In a corner of the high platform, sat the Wukuo’s Old Lu. Seeing the Dongyue unsheathed, Old Lu, who had been dozing slightly, opened his eyes to a slit, glancing at the arena with the corner of his eye.
Song Zize held the sword in both hands, the tip of the blade pointing obliquely at the ground. His steps were like those of a dragon or tiger, rushing swiftly toward Qian Ye. When he was close, Song Zize let out a shout, and myriad lights flickered from the longsword, which he swung forward like a fierce storm.
With just that one move, Song Zize displayed the exquisite skill of his swordsmanship. The lights were manifestations of primordial power, infused with sharp sword intent, making them no different from real swords if they struck their target.
Though Song Zize had not yet crossed the threshold to become a battle general, he could externalize and solidify primordial power, a testament to his strength, even if it was partially due to the assistance of his fifth-grade elite primordial sword.
Qian Ye’s face remained calm as he lifted the Dongyue, sweeping it from left to right in a simple, unremarkable stroke.
This plain sword strike, barely qualifying as a technique, was merely a basic sword form. Yet, wherever the edge of the Dongyue passed, all light vanished!
Song Zize was utterly terrified. This was the strongest move from his secret sword techniques, “Myriad Lights,” which he had relied on like a great wall. He never imagined it would be completely nullified by a basic sword form. All the changes in primordial power and the interweaving sword intents were like mirages before Qian Ye’s plain sweep, utterly illusory.
Qian Ye rotated his wrist, and the Dongyue, light as a feather, transformed the sweep into a chop, bringing the blade down toward Song Zize’s head.
At this moment, Song Zize’s heart and courage quaked. As a swordsman, he knew from the overwhelming yet silent sword intent that he could not block it. But this strike was faster than lightning, and an invisible force pulled him toward the blade, leaving no room for evasion.
He tried to block with all his might but felt as if he were cutting through a mountain. The downward momentum of Qian Ye’s blade remained unaffected, falling straight.
“How can a sword be so heavy?!” This was Song Zize’s final thought.
With that strike, Qian Ye smashed Song Zize and his sword into the ground, creating a human-shaped pit. If Qian Ye had not flipped the blade at the last second and struck with the flat side, Song Zize would have been cleaved in two. Even so, Song Zize suffered at least a dozen broken bones, ending not only the martial arts examination but also affecting his chances in the military strategy test.
Such was the might of a single sword strike.
Old Lu, without realizing, had widened his eyes, then showed a faint, imperceptible smile, nodding slightly before closing his eyes again to nap. Even when Qian Ye’s last sword fell, Duke Anguo’s wife, An Guogong, barely raised her eyelids.
The faces of many elders on the high platform looked grim. Song Zize was one of the more outstanding members of the younger generation, and yet he was brutally defeated by an unknown opponent. This incident would bring shame to the Song family.
After this round, Gao Junyi narrowly lost, and Song Zining easily won. Out of the sixteen guest warriors, nine were eliminated, leaving only seven victors.
From this, it was evident that the overall combat power of the aristocratic families was extraordinary. Even without the participation of the eight strongest individual warriors, the children of the Song clan still dominated the guest warriors. The reasons included not only powerful secret techniques but also superior equipment.
Seeing these results, the elders of the Song clan’s faces improved. One elder stroked his beard, saying, “These results are not bad. It seems these children have been working hard!”
Another elder smiled, “With the patriarch watching, how could they not? But speaking of talent, we have quite a few promising ones among these children. It looks like the future of the Song clan is bright, and a renaissance is within reach!”
Even the current patriarch, Duke Wei, Song Zhongnian, nodded slightly. An Guogong did not even raise her eyelids.
A lean elder suddenly sneered, “Renaissance? Ha! Don’t let the title of the top martial artist be taken by an outsider; that would be interesting!”
The elders’ faces changed, “How is that possible? We still have Zicheng and Zian to stabilize the situation!”
The lean elder, named Song Zhongxing, was always direct and blunt, leading to strained relations with most of the elders. However, being the patriarch’s younger brother and one of the clan’s top fighters, there was little the others could do about him.
Hearing the elders, Song Zhongxing sneered again, “Zicheng and the others are already battle generals, so naturally, they can handle a group of lesser fighters. If our Song clan really has confidence, why not allow the guest warriors to compete up to the level of battle generals? Is it really a sign of ability to overwhelm with greater strength?”
The elders felt awkward, and no one continued the conversation.
In setting the rules, they indeed had some ulterior motives. But this was the hundredth birthday celebration of the patriarch, aimed at auspiciousness and joy. Using favorable rules to ensure a Song child’s victory was justified, as long as it achieved the goal of testing and tempering. Such things were understood, but not spoken aloud.
However, Song Zhongxing persisted, “Even if a Song child wins, so what? Which of the third-generation candidates you approve of can compare with the other three clans? Zhao Jundu need not be mentioned. I hear the Bai family recently took in Bai Kongzhao, who, at a young age, went to the battlefield and achieved a record of killing a battle general at only level seven. Although it may seem like a fluke, it’s an impressive feat. Would Zicheng and the others dare to challenge Bai Kongzhao?”
The elders’ faces darkened further. Bai Kongzhao was a natural-born killer, and anything could happen in a confrontation with her. Even if Zicheng and the others won, they might suffer irreparable damage. A moment of carelessness could cost them their lives.
An elder coughed dryly, “Zicheng and Zian are people of status, how can they be compared to a wild child like Bai Kongzhao, whose origins are unknown?”
Song Zhongxing was about to speak, but An Guogong finally opened her eyes, sighed, and said slowly, “On the battlefield, what does status matter? Still, Zhongxing, say less.”
Before An Guogong, Song Zhongxing was more respectful, “I just dislike some people plotting behind the scenes, back and forth, just for a bit of points. What meaning is there in such a victory? What meaning will these points have outside the Song clan?”
Several elders’ faces changed. For the sake of their own children, they often engaged in underhanded tactics, and bloodshed was sometimes inevitable. But for Song Zhongxing to speak so directly before the patriarch was unprecedented. The great clans still had to maintain some dignity.
The patriarch’s eyelids drooped, and he said calmly, “It’s just beginning; the championship is still up for grabs. Zhongxing, don’t be in a hurry, watch patiently. If not for your impatience, you would have made a breakthrough long ago.”
Song Zhongxing responded and sat silently. The elders whom he had mocked also sat upright, not daring to look askance.
Next, the sixteen victors fought in pairs to determine the eight winners.
Qian Ye’s opponent this time was a Song clan member nearly thirty years old, who had reached level nine three years ago. With deep cultivation and innate strength, he was seen as a potential threat to the top three once he broke through the barrier to become a battle general.
He carried no primordial gun, only a heavy halberd, weighing hundreds of kilograms. He walked into the arena with heavy steps, shouting at Qian Ye, “You seem straightforward. No need for nonsense, let’s trade a few heavy blows first, then talk!”
Some Song clan members watched Qian Ye with a smirk. They knew their cousin well, knowing that his rough exterior belied a cunning mind. Strength was his forte, and using a halberd against a sword gave him a significant advantage.
Song Zining yawned as he watched the arena, concealing a mysterious smile at the corner of his mouth.
On the high platform, Old Lu began snoring loudly.
Qian Ye glanced at his opponent and nodded, “Alright.”
The man swung his halberd horizontally, “I won’t take advantage of you, let me give you three free strikes!”
Qian Ye smiled, with no intention of declining, and gripped the sword with both hands, raising the Dongyue high. Though longer than a typical sword, it appeared formidable, but compared to the opponent’s halberd, it seemed delicate and weak.
Qian Ye exhaled lightly, and the edge of the Dongyue began to vibrate. Gradually, a dragon-like roar filled the arena.
The man’s face suddenly changed.
As the Dongyue descended, its speed was not fast, but it fell like a mountain, slow yet inexorable. With each vibration, thunderous rumbles shook the hearts of onlookers.
The man let out a strange cry, holding the halberd horizontally, desperately blocking the heavy blow. At the last moment, he managed to parry the strike. There was no sound as the sword and halberd met, but the entire arena shuddered.
The halberd bent, and the primordial arrays shattered. The tip of the Dongyue hovered just a hand’s breadth above his head.
Time seemed to slow as the man’s movements froze. After a brief deadlock, his defensive primordial power crumbled, and his body shot backward like a cannonball, landing at the boundary of the adjacent arena.
Spectators, who had been anticipating a good show, fell silent, mouths agape in shock. To send such an opponent flying in one strike, how heavy must Qian Ye’s sword be?
Next, Song Zining stepped into the arena and easily defeated his opponent, drawing the attention of most of the elders.
Song Zining had entered the line of succession only two years ago. Though the reason given was his minor success in the “Thousand Leaf Drift Technique,” it was not an offensive secret art, and he was young. Just over half a year ago, during the Tianxuan Spring Hunt, he was only at level seven. For this exam, he advanced two levels, leading to whispers of hasty and unstable progress. Yet, his performance revealed unexpected combat power.
After this round, the final eight victors would rest for half a day, and in the afternoon, they would face the top eight Song clan members to determine the top eight in the martial arts examination.
Qian Ye’s battles were all swift and effortless, requiring no rest. Others, however, needed the full four-hour break to recover from injuries.
So far, the martial arts examination had seen no fatalities, though sparring between guest warriors had not been bloodless. The most severely injured was Du Dahai, Qian Ye’s first opponent, who had yet to regain consciousness.
As the competition progressed, the atmosphere in the arena grew tenser. In a recent match, two Song clan members with a longstanding grudge fought to the death, with one suffering severe injuries and lapsing into a coma. Only the timely intervention of an elder prevented the first fatality.
Now, only three guest warriors remained, each strong enough to protect themselves even against a battle general, including Qian Ye.
Starting from the top sixteen, the rules changed.
The eight contestants who had advanced would be evaluated and ranked by the elders. They could then choose their opponents from the top eight Song clan members in order.
This rule benefited those who had fought through the elimination rounds, as the highest-ranked fighter could choose first, typically selecting the weakest opponent. After this round, the final eight would be determined, making the order of encounters less critical.
With An Guogong present, the evaluation process was unlikely to be rigged. Despite his low rank, Qian Ye’s dominant performances earned him the top spot, allowing him to choose his opponent first, a result anticipated by many.
Before walking to the arena, Song Zining asked, “Have you chosen your opponent?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t get beaten too badly.”
“That’s what I was going to say to you.”
“No, I’ll pick an easy one.” Song Zining shrugged, understanding Qian Ye’s plan but deciding not to stop him.
Now, the overseeing elder was Song Tu of the Zhibo Hall. Despite his commoner name, Song Tu, in his prime, was tall and robust, with a sturdy build. His every move was as steady as a mountain, and his eyes flashed with the intensity of lightning, indicating formidable strength.
Song Tu pointed at Qian Ye and said gravely, “An Renyi, choose your next opponent!”
Qian Ye stepped forward and slowly raised his hand.
As he moved, the expressions of the eight Song clan heirs changed, especially the only Song lady, Xing Ran, ranked eighth. It was expected that Qian Ye would choose her, ensuring his place in the top eight.
The other lower-ranked Song clan members tried to stay composed, but Qian Ye’s demonstrated strength in the elimination rounds meant they would likely lose to him.
Qian Ye’s hand slowly rose, pointing at Song Zian, the one with the highest combat power.
The entire hall erupted in uproar!
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