“What did you just say?”

On the martial arts field, Han Feng stood stunned. He seemed to have heard something incredible from Han Lie’s mouth.

“You are my brother?”

Han Feng stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on Han Lie, filled with a chaotic mix of confusion and disbelief. This demonic cultivator from the Heavenly Void Sect—this old man before him—was actually his brother?

Buzz!

The only response Han Feng received was a sharp, overwhelming surge of sword intent!

Before Han Feng could even process the thought, Han Lie’s black blade was already resting against his neck. The cold, sharp edge kissed his skin. With just a slight exertion of force, his head would be severed from his shoulders.

“Wow—!”

The sudden reversal immediately caused an uproar in the stands.

The gamblers who had bet their fortunes on Han Feng stared, eyes bloodshot and furious, praying in their hearts for this genius they had backed to stage a miraculous comeback.

“You… ambushed me!”

A slight stinging pain at his neck made Han Feng freeze, afraid to make even the slightest movement.

Han Lie spoke indifferently, his voice cutting through the tension. “So easily distracted by This Senior’s words. Your so-called genius is nothing more than this.”

“Besides, on the battlefield, enemies don’t care about honor or ambushes. As long as you can seize the initiative and gain the advantage, the method is irrelevant.”

Han Lie leaned in closer, his voice a whisper of doom. “You’ve lost, Han Feng.”

“Bastard, I refuse to accept this!” Han Feng’s expression darkened, and he growled, “If you have the guts, let me go, and we’ll have a fair duel!”

Even though Han Lie’s cultivation was higher, Han Feng remained fearless in his arrogance. To be forced into submission without a proper fight was too humiliating. Even if he lost, he wanted to lose spectacularly—in a clash of swords and techniques—not by being checkmated in a single move.

“Heh.”

Han Lie granted the request. He withdrew his black blade, stepped back a respectable distance, and then beckoned to Han Feng with a single finger.

“Come.”

“Hmph, just wait until I…”

Han Feng’s eyes flashed with renewed hope. He raised his hand, intending to draw his own weapon—

Whoosh!

The sharp sound of slicing air echoed once again. The hum of sword intent, though quiet, sounded like a clap of thunder in Han Feng’s ears.

Clang!

The sound of metal clashing rang out as the treasured sword in Han Feng’s hand was knocked flying before it even fully left its sheath.

In the blink of an eye, Han Lie’s black blade was once again resting against his neck.

Han Lie looked at him with merciless mockery. “What were you going to do to This Senior just now?”

“Facing an opponent stronger than you, you still have the mind to mock? A genius? I think you’re a complete mess!”

Han Feng stood stiffly. His gaze went vacant. For a moment, he didn’t know if he was dreaming or awake.

Not just Han Feng.

At this moment, the spectator stands were dead silent. The gamblers who had been booing Han Lie earlier were now speechless, their mouths hanging open. They, too, doubted their own eyes.

In terms of cultivation, Han Lie was indeed one minor realm higher than Han Feng. But the difference shouldn’t have been this vast. It shouldn’t have been so one-sided!

Immediately after, Han Lie flipped his blade.

Using the hilt, he channeled a vast surge of spiritual power and struck heavily against Han Feng’s chest.

“Pfft—!”

Blood spurted out in a grim arc.

The dazed Han Feng flew through the air like a kite with its string cut, tracing a perfect parabola before crashing heavily into the stone floor of the arena.

Silence.

Deathly silence!

A few short breaths later, the dam broke.

The spectator stands erupted with deafening roars! There was anger, despair, sighs, as well as wild joy and excitement from the few who had bet on the underdog. The chaotic noise mixed together, a cacophony that made eardrums buzz.

Countless betting slips were thrown into the air by the devastated gamblers, raining down like a blizzard of paper snow.

On the martial arts field, Han Lie slowly sheathed his blade.

He raised his eyes to the viewing platform, locking gazes with the stunned and shocked Han Zhentian. Even from this distance, he could clearly see that Han Zhentian’s pupils were trembling.

“Who are you!”

After a long while, when the spectator stands gradually quieted down, Han Zhentian finally asked. His voice, usually so authoritative, trembled slightly.

“Wang Xuan—that is the name I registered for the competition.”

After a brief pause, Han Lie continued, his voice calm and carrying across the silence.

“And my real name is… Han Lie. I am from the Servant Disciple division of the Heavenly Void Sect.”

As soon as the words left his lips—

Thump!

Han Zhentian slumped back into his chair as if his strings had been cut.

“Lie’er! It really is you!”

Li Susu’s eyes reddened instantly, tears of longing soaking her cheeks.

She knew she hadn’t been mistaken. During the elimination rounds, when she first noticed ‘Wang Xuan’, she had felt a strange familiarity. Through the quarterfinals and semifinals, that feeling had only grown stronger.

Was it possible? Could this elderly cultivator really be their youngest son? The one they had been forced to sell into servitude a hundred years ago due to extreme poverty?

Until now.

When Han Lie spoke his name aloud, the dam of Li Susu’s emotions finally broke.

“Impossible… How could you possibly be Han Lie!” Han Zhentian’s heart was shaken beyond measure.

He clearly remembered that his son, Han Lie, had only half a spiritual meridian—almost no aptitude for cultivation. How could such trash have reached the mid-stage Golden Core in just over a hundred years?

But the more he looked at that weathered face… the more certain he became.

That was Han Lie!

Han Lie’s expression remained as placid as still water. But beneath his wide sleeves, his slightly trembling hands revealed that his heart was not as calm as his face suggested.

“I’ve won… City Lord Han.”

“According to the rules… I should take what is rightfully mine.”

Han Lie lightly tapped his toes and leaped onto the award platform.

Under countless gazes, he reached out and took the prize reserved for the champion:

A top-grade Spirit-rank treasure artifact—the Azure Sky Sword!

This blade was originally prepared by Han Zhentian for his proud son, Han Feng. It was meant to be the crowning glory of his genius.

Now… it had fallen into the hands of his most overlooked, abandoned son.

“Lie’er!”

By the time Han Zhentian snapped out of his shock, Han Lie had already turned away.

Li Susu rushed down from the viewing platform, desperate to catch him. But the crowd around the martial arts field was too dense, a sea of bodies blocking her path.

In what seemed like a blink, she had lost sight of him.

“Go carry that unfilial son, Han Feng, back for me!” Han Zhentian barked at his guards. He didn’t have time to process his emotions—after all, Han Feng still lay severely injured on the arena floor.

“Yes! City Lord!”

Elsewhere in the city.

After leaving the martial arts field, Han Lie went straight to the betting house, slip in hand.

“Daoist Lin! Here are your winnings—two hundred and fifty thousand Spirit Stones! Please accept them!”

Seeing the man who had brought them such huge profits—by eliminating the favorite—the bookmaker flatteringly paid out the winnings promptly. Even after paying out this massive sum, the house had still made a killing on the fools who bet on Han Feng.

After collecting his winnings, Han Lie didn’t linger. He immediately headed for the city gates, planning to return to the Heavenly Void Sect.

“Lie’er!”

Just as he stepped out of the city gates, preparing to take flight into the sky, a heart-wrenching cry came from behind him.

Han Lie paused.

He turned back.

He saw Li Susu, tears streaming down her face, running towards him with desperate speed.

“Lie’er! Do you really not want to speak a few words with your mother?!”