Chen Ping wore a faded blue cloth robe, standing among the Sword Sect disciples, looking somewhat out of place.
Ling Xue and the others were all dressed in the standard white robes of the Sword Sect, while he remained in his usual attire, with the seemingly ordinary Dragon-Slaying Sword at his waist appearing even plainer against the backdrop of the ornate swords around him.
“Brother Chen, look over there!” Ling Xue quietly nudged Chen Ping’s arm, pointing towards the Divine Sword Manor team in the distance.
Three young men in silver armour were gathered around a man in red, who had sharp brows and bright eyes, a haughty smile playing on his lips. It was Zhao Jingfeng.
He seemed to notice Ling Xue’s gaze and turned to look, his eyes sweeping over Chen Ping as if he were an insignificant object, before giving a disdainful smile and saying to his junior brother beside him, “The Sword Sect actually sent a Loose Immortal Realm weakling to make up numbers? It seems they really have no one left.”
The junior brothers burst into laughter, not loudly, but clear enough to reach the ears of the Sword Sect disciples.
Ling Xue’s face paled with anger, her hand trembling slightly on her sword hilt. “That’s too much!”
Chen Ping, however, remained calm and said lightly, “Their mouths are their own. Let them say what they will.”
Chen Ping noticed that Qin Feng, who had sparred with Ling Xue in sword intent, was not in the Divine Sword Manor’s disciple line-up but was seated in the front row.
“Brother Chen, that Qin Feng is the manor lord’s son, so he has a high status. He won’t take part in this competition, probably because he’s afraid of getting hurt,” Ling Xue said to Chen Ping.
Chen Ping nodded. A second-generation heir so full of fears would likely amount to little in the future.
At that moment, a bell rang out in the centre of the square, three long tolls followed by two short ones, signalling the start of the event.
The person in charge of Sword Saint City slowly stood, his voice amplified by spiritual energy, resounding across the square. “Once every hundred years, the Sword Saint Tournament begins! We gather here today to spar in the way of the sword and hone our skills!
I hereby reiterate the three iron rules: first, no spells or treasures, only swords to determine the victor; second, stop at the appropriate moment, but life and death are your own responsibility; third, on the stage, the winner is king!”
“Now, let the competitors from each sect enter the arena!”
As the city lord’s words fell, the light curtain at the entrance slowly opened, and disciples from each sect stepped onto the stage in turn.
A total of sixty-four competitors were divided into thirty-two pairs, facing off in duels, with the winners advancing to the next round.
Chen Ping’s name was listed in the tenth group, his opponent a disciple from the Flowing Cloud Sect with a cultivation level of Earth Immortal, third grade.
“Chen Ping, be careful. The Flowing Cloud Sect’s ‘Thirteen Forms of Flowing Cloud’ are known for their speed,” Mo Chen, who had approached Chen Ping unnoticed, whispered in warning.
Chen Ping nodded. “Master, don’t worry.”
As he stepped onto the stage, whispers broke out among the crowd below.
“That’s the Sword Sect’s competitor? He looks so young.”
“I heard he’s at Loose Immortal Realm, eighth grade. Among the sixty-four, his cultivation is probably the lowest, right?”
“The Flowing Cloud Sect’s Wang Chong is at Earth Immortal, third grade. This match is likely a foregone conclusion.”
Seeing Chen Ping take the stage, Wang Chong flashed a confident smile and cupped his hands. “I am Wang Chong of the Flowing Cloud Sect. May I know your esteemed name?”
“Chen Ping.”
Two simple words, neither humble nor arrogant.
A flicker of displeasure crossed Wang Chong’s eyes, finding Chen Ping too haughty. Without further words, he drew his sword, which turned into a streak of flowing light aimed at Chen Ping’s chest. “Take this!”
The sword light moved like water, elusive and unpredictable, the opening move of the “Thirteen Forms of Flowing Cloud,” known as “Clouds Sweeping the Setting Sun.”
The crowd below saw only a white shadow flash as Wang Chong’s sword reached Chen Ping, who still stood motionless, seemingly unaware.
“It’s over. This Chen Ping is going to lose!”
“Too arrogant, not even drawing his sword?”
Ling Xue was so nervous she closed her eyes.
