The dust finally began to fall after hanging thick in the air, shrouding the entire arena in a cloud so dense that no one could see what had happened inside. The spectators leaned forward instinctively, murmurs rising as the haze thinned. And when the last veil of dust drifted away, the arena froze in absolute silence.
The fight was already over.
The arena seemed to hold its breath. Zhang Weiren staggered, knees weak, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. His golden qi flickered chaotically along his arms, trembling under the pressure of the blow he had just endured. He hadn't surrendered—but he couldn't continue. Every fiber of his body screamed in protest, every breath a razor against his lungs.
Lao Xie lowered his sword with the same unshakable calm, as if nothing had happened. The faint radiance along the blade dimmed, yet the aura it left in the air lingered, heavy and inescapable.
Around the arena, the outer disciples whispered among themselves, eyes wide. Some clutched at their robes, others leaned forward as if the slightest movement might anchor them against the lingering pressure.
"That… that's impossible," one muttered. "It's not just his strength… it's the sword itself."
Even the elders from the Azure Edge Peak shifted in their seats, glances flicking toward one another with sharp, quiet surprise. Sword cultivators—trained to sense every nuance of blade and technique—had never felt anything like it.
"What… technique is that?" one elder murmured, voice low, laced with disbelief.
"Heavenly… Echoing Sword Arts," another whispered, almost to himself. "Sky's Whisper…"
There was hesitation in their words, as if speaking them aloud gave weight to the impossibility. This was not a technique from the Silver Crescent Sect, and yet it carried the authority of a master. Even the Azure Edge Peak elders—who knew sword arts like no others—could not place it.
Away from the elder seats, Elder Yao and Ling Ruxin stood shoulder to shoulder, the fading echo of Lao Xie's strike still trembling faintly through the air. Even from where they stood, the lingering sword intent felt sharp enough to prickle against their skin.
Ling Ruxin blinked once, steadying her breath. "So… he really used it openly this time."
Elder Yao gave a small, amused sigh, her voice warm and light. "Mm. That boy is getting bolder. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
Ling Ruxin's lips curved into a soft smile. "It felt stronger than before. More refined."
"That's because it was," Elder Yao replied gently, her tone carrying the fondness of someone speaking to a junior she cared about. "You noticed how it resonated? It followed him perfectly. Techniques like that only respond when the heart is steady."
Ling Ruxin looked down at her guqin fingers before lifting her gaze again. "For an outer disciple… he makes it look effortless."
Elder Yao let out a soft chuckle. "Ruxin, most inner disciples can't make it look like that. Don't compare him to the outer ranks — he stopped fitting there the moment he stepped on that stage."
Ling Ruxin's eyes softened, a quiet admiration in them. "He's going to cause trouble for the whole sect at this rate."
Elder Yao nudged her lightly with an elbow, her smile small but warm. "Oh, he already has. And if I had to guess, this is only the beginning."
Down in the arena, Zhang Weiren finally dropped onto one knee, the last thread of his strength giving way. His fingers dug into the stone platform, trying to keep himself upright, but even that small effort made his breath shake uncontrollably.
The referee elder stepped forward, the hem of his robe brushing lightly against the stone. His face remained composed, but there was the slightest pause in his movement—barely a flicker of hesitation that only someone watching closely would catch. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at the faint afterglow lingering around Lao Xie's blade.
He hid it well, but even he hadn't expected a technique strong enough to nearly shatter a disciple's foundation with a single move.
"…That's enough," the referee said, voice steady and calm. Only the faint tightness in his tone betrayed his surprise. "Zhang Weiren can no longer continue."
There was no argument. Zhang Weiren's shoulders slumped as he exhaled shakily, unable to rise. The attack had pushed him so close to the edge that another exchange would have broken him entirely.
A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd.
"He can't even stand…"
"That one strike almost finished him…"
"If Lao Xie had not pulled back at the last moment, Zhang Weiren's meridians would not have survived the strike."
Above them, the Azure Edge Peak elders exchanged looks, their expressions sharp and unsettled. Even they, with all their years of cultivation and mastery over the sword, couldn't place the technique.
"That wasn't anything from our sect," one murmured in disbelief.
"It shouldn't exist here," another said quietly.
The referee elder released a slow breath, smoothing his expression before raising his hand. His sleeve trembled just slightly—so slight the audience assumed it was the wind.
"Winner of this match—" he said, projecting his voice across the arena with practiced composure, "—Lao Xie."
The moment the announcement echoed, the arena erupted—not in celebration, but in shock.
"He won…"
"As usual.. just one technique…"
Through the noise, Lao Xie stood quietly, his posture relaxed, his breathing calm. He looked untouched by the chaos he had caused, the faint aura around him already fading like mist carried by the wind.
From above, Ling Ruxin let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, a small smile rising to her lips. "He really did it…"
Elder Yao's eyes softened with warmth. "Of course he did. And this is only him taking it slowly."
The arena quieted once more as the referee straightened, the echoes of the crowd's whispers still lingering in the air. His hands rose, sleeve brushing lightly against his chest as he projected his voice with measured clarity.
"As announced at the start of the tournament, the awards for this tournament…" he began, pausing just long enough to let the attention settle, "will be significant. The top ten will receive generous spirit stones, refined pills, and rare artifacts from the Sect's treasury. The top three are granted the opportunity to challenge for inner disciple promotion—an honor and chance for advancement."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the outer disciples. The usual tension over the coveted inner disciple spots was palpable.
But then the referee's tone shifted, smooth but carrying a subtle weight that drew every gaze.
"However…" he continued, eyes flicking briefly toward the lingering figure of Lao Xie, calm and unshaken even amid the hushed awe surrounding him, "due to the outstanding performance displayed by Lao Xie in this tournament, the elders have reached a unanimous decision."
A faint stir passed through the audience. Even the Azure Edge Peak elders lifted their brows, curious.
"Lao Xie shall enter the inner sect directly," the referee announced, his voice firm yet tempered with ceremony. "He will forgo the challenge for inner disciple promotion, leaving the opportunity for the fourth-place disciple to claim that spot instead."