Both lunged at each other, but Tieu Vu moved a notch faster, agile as a cat. Ly Kiet, seeing her dash forward, threw a direct punch straight ahead. The girl nimbly evaded to the right.
Tieu Vu didn't clash head-on; she tilted her body by a hair's breadth, letting the punch graze past her shoulder without making contact. Before Ly Kiet could retract his fist, Tieu Vu pivoted her hips, crossed her steps, and slipped behind his back. In one fluid motion, she leapt.
Her legs locked around Ly Kiet's waist from behind, her arms coiled around his neck, and her entire body weight pressed down, forcing him off balance. The entire sequence happened in the blink of an eye.
Ly Kiet let out an angry roar, his legs planting firmly into the ground. He reached back, trying to grab her, but she was prepared. Tieu Vu tightened her chokehold while using the momentum of his struggling to drive her knee into his back—not a powerful blow, but enough to make him wince.
In that split second, Tieu Vu let go, spun in mid-air, and landed cleanly behind him. As a furious Ly Kiet turned around, Tieu Vu took half a step forward, her bandaged palm striking his shoulder joint, followed by a sweeping kick toward his head.
Just when the crowd thought the match was over, Ly Kiet managed to catch Tieu Vu's leg. A burst of raw weight and pulling force erupted instantly.
Tieu Vu's pupils contracted.
She immediately twisted her body to retract her leg, but Ly Kiet wouldn't let go easily. His muscles bulged as he hoisted her off the ground, reversing the situation and shocking the onlookers. With a powerful swing, Tieu Vu's body was flung aside, slamming into the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs.
Before she could rise, Ly Kiet lunged, pinning her down with his body weight. His hand, like a steel plier, gripped her shoulder, forcing her against the concrete. Tieu Vu gritted her teeth, her hands pushing against the ground as she tried to squirm away, but the strength gap was too vast. Ly Kiet held one leg firm and pinned her shoulder, locking her body.
The next second, the officer's voice rang out decisively: "Stop!"
Ly Kiet panted heavily, his hands trembling slightly from overexertion, before slowly releasing her. Tieu Vu lay on the ground for a few seconds before pushing herself up.
The match was over. It didn't end with absolute dominance, but with a sudden reversal of fortune—a clear lesson that in real combat, a single mistake can turn every prior advantage into nothing.
"Next match. Thuong Sinh versus Minh Thong."
The moment the names were announced, many eyes turned toward the field.
Minh Thong stepped forward. He was nearly 1.8 meters tall, lean but far from weak. On the contrary, the muscles in his arms were well-defined, corded and neat—a type of strength forged through long training rather than sheer bulk. His gaze was steady, his footsteps firm and unhurried. He went straight to the weapon rack and chose a wooden saber. As the hilt touched his hand, the thick blade indicated a focus on explosive power.
Opposite him, Thuong Sinh stepped out. Without hesitation, he walked to the remaining rack and pulled out a wooden sword. The blade was straight, the weight moderate, and the hilt felt familiar in his hand. As he held it, his movements were so natural it looked as if he had done this hundreds of times.
At the exact moment the two took their positions, a very untimely shout echoed from the sidelines.
"Thuong Sinh! Smash him! Show him what a top-tier swordsman looks like—!"
Van Binh's voice thundered across the courtyard. Many people turned to look, their gazes a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Even the officer in green shot him a warning glare.
Standing in the field, wooden sword in hand, the corner of Thuong Sinh's mouth twitched. He didn't turn his head, but in his mind, he was silently "greeting" every relative of that loudmouth roommate.
Minh Thong looked at Thuong Sinh, his eyes narrowing. He didn't smile or speak; he simply lowered his center of gravity, tilting his wooden saber forward.
Two men stood facing each other. One with a saber. One with a sword. The air grew still until the whistle blew.
Both moved instantly. Minh Thong took a massive stride; in a flash, he covered a distance that would take an ordinary person two or three steps. He ran with extreme speed, like a leopard locking onto its prey.
Thuong Sinh was no slouch. Even without using his movement techniques, his natural speed was far beyond an ordinary human. When the distance closed, both raised their weapons and slashed. The wood clashed with a deafening ring.
Crack—!
The dry sound was piercing, the vibration traveling back into their wrists. The saber's edge and the sword's spine were locked for a split second. This was a pure contest of strength from the very first second.
Minh Thong moved first. His wrist twisted sharply, shifting to the right as the wooden blade arched toward Thuong Sinh's face. Thuong Sinh had to retreat half a step, his toes sliding across the concrete to maintain distance. Minh Thong gave him no time to stabilize; he stepped forward again, following through with a downward slash. The second strike flowed from the first, power surging from his hips through his arms. The saber was heavy, pressing down from above.
Thuong Sinh raised his wooden sword to block.
Crack—!
The immense force of the saber made Thuong Sinh's wrist tremble, his feet sinking slightly into the ground. Yet his eyes remained calm. He tilted the sword blade to disperse the force rather than meeting it with raw resistance. Just as Minh Thong prepared to retract his saber to change directions, Thuong Sinh suddenly flicked his wrist. The tip of the sword slid along the saber's body, parrying the attack's trajectory aside.
He didn't advance. Instead, Thuong Sinh proactively backed away, widening the gap.
This action made Minh Thong falter. His opponent had just created a perfect opening—an opportunity to counter-attack or close in for a finishing blow. Yet Thuong Sinh chose to retreat, as if intentionally giving up the advantage.
Minh Thong couldn't understand it.
In truth, Thuong Sinh did this because he didn't want the match to end too quickly. While he could have finished it in one move, this was his first time facing a living person with clear skill, not some thug or a zombie acting on instinct. He was curious to see how far his swordsmanship could go using only skill.
On the sidelines, the officer in green also noticed the abnormality. His eyes never left Thuong Sinh—from the way he held the sword to his rhythmic retreat and the way he yielded the initiative. To an outsider, these details might look like caution, but to a veteran of the battlefield, they meant something else.
"It's not that he can't... he just doesn't want to." The officer narrowed his eyes, his grip on the clipboard tightening slightly.
On the field, Minh Thong had readjusted his stance. His gaze became deathly serious, abandoning his initial aggression. His opponent made him feel uneasy—not due to pressure, but because he couldn't gauge the limit.
Thuong Sinh stood there, his wooden sword lowered slightly. His posture didn't look threatening, but that very calmness made the air around the field grow heavy. After a few seconds of deadlock, Minh Thong didn't strike. The prolonged silence made him even more cautious.
Thuong Sinh realized this. If his opponent wouldn't initiate, he had to move. He lifted his foot—not fast, not slow—just a normal step forward. But as his foot touched the ground, his entire center of gravity shifted. He leaned forward slightly, and the wooden sword nudged up a short distance.
Minh Thong reacted instantly. He lowered his body, drawing the saber back to his side to prepare for a horizontal counter-slash. But Thuong Sinh didn't charge straight in. His second step was a diagonal one, pulling his body to the left as the sword tip vibrated slightly.
Minh Thong bit his tongue, refraining from striking too early. He rotated his body to match Thuong Sinh's rhythm, the distance between them remaining unchanged. No one dared to cross the line.
Then—Thuong Sinh suddenly accelerated.
No shout, no wasted motion. He pushed off his toes, his body gliding forward as the wooden sword drew a clean, straight line aimed at Minh Thong's torso. In that instant, Minh Thong's pupils shrank. He couldn't react in time to dodge, so he gritted his teeth and used the body of his saber to block the strike.
Crack—!
The impact was heavy. Thuong Sinh's direct blow made Minh Thong's arm go numb. The wooden saber was forced back, and his body stumbled half a step. But Thuong Sinh didn't stop. The moment the sword touched the saber, his wrist twisted slightly, the force of the sword tip sliding past like water over a stone.
Before Minh Thong could regain his balance, Thuong Sinh had already stepped in, pressing the wooden sword tip against Minh Thong's sword-wrist. The blow wasn't heavy, but it was incredibly precise. The wooden saber in Minh Thong's hand vibrated violently, nearly flying out of his grip.
He hurriedly pulled his hand back and retreated half a step, his breathing becoming ragged for the first time. His initial composure was gone, replaced by a shock he couldn't hide. He had been forced into a defensive position.
Minh Thong's voice rang out for the first time, raspy from his heavy breathing. "How old are you?"
Thuong Sinh glanced at him with a look of slight confusion but answered anyway. "I'm nineteen. Is there a problem?"
Minh Thong's lips quirked into a complex, indescribable smile. This was the first time someone younger than him had pushed him this far. At his dojo, he was always called a "genius"—the one who improved the fastest, always a level above the rest. But the person before him had shattered that reality. It wasn't envy, but a profound shock. It was as if the wall he believed was his limit had been gently pushed aside.
Minh Thong gripped the hilt of his saber with absolute focus. "Nothing." He took a deep breath and lowered his center further. This time, he would use the technique he was most proud of.
"Shadow Phantom Slash"
All his strength surged into his sword arm. Every fiber of Minh Thong's muscle tensed, his veins bulging. His aura intensified, the invisible pressure making the ground beneath his feet vibrate.
Thuong Sinh clearly felt the surge of energy from his opponent. He gave a faint smile—not out of mockery, but interest. He knew Minh Thong was preparing for a decisive blow. To respect that seriousness, Thuong Sinh stopped holding back.
He slowly raised his wooden sword, the blade vertical, the tip angled slightly forward. He stood perfectly still, his aura gradually retracting. The wind around the field seemed drawn to the wooden sword, silent gusts gathering on the blade.
"Blade Wind"
On a branch outside the courtyard, a green leaf, unable to withstand the harsh sun, snapped from its stem. As the leaf touched the ground—
Both moved at once.
Minh Thong gave a low roar, swinging his arm. His saber-intent unified his entire power into a single downward slash that carried enough weight to crush the air itself.
Thuong Sinh took half a step forward. No dodge, no retreat. He unleashed a single strike with his wooden sword.
Saber and Sword met in an instant so brief the naked eye could barely track it.
CRACK—!!!
A dull thud echoed across the field, a shockwave of air kicking up dust. Everyone held their breath. When the dust settled, the wooden sword was snapped in half, and Minh Thong's wooden saber was splintered and cracked, wood fragments scattered everywhere.
The two stood still, less than an arm's length apart. Minh Thong stared in daze at the broken saber in his hand. In the moment of impact, he had felt it clearly: Thuong Sinh had pulled his strength. If not... that sword would have not only destroyed the wooden saber but pierced straight through him.
A drop of cold sweat rolled down Minh Thong's temple.
Thuong Sinh approached him with a smile. "That saber technique of yours is very strong."
Minh Thong stood frozen, still gripping the broken hilt. Thuong Sinh's words were soft but weighed heavy on his chest. "Very strong..." He smiled bitterly to himself. Because it was strong, he had lost.
The two faced each other, less than an arm's length apart. With the sword snapped and the saber splintered, neither had a functional weapon.
On the sidelines, the officer in green watched the scene for a long time before speaking slowly: "Both weapons are destroyed. Neither side has triumphed over the other. This match is a draw."
As the declaration fell, many around them finally exhaled. The way they looked at Thuong Sinh and Minh Thong was now entirely different. Minh Thong loosened his hand, letting the broken hilt fall. He looked up at Thuong Sinh's back. A draw—but he knew clearly that the gap between them still remained.