Chapter 8: I Return That Sword to You!

Around the arena, not a sound could be heard.

Everyone stared, eyes wide with shock, at Zhao Zhijing, who stood at the edge of the platform.

No one present could have imagined this outcome, no matter how hard they tried.

The foremost disciple of the third generation of the Quanzhen Sect—unable to withstand even a single move from Yun Zhonghe?

How could that be possible?!

As this realization dawned, a cacophony of voices erupted like thunder.

“Yun Zhonghe, you despicable scoundrel! How dare you resort to such underhanded tricks!”

“Even if Yun Zhonghe struck by surprise, with Zhao Zhijing’s skills, he shouldn’t be in such a wretched state. Could it be Yun Zhonghe has been hiding his true strength all along?”

“If that’s really the case, Yun Zhonghe is far more cunning than we thought!”

On the dais, the five elders of Quanzhen wore grim, furrowed expressions.

Hao Datong scowled and shouted angrily, “What is Zhijing playing at? He’s disgraced the entire Quanzhen Sect in front of all these martial peers!”

Qiu Chuji frowned deeply, but quickly offered an explanation: “Zhijing must have underestimated his opponent and was caught off guard by Yun Zhonghe’s sudden burst of speed. He was careless for a moment.”

“How can anyone afford to be careless in the heat of battle?” Hao Datong slammed his hand on the armrest, his voice heavy with disappointment.

“Please, brother, calm yourself. I believe Zhijing will give his all in the next round,” Qiu Chuji replied, though a faint sense of unease crept into his heart as he glanced at Yun Zhonghe, who stood tall and poised on the field, sword in hand.

In the crowd, Xiaolongnu watched Yun Zhonghe’s performance, a smile blossoming at the corners of her lips, dimples appearing on her cheeks, enchanting all who saw her.

Those nearby, witnessing this scene, were deeply struck, and their discontent and jealousy toward Yun Zhonghe only grew more intense.

Regardless of whether Yun Zhonghe had used foul means, he had, in full view of everyone, delivered a resounding slap to the face of the Quanzhen Sect.

The commotion below the stage made Zhao Zhijing’s blood churn violently within him, nearly causing him to vomit blood.

He raised his gaze to Yun Zhonghe, muttering under his breath, “I was merely careless just now, giving Yun Zhonghe a chance. This time, you won’t be so lucky.”

After a moment of self-encouragement, Zhao Zhijing gripped his sword tightly, his eyes sweeping swiftly over Yun Zhonghe, searching for the slightest flaw.

With a shout, Zhao Zhijing sprang forward, his figure blurring as he moved with lightning speed.

Internal energy surged from his palms into the blade of his sword; white vapor drifted along the edge, an icy aura emanating ever stronger.

With a flurry of whooshing sounds, sword energy sliced through the air, enveloping every part of Yun Zhonghe’s body in a deadly net.

Yun Zhonghe’s skills were barely worth mentioning in the martial world; though no one knew how he had managed to force Zhao Zhijing back earlier, it no longer mattered.

After this strike, Yun Zhonghe would be utterly defeated, left at his mercy like a fish on the chopping block.

The fierce wind from Zhao Zhijing’s sword howled toward Yun Zhonghe, but the latter showed no fear. With a light tap of his toe, he moved as agile as a sparrow, deftly dodging every blade.

“Let’s see how you dodge this next!” Zhao Zhijing shouted, closing in.

Sword in hand, Zhao Zhijing attacked—slashing, hacking, thrusting, slicing—each move unpredictable and perilous.

This time, Zhao Zhijing finally demonstrated the full force of the Quanzhen Sword Technique.

Against this rainstorm of sword strikes, Yun Zhonghe’s sword moved like an impenetrable wall, deflecting every blow.

“How many more moves can you block?” Zhao Zhijing’s eyes flashed with surprise; his attacks grew even more ferocious, his face twisting with rage.

[Notification: Congratulations, host, you have mastered the Quanzhen Sword Technique—Level One.]

As the system’s prompt sounded, Yun Zhonghe, who had only been defending, suddenly abandoned all defense. His sword flashed coldly as he thrust with blinding speed.

In the blink of an eye, his blade shot toward the weakest point in Zhao Zhijing’s swordplay.

Startled by this sudden attack, Zhao Zhijing’s heart raced, but his hands did not falter. He pivoted his sword, pouring all his internal force into the blade, and met Yun Zhonghe’s strike head-on.

Clang!

The tips of their swords collided, ringing out like metal and jade.

Then, something astonishing happened.

As the swords pressed together, Zhao Zhijing’s blade seemed to buckle under immense pressure.

It bent into a dangerously sharp arc, nearly touching the hilt, as if it would snap at any moment.

Zhao Zhijing’s face turned a deep, purplish hue; no matter how much force he mustered, the sword refused to straighten.

Crack!

Unable to bear the strain, the sword shattered completely. The remaining force struck Zhao Zhijing in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips, splattering the floor in bright, shocking drops.

The five elders of Quanzhen shot to their feet, gazing in disbelief at the scene before them.

This time, Zhao Zhijing had not underestimated his enemy; he had fought with all his strength, yet still lost to Yun Zhonghe.

What did this mean?

Under countless incredulous gazes, Yun Zhonghe did not relent.

His sword danced, unleashing the Quanzhen Sword Technique, aiming for Zhao Zhijing’s vital points.

“How does Yun Zhonghe know the Quanzhen Sword Technique?” Qiu Chuji’s voice, low and shaken, resounded through the hall.

His words landed like a boulder tossed into a tranquil lake, sending ripples everywhere.

Gasps of shock came one after another.

“If Zhao Zhijing dies at the hands of his own sect’s sword technique, he’ll never rest in peace!”

“We’ve underestimated Yun Zhonghe from the start.”

“Quanzhen wanted to use today’s contest to boost its standing in the martial world, but it seems they’ve only embarrassed themselves.”

Xiaolongnu stood quietly among the crowd. Though surprised to see Yun Zhonghe use the Quanzhen Sword Technique, she was not incredulous; she had long known of his extraordinary talent in martial arts.

Looking at Yun Zhonghe on the platform, her eyes overflowed with affection.

On the stage.

Zhao Zhijing, seeing Yun Zhonghe wielding the Quanzhen Sword Technique, was struck with terror; from his opponent’s blade he sensed the chill of impending death.

Ignoring the pain within, he scrambled to his feet, desperate to evade the fatal blow.

But Yun Zhonghe gave him no chance. His sword moved with sudden speed.

“This is the same thrust you once struck at me. Now, I return it to you!”

With those words, there was a sickening squelch.

The sword pierced Zhao Zhijing’s heart; his mouth gaped, but he could utter no sound.

He toppled slowly to the ground, agony flooding his senses, darkness swallowing his consciousness.

“Zhijing!”

Hao Datong, seeing this, leapt to his feet and flew onto the stage. His eyes burned with murderous intent as he glared at Yun Zhonghe. “I’ll kill you myself!”

Yun Zhonghe withdrew his sword; blood spurted forth, splashing his face.

Once he was sure Zhao Zhijing showed no sign of life, he looked up at Hao Datong.

Unfazed by the threat, Yun Zhonghe smiled and said, “If you wish to see Quanzhen’s reputation destroyed forever, then by all means, attack.”

At these words, the entire hall was instantly frozen in silence.