Chapter 198: Heroic Gathering (78k)

September 18, the beginning of winter.

As the sun rose, the riverbank was already noisy, everyone heading toward the junction of the Two Rivers.

The riverfront tower ships had shifted position, moving near the river mouth; from their upper decks, one could overlook the dense crowds on shore.

Xie Jinhuan stood at the window of his third-floor sleeping chamber on the tower ship, adjusting his brocade white robe, gazing at the shore—where a platform had been built at the confluence of the Three Rivers.

The platform was called the Sacrificial Dragon Altar, originally a folk site for offering to river deities; now it held seating, surrounded by snow-eagle banners, with several Embroidered Uniform Guards standing nearby, swords at their sides.

Before the platform lay a hundred-zhang-wide open space, with seating arranged along its edges, bearing banners of the Wind Mountain Assembly, Dragon Cloud Valley, and others; over three hundred sect masters and heroic figures had been invited, not counting their disciples and attendants, filling the grounds to capacity. Those without seats—lonely martial artists—crowded the outer edges or stood on the riverfront tower ships, gazing in, their numbers too vast to count.

Nan Gong Ye had been tormented all night; even with a face like an ice mountain, a faint blush still lingered on her cheeks, unmasked. She now adjusted her veil and gown, wrapping her chest tightly to conceal her figure, the skirt deliberately loose—so much so that from outside, she was nearly unrecognizable. She whispered:

“Go in first. I’ll slip in later.”

“Why not just go in together? I have an invitation—why all this sneaking?”

“Some elder masters here know me. Entering together would draw attention—I can’t explain being seen with you.”

Xie Jinhuan didn’t press. He walked toward the outer chamber, brushing past her, and casually pinched her rounded, firm rear.

?!

Nan Gong Ye straightened, her phoenix eyes flashing with sharpness—but seeing the lad bolt out the door, she didn’t chase after him to beat him senseless.

…

Meiqiu kept watch yesterday, got hungry, then went mad, flying to the window like a woodpecker, trying to steal midnight snacks.

Xie Jinhuan was busy then, had no time to take Meiqiu out, and didn’t want her begging on her own, so he locked her in the outer chamber and gave her some dried fish.

Naturally, Meiqiu was angry. When she saw Xie Jinhuan emerge, she flew onto his shoulder and flapped her wings at his head:

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Xie Jinhuan thought this was more like Meiqiu. He patted her head, grabbed his weapon, went down the ship, bought a skewer on the riverbank, fed Meiqiu until she wobbled and cooed cutely, then headed toward the Sacrificial Dragon Altar.

Wei Wuyi convened the Heroic Gathering; the real meeting would be held behind closed doors at the Storm Tower with the major leaders. This open ground was for martial contests and rewarding young talents, to build reputation—because though the younger generation knew his name by heart, most had never seen this Alliance Master.

At the entrance to the Sacrificial Dragon Altar grounds, a path had been cleared by Snow Eagle Ridge disciples; sect masters occasionally entered with their disciples, the surrounding noise never ceasing.

Xie Jinhuan arrived with Meiqiu on his shoulder; Wei Lu, waiting at the entrance, hurried forward and bowed:

“Brother Xie, why come alone? A county marquis should at least bring some retainers…”

Xie Jinhuan returned the bow: “I’m just a junior martial artist, here to watch the spectacle. Too grand a procession would be inappropriate.”

“Brother Xie is too modest. Please, come inside. I heard you’d arrived yesterday and wanted to host a welcome feast—but couldn’t find you…”

…

Wei Lu was Wei Wuyi’s direct grandson; in the capital, he might hold little sway, but in the martial world, he was a true “crown prince.”

The wandering martial artists watching nearby, seeing Wei Lu chatting warmly with a strange white-robed spearman—even with evident reverence—naturally grew puzzled, murmuring among themselves:

“Who’s this young master’s father? Even the Snow Eagle Ridge heir is greeting him personally…”

“So handsome, sword and iron mace at his waist, accompanied by a black eagle… doesn’t he resemble the Dan Yang Young Master from the storytellers’ tales?”

“It must be him! They say this young master is terrifying—cuts down anyone he sees, a hundred lives on his blade in a month…”

“He’s the former lover of the former Empress Guo of Northern Zhou?”

“Yes. Rumor has it the Prince of Dan wants to take him as a son-in-law…”

“Zi Hui Mountain wants him too—plans to marry off their heir, Princess Changning, and the direct disciple of Lady Nan Gong…”

“Tsk tsk tsk~ Truly enviable. But why doesn’t he pursue Lady Nan Gong?”

“Exactly! Why reject the elder and chase the younger?”

…

The murmurs grew louder.

Xie Jinhuan pushed through the crowd. He’d felt a touch of “seize the joy of triumph,” but as he walked, that feeling faded. He muttered inwardly:

I’ve killed my way from Dan Yang to Jingzhao—you all just gossip?

Do I not want to pursue my dream bride?

I just haven’t seen her!

…

Worse still, bold martial women in the crowd began teasing him:

“Young Master Xie~ Look this way!”

“Oh my~ So cold-hearted. After sampling the Empress and the Princess, you look down on us humble martial women…”

…

Wei Lu, rushing to greet him, hadn’t expected these martial freelancers to ignore all righteous deeds and fixate only on gossip. He felt awkward:

“Brother Xie, ignore them. The martial world is like this. Please, come inside.”

“No matter.”

Xie Jinhuan paid no mind to these blunt truths, followed Wei Lu into the grounds, and sat at a tea table near the edge, surrounded by well-known wandering martial artists.

He didn’t know any of them, so he didn’t greet anyone. After Wei Lu went to greet other guests, Xie Jinhuan sat sipping tea, while Meiqiu gazed curiously around.

In moments, a black-clad female martial artist wearing a veil slipped quietly up, sat behind him on an empty chair, eyes straight ahead, pretending not to recognize him.

Xie Jinhuan found it amusing. In public, he couldn’t touch the ice block, so he scanned the sea of people, searching for the legendary martial heroes he’d heard of since childhood.

But as his gaze swept the crowd, he didn’t recognize the Seven Martial Titans—instead, he noticed several ladies and female martial artists walking near the Sacrificial Dragon Altar.

Though he’d never met them before, Xie Jinhuan recognized them at once: Wei Lu’s mother-in-law, his senior sister…

?

Gui Xi appeared just in time, leaning against the chair back, lifting her crystal ball in her left hand—clearly intending to help him replay the scene.

Xie Jinhuan thought this was utterly inappropriate, and quickly raised his hand:

“No, no, no…”

Nan Gong Ye, pretending to be invisible behind him, saw him suddenly raise his hand to refuse, and looked confused:

“What are you doing?”

“Uh… Meiqiu wants to flap me. Nothing.”

“Gujii?”

Meiqiu, perched on the armrest striking a pose, turned her head in shock—then obediently flapped her wings at his head.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

“….”

Nan Gong Ye’s gaze was like that of someone watching a mischievous child—she didn’t know what to say, turned her head away, and simply scanned the grounds, waiting for the host to appear.

But when Wei Wuyi made his first public appearance in twenty years, it truly startled everyone!

…

Tens of thousands of martial artists gathered at Sanjiangkou; sect masters and elite disciples whispered among themselves, their noise drowning even the roaring river.

Xie Jinhuan sat upright, exchanging secret glances with Gui Xi, enjoying himself—when suddenly, autumn wind swept across the riverbank:

Whoosh~

The wind came abruptly, like a “downburst,” plummeting from the sky and crashing onto the vast earth, bringing a chilling, deadly aura—its pressure felt like a sword point aimed at the brow, sending shivers down the spine!

The noisy crowd fell silent in an instant. Everyone turned, bewildered, searching for the source—feeling as if an invisible dragon-serpent glided above, surveying the ants below!

Xie Jinhuan’s expression grew serious. He frowned upward, then scanned left and right:

“What is this?”

Nan Gong Ye was also startled—she knew Wei Wuyi had appeared, but couldn’t locate him.

Ye Hongshang, perched on the chair back in high heels, expression calm:

“A Dragon Soaring cultivator. His aura’s decent.”

Decent?

Xie Jinhuan felt this pressure was like one man standing as an entire army—thousands of soldiers before him would be thrown into chaos.

The supreme martial realm was “Shatter Demons”; above that came Dragon Soaring.

“Dragon Soaring” originally meant majestic spirit—but the term itself referred to an actual, tangible “deadly aura,” capable of shaking souls and terrifying spirits, equivalent to a massive-scale “Shatter Demons” effect.

Its effect: those with shallow cultivation trembled like deer before lions or tigers; evil spirits and ghosts dared not show themselves.

Wei Wuyi’s opening display was clearly telling the young ones present: this is why the Southern martial world chose him as Alliance Master.

The martial guests and young sect masters who had been smirking now realized—Wei Wuyi was no frivolous rogue from “The Romantic Tales of Wei Wuyi,” but a towering, perilous peak in the martial world. Merely standing below him, gazing up, was their life’s fortune.

As Sanjiangkou fell into complete silence, the pressure gradually faded.

Ten thousand people exhaled in relief—then noticed a figure standing alone on the Sacrificial Dragon Altar, one hand behind his back, silent, unobtrusive—as if he’d always been there, and only now became visible.

Xie Jinhuan turned his gaze: the man wore a black robe, back straight, eyebrows sharp, eyes fierce like a tiger’s, face no older than forty or fifty—more like Wei Lu’s father than his grandfather. His voice was calm:

“I, Wei, lead the Southern Alliance, yet have not traveled far in years. Many martial heroes no longer recognize me. If I’ve been remiss in hospitality, please forgive me…”

His voice, strong and resonant, reached every ear.

The last time Wei Wuyi appeared publicly, Xie Jinhuan hadn’t been born; Nan Gong Ye hadn’t become sect master. Twenty years was enough for ordinary sects to replace a generation—most here were seeing Wei Wuyi for the first time.

Xie Jinhuan had met Lu Wu, so this appearance didn’t surprise him. But the martial crowd murmured in disbelief:

“So young?”

“I thought he’d be a Company Commander…”

“The highest realm ages fastest; above and below, one stays young…”

…

Wei Wuyi knew why the young ones had come to pay homage. After two polite remarks, he got to the point:

“Martial arts train killing techniques, but their goal is ‘to use martial skill to uphold justice.’ Without justice, martial skill is no path; without martial skill, justice cannot accomplish great deeds.”

Wei Mou was elected as alliance leader by the heroes of Daqian. Seeing the court and countryside overrun by demons and the hundred schools locked in endless infighting, yet having accomplished little to this day, I am truly ashamed.

But fortunately, the martial world always sees new generations replace the old; what Wei Mou could not accomplish, others will surely achieve in time. As alliance leader, it is my duty to inspire the younger generation.

Therefore, on this gathering of heroes, I offer a Tiger Bone Vine to the victor. Martial arts uphold ‘No Second in Martial Skill’—do not accuse Wei Mou of being stingy.

The Tiger Bone Vine is a celestial treasure for breaking through the Supergrade. Everyone here covets it; had Supergrade cultivators not been barred from competing against juniors, even more masters would have shown up. Upon hearing this, many martial artists’ eyes burned with eagerness.

Wei Wu Yi scanned the sea of people and continued: “I’ve done nothing for decades and wish to see what kind of talent the new generation of Daqian has. Which young friend will be the first to step onto the stage?”

The gathering was filled with elite warriors, none of whom were easy targets, all aiming for the Supergrade entry ticket.

But being first to fight brings the most spotlight—and the greatest risk of becoming cannon fodder. Most preferred to observe the situation first.

Nan Gong Ye, seeing this, wished to whisper to Xie Jin Huan about how to approach this match.

But he saw Meiqiu, crouched on the chair, flapping her wings and tapping Xie Jin Huan on the back of the head:

“Gū jī!”

Xie Jin Huan did not disappoint Meiqiu—he rose, spear in hand:

“I’ll give it a try.”

His clear voice rang out, and every martial artist in the hall turned their heads.

Nan Gong Ye was stunned, wanting to pull this brat back—but it was too late. Murmurs already rippled through the crowd:

“Who’s this young man? What courage…”

“Uses a spear—Zhang Jian of Liuhe Gate?”

“Liuhe Gate is seated up there—that’s the Immortal’s section…”

…

Xie Jin Huan had captured “demon bandits” in Wei Wu Yi’s town yesterday; Wei Lu had pointed him out backstage. Wei Wu Yi clearly recognized him, but in such a setting, he still asked formally:

“Young friend, who are you?”

Xie Jin Huan stepped to the center of the arena, bowed with a martial salute:

“Xie Jin Huan of Danyang.”

The sect masters seated around him were no deaf men to the world; upon hearing the name, their eyes widened in surprise.

Duan Yuechou of Fengshan Society, seated second and ranked second in martial arts, gave him a quick appraisal:

“Whose disciple is this lad?”

Long Poyuan, leaning back in his chair nearby, replied:

“Unknown, but no reputation is without foundation. No one will dare step up now.”

And indeed, Long Poyuan’s prediction proved correct.

After Xie Jin Huan announced his name, Wei Wu Yi scanned the once-eager warriors:

“Young Xie has achieved remarkable feats recently in the Jingzhao Prefecture. Though a new face in martial arts, his abilities are surely known to you all. Who among you will step forward?”

The major sects exchanged glances—no one moved. None wished to waste their own match just to test Xie Jin Huan’s depth.

Xie Jin Huan held his spear slanted toward the ground, waited a moment, then issued a taunt:

“If you all have only this much courage, then there’s no need to compete. Warriors seek ‘no one before them.’ The Tiger Bone Vine is not meant for those who hide behind others, waiting for opportunity.” “Huh…”

The scattered martial artists watching outside agreed: true fame bears no false weight. Such courage alone was terrifying.

The top disciples of the major sects, provoked by Xie Jin Huan’s words, wanted to step up—but their senior mentors held them back.

At the edge of the arena, on the Jinghua Mountain Villa’s seat, the young master Bao Fei spotted his old enemy and turned crimson. He leaned close to his father’s ear:

“This lad fought me before—he’s strong, yes, but only barely. With your cultivation, even his finest technique won’t overcome raw power…”

Bao Xiaolin, over sixty, broad-shouldered and with temples streaked white, had cultivated through sheer years.

Though “no reputation is without foundation,” Xie Jin Huan was barely twenty—surely not yet entered the Top Grade?

Even if he had entered the Top Grade, he couldn’t possibly be at its peak?

Bao Xiaolin, though mediocre in talent, had finally cultivated his way to strength—and he too hoped to win.

Others had no grudge against Xie Jin Huan. But his son had been beaten into vomiting three sheng of blood. Now, face-to-face on the arena, he had no choice but to step forward. He picked up his side sword and rose.

The watching martial artists, seeing Jinghua Mountain Villa stir, began to mock:

“You, Bao Fei? You think you’ll crush Xie Jin Huan by name alone?”

“Hey! That’s a cruel mouth you’ve got…”

…

But when they saw who stepped forward, the crowd erupted again:

“Bao Xiaolin himself?”

“Sixty-something counts as a young disciple? This is elder bullying youth!”

“In Wei’s eyes, sixty is still young…”

…

Wei Wu Yi didn’t know the youth, but he knew Bao Xiaolin well.

He’d even seen Bao Xiaolin fight on this very stage twenty years ago—and now felt the pang of “things remain, but people change”:

“Master Bao, twenty years since we last met—you’ve aged.”

Bao Xiaolin stepped into the arena, bowed:

“I, Bao, am mediocre, unlike Elder Wei. If I lose today, I won’t be around to see the next Hero Gathering.”

Wei Wu Yi said nothing inappropriate, merely raised his hand slightly:

“Gentlemen, begin.”

As his words faded, Sanjiangkou fell silent—save for the thunderous crash of stone cliffs smashing into the great river:

Boom… boom… boom…

Bao Xiaolin stood firm, blade in hand, studying the white-robed spearman across from him:

“A single blade against a spear isn’t an advantage—it balances the age gap. Master Xie wounded my son in Danyang. Today, we settle this old debt.”

Xie Jin Huan remembered Jinghua Mountain Villa clearly because of “Bao Fei.”

Seeing the son’s insolence met with punishment, and now the father came to settle accounts, Xie Jin Huan said nothing. He planted his spear in the ground, unfastened his twin weapons, and beckoned to Wei Lu with a finger.

Wei Lu, watching from beneath the Sacrificial Dragon Altar, saw Xie Jin Huan’s commanding stance and thought:

A true man should be like this…

Seeing the gesture, Wei Lu understood. He unsheathed his waist knife and tossed it over.

Whoosh~

The sect masters watching were stunned:

“Using a blade against a blade? This lad is too arrogant…”

“If you’re not bold in youth, when will you be?”

“Can he even stand against Bao Xiaolin?”

…

Bao Xiaolin, seeing Xie Jin Huan switch weapons, also showed surprise:

“Master Xie—do you refuse advantage, or do you not take me seriously?”

Xie Jin Huan caught the blade, expression calm:

“I merely wish to spare you the bitterness of losing to weapon skill rather than martial artistry.”

“…”

Most spectators hadn’t yet grasped the meaning.

But Bao Xiaolin gave a slight nod—he understood. He was not being taken seriously. Xie Jin Huan intended to humiliate him, leaving him no excuse for defeat.

Words were done. No more needed.

Bao Xiaolin stepped back, gripped his hilt, and his aura stabilized instantly. Though his temples were white, his whole body coiled like a crouching tiger, ready to strike.

Xie Jin Huan’s tone was bold, but he was not careless. Feet apart, he drew his blade upright before his center, left hand resting on the spine—his stance as steady as a coiled dragon.

The martial artists watching fell silent, holding their breath.

All were experts—they could already guess how this fight would unfold, just from their stances.

Above Top Grade, martial artists’ defensive aura blocked sword qi and blade winds. Only direct flesh-to-flesh, blade-to-blood contact could wound.

Thus, combat reverted to the most primal state of martial arts.

Close-quarters combat tested martial skill above all—this was why even demonic cultivators with half-grade superior bodies still lost to top martial artists.

The martial artist’s body was merely the foundation. The “art” in martial art was the core forged through countless trials.

Jinghua Mountain Villa’s ancestral blade technique was “Thunderclap Blade”—its opening strike swift as thunder, powerful beyond measure, a hallmark of brutal strength. It seized initiative; one hit meant a chain of follow-ups.

Xie Jin Huan’s stance was unusual—balanced offense and defense, no distinct school style, adapted to respond after the opponent moved.

Against Thunderclap Blade’s initiative, he was theoretically at a disadvantage.

But against superior strength, matching initiative was unwise. Yet if he survived the initial onslaught, his counterattack space would be far greater.

Both stood firm. Sanjiangkou fell utterly still. All eyes locked on them.

Seeing Xie Jin Huan adopt a defensive posture, Bao Xiaolin guessed he intended to use the same Body of Invincibility he’d used against his son.

That technique countered brute force. Bao Xiaolin searched for openings—but Xie Jin Huan was a stone, offering no gap. He had no choice but to strike head-on.

After a brief pause, Bao Xiaolin shifted his foot slightly:

Clang—

Blade flashed from its sheath, slicing a line of white lightning!

Of those present, nine out of ten had barely registered the motion before Bao Xiaolin leapt forward, silver blade trailing behind, appearing before Xie Jin Huan, blade aimed at his waist with all his strength.

Xie Jinhuan didn’t react strongly; as Bao Xiaolin struck, he pulled his right foot back to brace his body and pressed his left hand against the blade.

Clang—

The two blades met, the clash of metal echoing across the Jiang shore!

Bao Xiaolin unleashed a full-power slash, trying to overpower his opponent with brute force and knock him down.

Raw qi surged outward; the grass behind Xie Jinhuan was instantly torn into a fan-shaped wave of earth, and his entire body slid backward several zhang!

But Xie Jinhuan clamped both hands on the blade, his sliding form like a coiled dragon anchored to its post—shoulders, back, and lower body utterly still!

With one strike, Bao Xiaolin realized this youth had definitely entered the First Rank, and his foundation was as unshakable as a beast’s—his limbs could not be moved at all.

But if he could force the opponent back, the opponent would struggle to root himself firmly to the ground.

Bao Xiaolin didn’t miss the chance to drive his foe back; he stomped forward, spinning his body as he charged, his great blade whipping up a storm of dust:

“Hah—!”

Before Xie Jinhuan’s slide could stop, another heavy slash, no weaker in force, struck the blade again.

Clang—

Xie Jinhuan stood as solid as a boulder, merely adjusting the angle of his single blade, bracing it like a dragon Henggang across a ridge!

Clang clang clang clang—

Sparks flew everywhere in the arena!

In an instant, the once-calm Sanjiangkou erupted into a fierce wind of blades and towering clouds of dust!

Bao Xiaolin’s momentum surged like a ferocious tiger; his slashes came in relentless succession, nine strikes hammering the single blade, each explosion deafening. From afar, he looked like a mad tiger, wrapped in biting blade-winds, plowing a trench over a zhang wide across the yellow earth, charging straight to the arena’s edge.

Xie Jinhuan never stopped sliding backward—even his speed increased—but his stance remained largely unchanged; he merely adjusted the angle of his blade with lightning speed, bracing every brutal slash with flawless defense.

The Seven Martial Titans seated around the Jilong Terrace, watching this, knew Bao Xiaolin was in trouble.

Xie Jinhuan seemed chased, but his body stood firm as a boulder—so long as he wasn’t knocked down, he absorbed every strike of Leidong Dao.

As long as Bao Xiaolin couldn’t find an opening to strike his torso, he was merely chopping stone. Once his stamina reached its limit, he’d have no chance to recover or reset—inevitably inviting counterattack.

Xie Jinhuan adopted a defensive stance, needing no dodging or shifting—only adjusting his posture to meet the next heavy blow. If he still made a mistake under these conditions, he shouldn’t have lived this long.

Clang clang clang—

Bao Xiaolin poured all his strength into his strike, realizing his opponent stood as immovable as a mountain—he couldn’t crush him in one burst. He sensed his body nearing exhaustion; after one slash, he leaped violently backward, trying to create distance—but at that moment:

Boom—

Xie Jinhuan stomped forward with both feet, moving like a shadow, both hands swinging his blade in a full horizontal slash:

“Hah—”

His roar echoed like thunder!

Bao Xiaolin’s feet had barely touched the ground when the sweeping slash was already before him—he instantly raised his blade to block—

Clang—

The single blade struck like a mighty dragon’s tail, slamming into the blade’s edge; raw, overwhelming force surged through Bao Xiaolin’s arms, shaking his entire torso and organs!

Bao Xiaolin lacked the Dragon’s Anchor stance to stabilize his body; as a martial cultivator, his lower body was naturally firm, but the instant he raised his blade to block, his palms split open, blood gushing—he slid backward over a zhang, tried to counter, but alas:

Clang clang clang—

Xie Jinhuan unleashed his full qi, striking with the same pattern as Leidong Dao—though his technique differed, his force was no weaker, and his speed was terrifying!

Bao Xiaolin raised his blade to block, with no chance to counter; after a few strikes, he was pushed back from the trench he’d just carved!

Normally, when a martial cultivator unleashed full power, his momentum would eventually exhaust his limbs and meridians, leading to decline from peak to exhaustion—then he’d become vulnerable to counterattacks.

Bao Xiaolin, with nothing but mortal flesh, had endured the dragon’s charge; his arm muscles and meridians were shattered, his palms bleeding profusely, yet he gritted his teeth and held on, desperate for even a sliver of opening.

But soon, Xie Jinhuan made everyone in the arena understand what “donkey-like persistence” truly meant!

Clang clang clang…

Under the eyes of tens of thousands, only blinding blade-light and rolling yellow dust remained—suddenly, the entire arena was pierced, reaching the seats of a sect.

The disciples of the watching Sect Masters leapt away in panic, fearing they’d be cut down by the wind.

But sadly, Bao Xiaolin didn’t last that long.

Bao Xiaolin had reached his limit; Xie Jinhuan’s assault surged like a tide, showing no sign of pulling back.

Seeing both arms and lungs shattered, another mountain-splitting slash descended—he knew one more strike would send him flying, and the next would end his martial path forever—he gritted his teeth and roared:

“Hold!”

His shout made every Sect Master in attendance flinch!

Hum—

Xie Jinhuan’s dual-blade assault surged like a tide, appearing utterly fierce and unrestrained—but in truth, his techniques hadn’t been fully expended.

Seeing Bao Xiaolin could no longer endure and surrendered, the downward slash he’d charged to its peak halted mid-air with no warning.

The single blade, still carrying immense momentum and qi, was abruptly arrested; its three-foot blade vibrated violently, nearly turning into noodles—as if it had struck invisible steel. Had the blade been of inferior quality, it would have shattered on the spot.

Normally, such a sudden stop would injure the meridians and muscles—but Xie Jinhuan’s arms remained as steady as dragon-serpents, forcibly halting the slash mid-motion, his body freezing instantly into a boulder.

Because the stop was so extreme, Bao Xiaolin didn’t even react—he had raised his blade, bracing for the coming blow, but the blade never came. Instead, he stumbled forward, then froze, his eyes wide with shock!

The Seven Martial Titans had watched calmly at first; after all, both were merely parrying and countering—no glaring flaws, but nothing spectacular either. Many in the crowd with decent foundations could match this level.

But that final sudden stop was excessive.

Stopping a blade mid-swing implies holding back one-third of the force, not fully committing—this was normal.

But Xie Jinhuan had halted a dual-handed downward slash mid-air—as if striking something immovable—so violently that the blade itself vibrated and hummed. Any ordinary weapon would have snapped at the guard. How did his arms withstand it?

First-rank martial cultivators in the crowd admitted: if they tried this, they might stop the blade—but their arm muscles would surely tear or rupture.

Even if a Super Rank used the same force, stopping it would be difficult. Of the tens of thousands present, only the Seven Martial Titans could control such a feat.

Xie Jinhuan looked like he’d just entered the First Rank—yet his physique bordered on demonic, paired with flawless combat technique. Against scattered First-rank fighters, this was outright bullying.

No wonder he dared come to Sanjiangkou to seize opportunity—his foundation truly had a chance…

Silence filled the arena, inside and out—until moments later, murmurs began:

“Whoa…”

Bao Xiaolin, during the fight, had only felt crushing pressure—but now, seeing the blade halted mid-air, Xie Jinhuan’s body as steady as a boulder, untouched by backlash, his eyes turned to disbelief. After a long pause, he reversed his blade and stepped back several paces, bowing in martial courtesy:

“Young Master Xie, your skill is extraordinary. Thank you.”

“Your courtesy.”

Xie Jinhuan’s slash had worsened Bao Xiaolin’s injuries by a third—but this was a contest, not a duel; to subdue was enough. He returned the bow, then flicked his wrist, spinning a blade flourish—his long sword vanished into its sheath in an instant:

Sss sss sss…

Clang—

His fluid, effortless demeanor, paired with his cold, noble aura, made many female heroes and ladies’ hearts skip a beat!

Wei Lu had practiced the sheathing technique for over a month, convinced he’d mastered it—yet now he realized he still had much to learn…

Nan Gong Ye, seeing this elegant bearing, stirred slightly in her gaze.

But remembering how this youth had acted in her chambers, she quickly quelled the flutter in her heart…

—

Requesting monthly votes~

Two and a half chapters merged—consider this a monthly vote bonus!

Just finished writing; tomorrow’s chapter isn’t started yet—it might be late, since typing takes time. Please understand!

(End of Chapter)