Zhang Hongjing quickly said, “The Jiepeng team is protesting the results of the last match. The referee panel is still deliberating, so the competition is temporarily paused.”
“Oh?” Li Xiaofei responded casually, “What is there to protest?”
“What did you just say?” Daoist Sanjue’s expression darkened, his anger flaring instantly.
He shouted sharply, “What right do you have to say that?”
Li Xiaofei was taken aback. “Did I say something wrong?”
Daoist Sanjue’s voice was cold and severe as he said, “This match was won at the cost of Zhao Guoqiang’s life and blood. Before he lost consciousness from the stab wound to his abdomen, his only belief was to win this fight and bring honor to the nation. Maybe for someone like you, a so-called ‘important figure,’ the outcome of this match means nothing. But to Zhao Guoqiang, it was more important than life itself! What right do you have to dismiss his battle so easily?”
Li Xiaofei’s expression shifted slightly. With an apologetic nod, he said, “You’re right, Daoist. I misspoke just now. However, the situation isn’t as dire as it seems. Old Zhao’s injuries will heal soon...”
“Ridiculous!” Daoist Sanjue could no longer hold back. “I admit that at first, when I saw how young you were, I underestimated you and spoke with some sarcasm. But now, your attitude only makes me regret not ridiculing you more. Director Zhou already said that Zhao Guoqiang’s condition is critical. He won’t be out of danger until he makes it through the night. Yet you, as a leader, not only broke protocol by barging into the operating room earlier, but now you’re also standing here spewing nonsense. You—”
By the time he ran out of breath, his voice was already sharp and furious. His eyes burned with rage, glaring at Li Xiaofei like a ferocious beast ready to pounce. Meanwhile, Qi Honglei and the others had a complete impression of Daoist Sanjue. Their gazes were now filled with doubt and disappointment as they turned toward Li Xiaofei.
Li Xiaofei frowned slightly. He was just about to explain when a voice came through the broadcast.
"The match will resume."
The internal dispute had been resolved. In the end, the original ruling stood, it was a draw. Jiepeng’s protest had failed. A new match was about to begin.
This time, before anyone could even speak, Daoist Sanjue stepped forward, his spirit burning with determination.
“I will fight this battle.” He cast a deep, sharp gaze at Li Xiaofei and said, “I am not stepping into the arena for a blind bureaucrat like you. I am doing this for Zhao Guoqiang, for the dignity of Great Xia’s warriors, and for the honor of Great Xia’s martial arts.”
With that, he turned and strode toward the fighter’s tunnel without another word.
Zhang Hongjing was momentarily at a loss for words. Hurriedly, she stepped forward, wanting to say something to ease the tension on Daoist Sanjue’s behalf.
But before she could speak, Li Xiaofei calmly turned to her and said, “What? Do you think I’m the type to hold petty grudges?”
Jiepeng Resting Hall.
Asuka stepped forward and volunteered. The old Sword Saint, Oniba Henzō, gave a slight nod and said, “Don’t be careless.”
“Master, rest assured,” replied Asuka. He was confident in his swordsmanship.
He was ranked just below his master and senior brother in strength within the entire Sword Sect, far surpassing even the prodigy Kawashima Shi. He left the resting hall and strode toward the arena.
Suddenly, a voice called out, “Over here.”
Asuka turned to track the voice. A middle-aged man in a work uniform stood nearby, a faint smile on his face. “So, that old fox Oniba chose you to fight?”
“Martial Uncle?” Asuka froze for a moment.
The man before him was Takano Kumagawa, the junior brother of Oniba Henzō. Once known as the most gifted swordsman in Jiepeng, he had been a legendary figure. Years ago, many believed Takano had the potential to surpass Oniba Henzō, and some even saw him as the inevitable future leader of the Sword Sect.
Yet, for reasons unknown, the previous generation's Sword Saint, master to both Oniba Henzō and Takano Kumagawa, chose to pass down the true legacy of flying sword to Oniba Henzō instead.
With that decision, Takano, once a shining genius, was reduced to obscurity. He became nothing more than a nameless sword-bearer, carrying Oniba’s swords in silence. Within a few years, his name had all but vanished from public memory except among the sect’s core members.
Initially, many aristocratic disciples like Asuka had looked down on Takano, dismissing him as a has-been. That changed after he defeated them effortlessly multiple times. After that, even the proudest among them had learned to show him respect.
“Take this.” Takano Kumagawa unfastened his own sword and handed it over.
"Martial Uncle, this is...?" asked Asuka who was momentarily stunned.
Takano Kumagawa spoke calmly, “This blade will help you win.”
Asuka hesitated for a moment, then nodded and replied,“Thank you, Martial Uncle.”
He took the sword, its scabbard a deep, ominous red, and secured it at his waist. Then he walked toward the arena with confident strides.
The stage had been repaired after the previous battle. The steel rods had been removed, the gaping holes patched, and the bloodstains thoroughly cleaned. Yet, the air still carried a faint scent of blood.
Standing at the center of the arena was Daoist Sanjue. He had removed his outer Daoist robe, revealing a deep navy short combat outfit underneath. It fit snugly against his lean frame, resembling tight martial wear, with a soft sword fastened at his waist.
His long hair was tied back, adding an air of efficiency and elegance. There was no doubt, his presence alone exuded the aura of a master.
Asuka stepped onto the arena, both swords still hanging from his waist. He smirked slightly and said, “I heard that you are renowned for your mastery in palm arts, hidden weapons and lightness skill. Why don’t we compete in those three techniques today?”
His confidence was unwavering. The Sword Sect was revered for its swordsmanship, but their martial doctrine was rooted in Ninjutsu. They had extensive knowledge in hidden weapons, escape techniques, and unconventional combat arts.
However, Daoist Sanjue only let out a disdainful sneer. He said, “A mere barbarian like you, daring to challenge the divine arts of Great Xia?”
As he spoke, his hand landed on the hilt of his sword.
There was a blue flash and the soft sword shot forward like a streak of lightning. At the same time, Daoist Sanjue 's feet shifted seamlessly into the Yin-Yang Phantom Step.
His body blurred, turning into an afterimage as he lunged forward, sword aimed directly at Asuka’s heart.
Unlike Li Baoguo and Zhao Guoqiang, Daoist Sanjue had no intention of holding back. He was going to kill this Jiepeng dog in front of everyone. Only then would he truly honor the fallen warriors, who, six decades ago, had been slaughtered under Jiepeng’s artillery fire.
At the end of 1937, when Great Xia was plunged into chaos, his master had led over thirty disciples from the Kunlun Sect down the mountains and to the southeast. They had not gone as warriors of a sect, but as warriors of Great Xia.
They had marched to war. They had fought to protect their homeland. Back then, Daoist Sanjue had only been an eight-year-old child. He had been left behind in the temple alongside the other youngest disciples.
He had once stood beneath the phoenix tree at the temple gates, watching as his master and senior brothers departed. His young heart had been filled with the hope that one day, he would welcome them back.
But that day of farewell... Had been their final parting. He never saw them again. Their names had faded into silence, their fates were unknown and their stories lost to the abyss of history.
Then, thirty years ago, he traveled to Nanjing. There, in a renowned historical museum, he came across an exhibit. A black-brown Daoist robe, riddled with more than twenty bullet holes.
At that moment, his world shattered. Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face. He nearly collapsed in front of that relic of war. From that day forward, he returned to Mount Kongtong, abandoning all distractions and devoting himself to secluded cultivation.
For twenty years, he meditated in solitude, pushing his body and soul beyond the limits, until he finally broke through the Gate of Life and Death. He reached an unprecedented realm of martial power.
He emerged as one of the most formidable figures in Great Xia’s martial world. He had only come to this tournament for one reason: to face the Jiepeng people. His sword would taste blood. He would avenge those lost in history, those buried under the guns, cannons, and dust of war.
The sword light flashed like lightning. Daoist Sanjue moved so fast that even high-speed cameras struggled to capture his form. He was a flickering phantom of death. In that instant, Asuka’s hair stood on end.