Wang Siru was a mature-stage Heavenly Vein warrior.
Meanwhile, Ling Xiao’s displayed cultivation was only at the growth-stage Heavenly Vein level.
Thus, Wang Siru didn’t take him seriously at all.
“Yuehua Sect? That bottom-ranked sect? What luck, this point is mine!”
Muttering to himself, Wang Siru suddenly moved his feet, swinging his crescent long blade wide and fast, aiming a strike directly at Ling Xiao’s head.
The move was swift, its power immense.
Though not flashy or cunning, its sheer speed made dodging difficult.
The blade’s light flashed like a silver bolt, chilling and fearsome.
Ling Xiao stood motionless, unleashing a terrifying killing intent mixed with sword will, piercing into his opponent’s heart like a sharp blade.
“No—!”
Wang Siru’s blade was still mid-air when he spat blood onto it, collapsing heavily to the ground.
“What a fearsome will!”
The tenth group’s referee watched in shock.
Since the tournament began, only Ling Xiao, besides Mo Wushang, could defeat opponents so effortlessly in this manner.
“Pity, as the saying goes, why must Liang exist when Yu is born? With Mo Wushang around, Ling Xiao won’t go far on this path.”
The referee sighed.
In ancient times, it was said two masters, Liang and Yu, were equally matched, yet Yu always fell short of Liang, ultimately driven to death by Zhuge Liang’s taunts.
The referee’s words stemmed from this tale.
Whether the story was true, given its ancient origins, was hard to verify.
But the referee clearly believed Ling Xiao’s talent in soul techniques couldn’t match Mo Wushang’s.
Ling Xiao heard but only smiled faintly, turning to leave the arena.
His opponent, Wang Siru, was carried off.
Wang Siru’s injuries weren’t severe; he was mostly frightened by Ling Xiao and would likely recover with rest.
“What’s that idiot Wang Siru doing? Did Yuehua Sect bribe him?”
The referee, a Cave Heaven realm expert, could see Ling Xiao used soul power, but most warriors lacked such cultivation and didn’t know what he’d done.
They thought Wang Siru threw the match.
Even Yan Liehuo believed so.
But with the referee silent, their discontent was futile.
“Ling Xiao wins!
Next, Feng Moting and Po Qianjun, take the stage!”
As the tenth group referee’s voice rang out, murmurs erupted in the group.
Even many spectators turned their attention.
Ling Xiao knew Po Qianjun, indeed formidable.
But the crowd seemed focused not on him, but on Feng Moting.
“Feng Moting’s finally up! Last Martial Arts Festival, he ranked nineteenth. In the tenth group, he’s the strongest!”
“Exactly. To avoid top twenty clashing early, each of the ten groups has two top-twenty fighters. Our tenth group has nineteenth-ranked Feng Moting and second-ranked Zhai Jun.”
“Those two will likely top our group’s points, no surprises there.”
“Po Qianjun’s from Tianlong Academy, right? Wonder how strong he is, can he last ten moves against Feng Moting?”
“Unlikely. Po Qianjun’s a rookie. Forget ten moves, surviving four or five would be a miracle.”
The crowd’s chatter made Ling Xiao smile slightly.
Could a rookie be underestimated?
Though Po Qianjun didn’t reach the top six in preliminaries, his strength surpassed Feng Moting’s.
Ling Xiao was certain.
As for Feng Moting, dressed in typical ninja clan style, his face bore a sinister look, with dark aura swirling at his brow, a mark of frequent slaughter of innocents.
If not resolved early, he’d likely fall to madness.
Ling Xiao had no fondness for such a person, though his judgment wasn’t swayed by emotions.
After all, Po Qianjun had tried to kill him in the True Demon Forbidden Land, so Ling Xiao held no affection for him either.
But in terms of strength, Po Qianjun was undoubtedly superior, no question.
He used a sword too, like Ling Xiao.
Standing there, he exuded an aura of destruction and ruin.
If Ling Xiao guessed right, this man had grasped the Sword Will of Destruction!
Ling Xiao watched with interest.
On the arena.
The two stood over ten meters apart, both radiating strong confidence.
“Po Qianjun, as a Tianlong Academy disciple, concede now to avoid embarrassment.”
Feng Moting looked at Po Qianjun, speaking calmly.
His tone carried strong confidence and pride.
“Hahaha!”
Po Qianjun burst into wild laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
Feng Moting frowned.
“I laugh at you, fool. You won’t last three moves against me!”
His words were like boiling water splashed into the crowd.
Not just the tenth group’s fighters, but surrounding spectators scoffed at Po Qianjun’s claim.
This guy was too arrogant. Not even top six in preliminaries, likely weaker than Yan Liehuo, yet daring to speak so to Feng Moting?
Who was Feng Moting?
Last festival’s twentieth, while Yan Liehuo was only fifty-first.
Even in Tianwang Sect, Feng Moting ranked sixth among the top ten core disciples.
His cultivation wasn’t far behind Mo Wushang or Dao Wuming, and his martial arts were Tianwang Sect’s jade-grade techniques, top-tier for this level.
His fame just wasn’t as great.
What gave Po Qianjun the right to look down on him?
“Interesting!”
Feng Moting, enraged, laughed, “I planned to go easy since we’re from the same side, but you’re clueless. You say three moves to beat me? I’m not that cocky, but five moves, and you’re off this arena.”
“Enough talk, let’s fight.”
Po Qianjun was holding a grudge.
In the preliminaries, he didn’t make the final six, not because he was weaker, but because he was tripped up by the final phantom figure.
It was embarrassing to admit, so he didn’t dwell on it. Now, he only wanted to prove his strength in the finals, to show he wasn’t a coward or weakling.
Unfortunately, Feng Moting became his stepping stone.
“Have it your way!”
Feng Moting sneered, his storage ring flashing. A narrow ninja long blade appeared in his hand.
With a wrist flick, the blade unleashed over a dozen bird-shaped lightning blade energies toward Po Qianjun.
Each carried a terrifying lightning will, not overly strong, but a great threat to warriors below the Heavenly Human realm.
