The air in the arena shattered. Market Master Jiang Ge’s voice had barely faded when Kong Mengli transformed into a streak of pale blue light. She drove her jade-toned longsword forward with a single, murderous intent, seeking to end the duel before the crowd could even blink.

“Come then!” Qin Lu barked. His foot slammed into the stone stage, the sound like a hammer hitting an anvil. In a heartbeat, he shifted from deathly stillness to a lightning-fast retreat, his silhouette blurring across the platform as he unleashed a heavy punch into the empty air.

The Finger Flick Technique, mastered to a Grandmaster degree, manifest as a concentrated bullet of gale-force wind. Kong Mengli, having tasted this move before, twisted her body mid-air with serpentine grace. The wind-slug whistled past her ear and slammed into the spiritual barrier.

The entire containment shield shuddered under the impact, a dull, thundering roar echoing through the square. The spectators gasped; they had expected a slaughter, not a sonic boom that nearly cracked the arena’s foundations.

Kong Mengli didn’t falter. She closed the distance with a predatory lunge, her blade aimed squarely at the space between Qin Lu’s eyes. But Qin Lu was a phantom, his Soft Wind Technique allowing him to drift backward faster than she could advance.

He had no intention of trading blows yet. His strategy was one of cold attrition: bleed her stamina, drain her spiritual reservoir with long-range pressure, and wait for the crack in her armor. Even a Mid-Foundation Establishment expert would eventually tire if forced to chase a ghost.

“Hmph! How many of those puffs of air can you truly launch?” Kong Mengli roared, her frustration mounting. She ignited a secret movement art, her speed doubling as she wove through a barrage of wind-strikes that left the arena floor cratered and smoking.

She suddenly rotated her wrist, her sword dissolving into a kaleidoscope of brilliant, jagged light. A sky full of sword-radiance swept out like a tidal wave, cutting off every path of escape. Qin Lu found himself cornered against the shimmering blue wall of the barrier.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Qin Lu’s Seven Star Sword became a blur of silver. Since comprehending the Heavenly Heart Sword Art, his blade followed the rhythm of his heartbeat—precise, effortless, and impenetrable. He parried every strike with a flurry of sparks, his defensive circle as tight as a drum.

Kong Mengli’s heart hammered against her ribs. This is impossible, she thought. His swordplay… it’s as dense as a master’s. She lunged forward, their blades locking in a screeching grind of steel.

Qin Lu used the momentum of her push to spring into the sky. As he ascended, he rubbed his fingers together. A gout of orange flame erupted from his fist, swelling into a massive, roaring boulder of fire.

“What is this?” Kong Mengli hissed. Most Foundation Establishment cultivators discarded basic spells as “trinkets” for the weak, preferring the raw power of magic tools. But Qin Lu’s Ignition Technique was no trinket—it was a sun falling from the sky.

She slashed upward, her sword-intent cleaving the fireball in two. But before the embers could fade, another roared toward her. Then another. Qin Lu sneered, his arm swinging in a violent arc.

He launched a massive fireball, then immediately followed it with a Finger Flick punch. The gale-force wind struck the back of the fire, doubling its velocity and shattering the sphere into dozens of molten fragments.

“Meteor Volcano!” Qin Lu grunted. The sky rained liquid fire, a chaotic, beautiful destruction that blanketed the stage. Kong Mengli danced through the inferno, but the sheer density was too much. A stray fragment slammed into her spirit shield, the impact shattering her poise and slamming her into the stone floor.

She hit the ground hard, her face dark with humiliated rage. Reaching into her sleeve, she flung a handful of yellow slips into the air. “Die, you mongrel!”

The second-rank talismans ignited, morphing into three massive, spectral tigers of golden light. They roared with the force of a hurricane, pouncing through the smoke with their maws wide. Qin Lu’s Spirit Shield Technique flared to life—a translucent dome that buckled and cracked as the first tiger struck.

He used that split second of protection to sweep his sword in a wide, horizontal arc, shattering the phantom beasts into golden dust. But Kong Mengli was already there, her sword thrusting through the dust to pierce his heart.

Clang!

The impact sent Qin Lu spiraling backward, the spiritual backlash draining the color from his face. Kong Mengli saw her opening, her eyes wide with predatory glee. She surged forward to finish him.

In that final, desperate inch, Qin Lu opened his palm. A flash of blinding, absolute whiteness erupted from his skin—the Bright Light Technique, amplified to a searing brilliance.

Kong Mengli screamed, her vision white-washed. She reflexively shielded her eyes, her momentum stumbling to a halt.

“My turn,” Qin Lu whispered. He planted his feet in mid-air and lunged.