Qin Lu’s body blurred into a streak of silver light, launching himself forward like a bolt from a heavy ballista. The Seven Star Sword hissed through the air, its edge screaming with a piercing, high-frequency whistle.

Whoosh!

Despite the searing light still burning her retinas, Kong Mengli twisted her torso with unnatural instinct, the blade grazing her neck. Qin Lu’s eyes widened; the woman’s martial intuition was terrifying. But he did not falter. He closed the gap instantly, entering the “kill zone” for a brutal, close-quarters exchange.

The arena became a chaotic symphony of violence.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

One attacked with relentless precision, the other defended with desperate ferocity. It was a dizzying spectacle that left the spectators breathless. Silhouettes clashed in mid-air, raining down jagged arcs of sword-qi that hammered against the containment shield until the translucent barrier groaned and buckled.

“By the Ancestors, look at him!” a spectator roared over the din. “Since when was ‘Qin Big Mouth’ a god of war?”

“I’ve ruined myself!” another wailed, clutching a gambling ticket. “I bet the house on the widow, but she’s being dismantled!”

Indeed, to any experienced eye, the tide had turned. Qin Lu moved with a terrifying fluidity, appearing more at ease with every passing second. He was a predator who had finally found his rhythm, while Kong Mengli’s movements were growing heavy, her spiritual reserves beginning to flicker.

Qin Lu saw the strain in her eyes and felt the surge of impending victory. Yet, in that moment of triumph, every hair on his body stood on end. The Heavenly Eye Technique screamed a silent warning—a cold, jagged spike of killing intent aimed at the back of his skull.

He didn’t think. He reacted. Using the Soft Wind Technique, he collapsed his momentum, ducking his head with a violent jerk.

A crimson blur whistled through the space where his brain had been a millisecond before. It was a hidden dagger, barely the length of a forearm, dripping with concentrated, dark-red spiritual energy. Had it connected, his skull would have been hollowed out instantly.

“Vile woman!” Qin Lu snarled, a cold sweat slicking his spine.

Kong Mengli’s face was a mask of sheer frustration; her trump card had failed. Qin Lu didn’t give her a second chance to breathe. He lunged, parrying the returning crimson dagger with his primary blade while closing in for the final strike.

They collided like two falling stars. Clang! As their swords locked, a mountain-crushing force traveled up Qin Lu’s arm. This time, he was ready. He shifted his skeletal alignment, his muscles expanding and contracting in a rhythmic pulse that channeled the kinetic energy into the ground beneath his feet.

Kong Mengli’s eyes bulged. Before she could comprehend his bizarre physical resilience, Qin Lu retracted his blade. He didn’t just swing; he unleashed the Cutting Technique, coating the Seven Star Sword in a microscopic, vibrating edge of wind-qi.

Kong Mengli felt the shift in the air. The sword wasn’t just metal anymore—it was a conceptual tear in reality. She stamped her foot, attempting to blink backward through the air, but her body suddenly felt as if it were submerged in thick honey. A momentary, crushing weight paralyzed her limbs—a hidden gravity effect she hadn’t anticipated.

It lasted only a heartbeat. It was enough.

The Seven Star Sword whistled like a venomous white snake. It bypassed her spiritual shield as if it were wet paper.

Sshhick.

The sound was delicate, almost polite. Then came the spray. Kong Mengli’s head soared into the air, a trail of crimson following it like a macabre ribbon. Her beautiful face remained frozen in a look of stunned disbelief, her eyes wide with a grievance that would never be settled.

The arena fell into a deathly, absolute silence.

The head thudded onto the stone. Thump-roll-roll. It came to a stop facing Qin Lu, her lifeless eyes staring. Disgusted by the lingering hatred in her gaze, Qin Lu flicked a finger. A concentrated blast of air reduced her features to a nameless pulp.

“He… he won?” a voice whispered, breaking the spell.

Then, the square erupted. “Qin Lu! Qin Lu! Qin Lu!” The roar was deafening, a boiling sea of sound from thousands of Loose Cultivators. Some cheered for the spectacle, others for the fortune they had just won on the underdog.

Qin Lu exhaled a long, shaky breath. He sheathed the Seven Star Sword and looked toward the alcove. He saw the shocked, tearful faces of his fellow townsmen from the Wuji Market. He caught Gu Yue’s eye and offered a tired, rakish tilt of his brow.

“The matter is settled,” Market Master Jiang Ge announced, drifting onto the blood-stained stage. He looked at the corpse of the woman who had been a pillar of the market’s strength and sighed. “Under the laws of the platform, the debt is paid. Fellow Daoist Qin, I trust there will be no need to completely exterminate the rest of the Tao manor?”

Qin Lu wiped a stray droplet of blood from his cheek and nodded. “As long as they remain in their holes, they are of no concern to me.”

Jiang Ge nodded solemnly. “The battle is over! Let all present remember the price of arrogance!”

Qin Lu didn’t wait for the applause to die down. He turned and flew toward his friends, his name now etched into the very stones of the White Jade Market.