Spells Grinding: From Basic Sparks to Divine Arts

Chapter 297: The Geniuses’ Duel

Back in the guest room, Liu Sangeng greeted him with a wide, excited grin. “We’ve got a real spectacle on our hands tonight! Hui Neng and Shi Lin are throwing down at the Martial Arts Stone!”

“Oh?” A sharp glint flashed in Qin Lu’s eyes, his interest instantly piqued. “The two from the Prodigy List?”

“Exactly. In the latest issue, Hui Neng sits at eighth, and Shi Lin is right behind him at tenth. Both are at the late Foundation Establishment stage—absolute apex predators among the younger generation!”

“Why the sudden deathmatch?” Qin Lu asked.

“What else could it be?” Liu Sangeng scoffed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For the ranking, of course! Word on the street is Shi Lin issued a formal challenge to forcefully usurp Hui Neng’s spot!”

“I see…” Qin Lu nodded thoughtfully.

The Prodigy List, a specialized registry within the Nine Truths Langya List, recorded the top twenty Peerless geniuses of the Nine Truths Region. These were heaven’s favored children, monsters who had shattered the bottleneck of the Foundation Establishment realm at an unnervingly young age.

Qin Lu had personally encountered a few of the names on that list.

One was Wei Zimo, the youth burdened by a blood feud over his sect’s extermination. Back outside the Wuji Market, Qin Lu had intervened when the boy was being hunted, terrifying his pursuers and saving his life. Wei Zimo currently sat at the very bottom of the Prodigy List in twentieth place.

Another was a woman who had left an indelible mark on his memory—the stunning, lethally elegant Liu Qingyan. Before even reaching the age of twenty, she had broken through to the late Foundation Establishment stage, securing the seventh rank.

However, the one who left the deepest, most terrifying impression on Qin Lu was an unruly youth with a brilliant, carefree smile.

Su Hao.

At merely eighteen years of age, Su Hao was already a late Foundation Establishment cultivator, standing completely unchallenged at the absolute summit of the Prodigy List. Rumors circulated that he possessed the heaven-defying potential to reach the Nascent Soul realm before his fiftieth birthday.

His talent was peerless. During the disastrous siege of the White Jade Market, when all hope seemed lost, Su Hao had materialized out of thin air. With a single, devastating slash of his blade, he had reduced a horde of invading evil cultivators to ash, effortlessly saving everyone in the market—Qin Lu and Gu Yue included.

Now, two more of these top-tier monsters were about to clash in his own backyard. Qin Lu’s pragmatic curiosity was fully ignited.

“So? Want to go watch?” Liu Sangeng asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course. I need to see exactly what the combat prowess of these so-called geniuses looks like,” Qin Lu replied.

“Perfect! I’ll go secure two tickets right now. A match like this is going to sell out instantly; if we don’t buy ahead, we won’t even get standing room!” Bursting with enthusiasm, Liu Sangeng hurried out of the room.

……

Nightfall descended over Qinghua City.

The baseline clamor of Qinghua City swelled into a fever pitch. A massive river of cultivators took to the sky, all converging toward a single destination: the Martial Arts Stone.

The sheer spectacle of two peak-level geniuses from the Nine Truths Region violently clashing had dominated the city’s gossip for days.

The Martial Arts Stone was a breathtaking feat of engineering. A colossal, floating megalith had been entirely hollowed out, its interior painstakingly carved by high-level cultivators into a cavernous, oval amphitheater. The central combat floor was a massive expanse of reinforced stone, surrounded by steep, tiered seating carved directly into the rock walls.

The stadium could easily accommodate over a hundred thousand spectators, and its volumetric design ensured that every single seat offered an unobstructed view of the carnage below.

By the time Qin Lu and Liu Sangeng arrived, the match was still half an hour away, yet the amphitheater was already a suffocating sea of humanity. Weaving through the dense, roaring crowd with practiced ease, Liu Sangeng led Qin Lu to their reserved seats.

“Tsk. That is a terrifying amount of people,” Qin Lu muttered, looking at the endless stream of cultivators still pouring into the cavern.

“Hehe, a bloodsport like this doesn’t happen every day. Everyone wants to witness history!” Liu Sangeng chuckled.

“Makes sense. It’s a brutal fight for rank, but it’s also a fast track to fame,” Qin Lu noted.

According to the intelligence published in Divine Lord Zhuge’s almanac, the ranking mechanics of the Prodigy List were unapologetically brutal. There was only one metric: age versus cultivation realm.

The list did not factor in a cultivator’s financial backing, their lethal techniques, or their actual combat experience. It ranked them purely on their raw speed of cultivation. The younger and faster you progressed, the higher you placed.

Naturally, this created a massive target on the backs of “paper tigers”—young cultivators with high realms but pitiful combat experience. Hardened killers frequently sought them out to publicly humiliate them and steal their glory.

Usurping a rank was straightforward. As long as the challenger was in the exact same cultivation realm, no more than three years older than the defender, and defeated them in a sanctioned, public duel, the rank was legally theirs. Because of this ruthless system, the Prodigy List was a meat grinder, shifting constantly as young cultivators waged life-and-death battles for a sliver of fame.

“Oh, speaking of age…” Liu Sangeng suddenly turned to Qin Lu, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Old Qin, I know you’re at the late Foundation Establishment stage, but I never actually caught your age.”

In the cultivation world, visual age meant nothing. As Spiritual Qi passively nourished the flesh, the aging process crawled to a halt. A century-old monster could easily possess the unblemished face of a youth.

Taken aback by the sudden question, Qin Lu calculated briefly. “I was born in the year 784. So… I just crossed forty not too long ago.”

Liu Sangeng blinked, clearly impressed. “Damn, your talent is nothing to sneeze at! Hitting the late Foundation Establishment stage before forty? You’re leagues ahead of me.”

“How old are you?” Qin Lu asked.

“Pushing sixty this year,” Liu Sangeng sighed, a hint of genuine anxiety bleeding into his rugged voice. “If I don’t secure a Golden Core breakthrough soon, my deteriorating vitality is going to tank my success rate.”

“A harsh reality of the Dao,” Qin Lu agreed quietly.

As they spoke, the cavernous arena finally filled to capacity. The deafening roar of a hundred thousand cultivators echoed off the stone walls as they eagerly awaited the main event.

Suddenly, a massive commotion rippled through the eastern stands.

“Look! He’s here!”

“That signature flying Magical Artifact… no mistaking it!”

“Rank eight on the Prodigy List! He looks absolutely unshakeable…”

As the whispers cascaded through the crowd, Qin Lu looked up.

A figure was tearing through the night sky at blinding speed. He wasn’t riding a flying sword or a beast; he stood perfectly straight upon a glowing, golden monk’s staff.

He possessed soft, harmonious features and dark, serene eyes. His smooth, bald head gleamed under the arena’s array lights. Clad in a simple light-yellow kasaya with his palms pressed together in prayer, he radiated the profound, tranquil aura of an enlightened Buddhist master.

Qin Lu instantly recognized him from the dossiers: Hui Neng, the Buddhist cultivator.

Without a word, Hui Neng dropped smoothly into the center of the arena. He planted his golden staff into the stone, completely ignoring the deafening cheers raining down on him. Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, he closed his eyes and sank into meditation.

His absolute stillness only whipped the crowd into a greater frenzy.

Moments later, a violent tearing sound ripped through the air above.

A second cultivator plummeted from the sky like a meteor. Wielding a massive, heavy saber, he slammed into the arena floor mere yards away from Hui Neng. The concussive impact shattered the surface stone, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris.

It was Shi Lin.

His jet-black hair whipped wildly in the residual wind of his landing. His eyes burned with unadulterated, feral arrogance. He hefted his heavy saber, pointing the blade directly at the meditating monk.

“Bald donkey!” Shi Lin roared, his voice echoing like thunder. “Hand over your rank!”

Hui Neng’s serene expression didn’t so much as twitch. He slowly rose to his feet, his hands still pressed together in a pious seal.

“Amitabha,” the monk murmured softly.

The two geniuses locked eyes, their Spiritual Qi violently erupting as they fell into their combat stances.

The tension snapped, and the amphitheater absolutely erupted.