The clamor atop Moonwatch Mountain shook the heavens.
The astonished cries of over a hundred thousand martial artists lingered without end.
The sight of Yang Jing driving back an unrivaled Heavenly Prodigy with a single punch was branded deep into every spectator's eyes, overturning the entire tournament's landscape.
In the Heavenly Sword Sect's viewing area, Lü Chongrui, who had just suffered a crushing defeat and grievous injuries, sat frozen in his seat, his blood and qi still unsettled. His eyes widened, his pupils contracted sharply, and he stared fixedly at the two figures in the center of the Bluestone Arena, disbelief written all over his face.
Already pale as paper from his injuries and blood loss, he now lost every last trace of color. His mind thundered, then went blank, and he could not recover his senses for a long while.
Ever since his defeat at Li Tai's hands, the sect elders had repeatedly urged him to return to the quarters halfway down the mountain, settle his mind, regulate his breathing, and heal. Yet he had gritted his teeth through the pain wracking his body and insisted on remaining in the stands.
He harbored an obsession that had endured for five years.
At the Jintai Grand Tournament five years earlier, he had been brimming with confidence as he first revealed his brilliance. He had fought through round after round and likewise reached the semifinals, only to lose narrowly to Jiang Yun's sword beneath the eyes of the crowd, his journey ending there.
That battle had become the greatest regret and unresolved knot in all his years of martial cultivation.
For five years, he had cultivated tirelessly day and night, honing his dedication to the Sword Path, consolidating his true qi, and surpassing his limits. Step by step, he had secured