twice, then vanished entirely.
Crippled.
The crowd stared in stunned silence.
Long Chen turned toward the elder's pavilion, waiting for intervention.
None came.
The elders sat frozen, their eyes wide, mouths slightly open. Not one of them moved to stop him. Not one of them called for punishment.
Because they'd just witnessed something impossible.
Two members of the younger generation. Both considered trash in their own ways. Both wielding Sword Aura.
Dugu Jian with his 1st-rank martial spirit.
Long Chen, formerly rootless. Without a martial spirit
And both of them had demonstrated it in the span of minutes.
All eyes turned to the sword master, as this was his son that had just been crippled
The Clan Master leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled.
"Fists and swords have no eyes," Dugu Han said calmly. "Accidents happen in duels. Continue."
The dismissal was clear. Shenlie's fate didn't matter. His crippled cultivation didn't matter.
What mattered was potential. And Long Chen had just shown he had it.
Long Chen descended the platform, ignoring the whispers, the stares, the weight of shock pressing down on the entire gathering.
Shenlie was dragged off by servants, still screaming.
The challenges continued.
But everyone was waiting. Waiting for the inevitable.
The fight between the two Sword Aura users.
The rootless servant and the 1st-rank genius.
Long Chen and Dugu Jian.