"What the hell just happened?"
The voice cut through the Martial Hall — sharp, shaken, and loud enough to draw a few glances.
Up in the higher rows, the group of inner court disciples were no longer lounging with lazy eyes or folded arms. Their expressions had changed completely — some still staring at the platform, some blinking hard like they'd missed something they weren't supposed to.
"I—I saw the opening," one of them stammered. "The first few exchanges… clean parries, nothing special—then…"
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Did you see the final strike?" another asked, his voice low.
"No. I saw the sword move, but… after that, it was just—done."
"Impossible," a third muttered, his arms still crossed but his brows furrowed. "There's no way a Body Tempering outer disciple should be able to move like that. It was too fast. No buildup. No qi fluctuation. Just—flash—and down."
One of them leaned forward, eyes locked on the stage below where Meng Lu still hadn't gotten up.
"That wasn't swordplay," he said slowly. "That was something else entirely."
"He's only fifteen," someone else added, as if trying to ground the conversation. "Just a no-name mortal from some village, isn't he?"
"But you saw that," came the reply. "He summoned his sword from a storage ring. His strikes were abnormally clean. Like he knew exactly where Meng Lu would falter even before it happened."
The disbelief settled between them like a fog. Every instinct they had about outer court strength, about the difference between their realm and the one below, had just been shaken — by a boy who hadn't even released a hint of qi.
On the other side — middle rows, Ling Ruxin remained seated, her back straight, her fingers gently resting against her sleeve.
She had expected something strange, something impressive.
But not this, She know that Lao Xie's strength far surpassed any outer disciple. But she just can't stop from gotten surprised from Lao Xie.
Her eyes hadn't left the stage even once, yet even she hadn't caught the exact moment of the final attack.
One blink — and it was over.
"...That speed," she thought, her lips pressed into a faint line.
No sound, no warning, no energy rising beforehand — just one flash of steel, and the fight was sealed.
Her brows lowered ever so slightly.
"I still can't sense his cultivation…" she whispered. "No qi fluctuations either… Is he really unable to cultivate? Or is his control so refined that even the ripple of qi can't be noticed?"
That wasn't just talent. That wasn't luck or a clever angle. It was precision — honed, unshakable, and absolutely unnatural for someone still in the Body Tempering realm…
"I can't connect the missing dots…" she thought again, unsettled by these facts.
Even if most of the inner disciples present were only in the early stages of Qi Refinement — herself included — it was still an impressive feat to outspeed their perception. Those in a higher major realm typically possessed sharper awareness, greater sensory range… and yet this time, a Body Tempering outer disciple had moved faster than any of them could follow.
That alone meant something was wrong.
"There's only two conclusions from this," one of the inner disciples suddenly said, slowly regaining composure after the earlier shock.
"First — and the obvious one — he's a genius among geniuses. A heaven-gifted monster whose talent allows him to outclass anyone in or above his realm."
"That's impossible," someone cut in. "Don't forget, he's that infamous 'little mortal' from the records."
"Shut up. You still believe that nonsense after everything we just saw?" another snapped. "This is already his second match — and both times, he didn't just win, he dominated. We weren't here for the first, but now we've seen it for ourselves. That final strike… none of us even caught it."
"Which brings us to the second conclusion," the first speaker continued. "He's stronger than all of us — and hiding his cultivation base."
"He doesn't show any qi, and no one can sense his stage. Doesn't that say enough?"
A long pause followed.
"…Which could mean," someone murmured at last, "he's close to being an expert or he's already an expert."
That word alone brought the conversation to a halt. A quiet, heavy silence settled among the group.
"Whatever the truth is, we shouldn't make an enemy of him," the same inner disciple added firmly. "I have a feeling he's going to shake this sect — and it'll begin with the outer court."
The one who spoke last stood with a composed bearing, clad in a refined bluish hanfu. A high ponytail hung down his back, and the light glinted softly off the edge of his spectacles — an unusual sight among sword cultivators, but it only added to his intelligent air.
Luo Tianxing.
A name many within the inner court knew well — not for brute strength, but for something rarer… Foresight.
Despite being only in the early stages of Qi Refinement, his reputation as "The Young Strategist" earned him respect even among those in the mid or late stages. Calm, sharp-minded, and rarely wrong, Tianxing was known for analyzing others like pieces on a board.
"Do you really think he's all that, Tianxing?" someone asked him quietly.
Tianxing's gaze didn't leave the stage.
"Is there any other explanation?" he replied.
He folded his arms behind his back, his voice composed yet warning in tone.
"We've never had conflict with him, and it should stay that way. Consider this a reminder — not just from me, but as your fellow inner disciple."
Back on the platform, Elder Mu remained still.
He had seen it — the strike, the angle, the precise moment when Lao Xie's sword moved. His eyes weren't young anymore, but they were still the eyes of a seasoned cultivator, honed from decades of watching disciples rise and fall.
And even then… even with all his experience…
He nearly missed it.
That speed… it wasn't something an outer disciple should be capable of.
Elder Mu narrowed his gaze.
No excessive movement. No buildup of energy. Not even a hint of qi rising beforehand. Just a clean, cutting motion — simple, unadorned — and the match was already over.
Even among the inner court, only a few could manage that kind of control. Not just speed, but the way Lao Xie timed it — slipping the attack in the instant Meng Lu's rhythm faltered, like it was second nature.
It wasn't a lucky strike. It was deliberate.
"That's not something a beginner learns. That's instinct born from mastery."
And yet… everything he'd found in the Library Hall said otherwise.
His mind drifted back to the jade slip tucked awkwardly beside the restricted section — a file that should've never been there.
"Name: Lao Xie. Status: Talentless. Evaluation: Confirmed Mortal. No spiritual root. Last update… Unknown."
The child where the sect leader once brought in. A child who was quietly forgotten in the outer court.
But the one standing on that stage now?
"This wasn't a talentless child."
This was someone who fought with precision that rivaled early-stage inner disciples — and possibly surpassed a few of them.
"He's perhaps hiding something." Elder Mu's jaw tightened.
Just then, the boy who had caused all that chaos — the one who had silenced the Martial Hall with a single movement — turned his head ever so slightly.
"Can I leave now?" Lao Xie asked, tone flat as ever, like he was just checking in after completing a chore.
Elder Mu blinked, caught off guard again — not by the question, but by how casually it was asked. No arrogance. No emotion. Like he hadn't just flattened another cultivator under a minute in front of half the sect.
He cleared his throat, composed his face, and made a quiet cough.
"Ahem… Winner — Lao Xie," he announced, voice amplified by a sound array.