Wang Anfeng's Rapid Growth in Battle, Nightmare of the Phoenix Banquet

"Yaaah!"

A young girl beneath the stage couldn't help but cry out in surprise. This seemed to flip a switch. Traces of divine light gathered in Wang Anfeng's eyes. With a clear shout, he gripped Zeng Bo's wrist with his right palm, stepping forward and twisting. He slammed the latter to the ground, his left hand like a blade drawn from its sheath, steadying on Zeng Bo's neck.

The middle-aged man serving as the referee's eyes brightened slightly. He nodded and said:

"Victor, Wang Anfeng."

Zeng Bo clutched his wrist, managing a wry smile and admitting defeat. He stumbled off the stage. He had won two matches, yet hadn't taken anything, a truly embarrassing situation. Wang Anfeng's eyes slightly closed as he looked at the martial artists below, all around his age. They held sharp weapons, their gazes fixed on him, some arrogant, some peaceful.

Master said I must subdue them all.

It wasn't that no one was willing to step up. It was that no one dared. Frustration churned within them, yet no one dared to draw their swords.

And so, under the watchful eyes of everyone, the young man with faint eyebrows, like a gentle breeze, cupped his hands and bowed deeply to the crowd below.

"Wang Anfeng of Shaolin, I seek your guidance."

"Please grant me a defeat."

The moment the words left his mouth, the entire venue fell silent.

One young man stared blankly, seemingly unable to believe his ears. After a few breaths, he violently slammed down the wine pot in his hand, cursed loudly, and leaped onto the stage. Wang Anfeng gave a slight cupped-hand salute, but the other youth didn't even respond. He just stared at Wang Anfeng and sneered:

"You want to use us as a stepping stone? You're too arrogant!"

"I'm too lazy to waste words with you, take this!"

With that, he charged directly at Wang Anfeng. His boxing style was ethereal and agile, like flowing clouds and surging currents, unpredictable. Wang Anfeng took a slight breath, his fists clenched.

Since I'm fighting consecutive matches, stamina will definitely be an issue.

So I choose...

A quick kill!

His eyes brightened. With a clear shout, his right fist struck out in the most common middle-level palm strike, utterly without flourish. The momentum was powerful. Having just witnessed the consequences of directly blocking Wang Anfeng's punches and kicks, the young man was indeed extremely wary and dodged to the side. At this moment, Wang Anfeng's body suddenly accelerated, closing in on the youth as swiftly as Zeng Bo had moments before.

His left hand formed a palm, striking directly at the abdomen. His right elbow bent, like a general spurring his horse, raising his lance.

Then, with a violent twist of his body and elbow, the elbow's edge let out a scalp-tingling whistling sound, piercing the distance between them and steadily stopping at the youth's throat.

The rapid stop, a gust of wind blew the youth's black hair upwards. In his enlarged pupils, reflecting his terror, was the face of the youth before him. It was peaceful and gentle, yet his eyes were filled with the calm indifference of a strategist.

The elbow slowly retracted. The youth's legs buckled, and he collapsed directly onto the ground.

Wang Anfeng cupped his fists, saying "I concede," then lightly adjusted his sleeves and cupped his hands slightly towards the front.

Still only one sentence.

"Please grant me a defeat."

His voice echoed out, and for a moment, no one in the venue dared to respond. After a moment of dead silence, someone shouted:

"He's provoking all of us!"

"Although I'm not his match, I'm willing to fight this kid. He can't possibly defeat all of us!"

Amidst the angry shouts, a young man leaped onto the stage. In his hand was not a glove, but a wooden long saber. The saber's edge lifted slightly as he shouted:

"A disciple of the Zhang Family from Wangxian, I'll dampen your arrogance!"

"Shaolin's Wang Anfeng, I seek your guidance."

Thirteen breaths later, the young man surnamed Zhang stumbled to the ground, his face already pale.

In his ears, the peaceful and sincere voice, like a nightmare, sounded again:

"Please grant me a defeat."

Today is the fifteenth of August. The autumn air is growing stronger, not suitable for sparring, only for watching the red maple leaves fall and the ginkgo turn golden. Below the mountain lies the county seat of Wangxian County. Various noble families and sects have descendants in this city. The names of these sects and the surnames of these noble families represent outstanding masters.

Every year, the Phoenix Banquet is the time when these masters first soar in their memories. Young names are published on the Phoenix Ranking, spreading throughout the thousand-mile land of Wangxian County. They gain experience through combat while still immature, growing rapidly.

But combat inevitably has winners and losers. Someone will always be used as a stepping stone. Either a little. Or a lot...

With a crisp sound, Wang Anfeng's fists sent the twin daggers in a young girl's hands flying, falling to the ground. As she gritted her teeth to continue fighting, a fist had already steadily stopped at her throat. Simultaneously, the same indifferent voice appeared.

"I concede."

The girl's eyes widened. Amidst her unwillingness, what appeared was a fear she herself couldn't believe.

How... how is this possible?

Eight consecutive matches, eight consecutive victories! Doesn't he get tired?

Wang Anfeng let out a shallow breath, feeling a faint weariness creeping into his body, but his expression remained unchanged. He clasped his hands together, his posture upright, and bowed slightly to those below.

Almost the instant he bowed, all the young heroes and noble scions paled and took a unified step back, leaving a large empty space in front of him. The sincere face of the young man before them seemed as terrifying as a demon's in their eyes.

Wang Anfeng paused slightly. Just then, a long laugh suddenly echoed from afar. A wooden sword shot through the air like lightning, landing on the arena. A white figure then strode forward, stepping onto the platform. He grasped the hilt of the sword, and at that moment, the wooden sword let out a long, resonant hum, a brilliant flash streaking across Wang Anfeng's vision.

The latter's pupils contracted, and he abruptly retreated. Simultaneously, his left hand swept out, aiming for the opponent's wrist. A surge of energy erupted. The newcomer, seemingly aware of its power, didn't meet it head-on. He spun his body, and the long sword, like a viper, lunged towards Wang Anfeng's neck. But at this critical moment, Wang Anfeng's right hand had already risen. He shifted his body, his five fingers pressing with extreme precision onto the spine of the wooden sword, blocking the attack.

Then, energy exploded!

Though not overwhelmingly powerful, the clash of colliding and pulling forces was enough to stir the air. Wang Anfeng's steps faltered as he retreated, while the other figure landed on the arena. The middle-aged man acting as the arbiter frowned and roared:

"Who is it!"

"How dare you be so presumptuous here!"

The person didn't answer, merely chuckled. He raised the wooden sword in his hand and swept it horizontally, as if predicting the future, striking the arbiter's right fist. The intervening official looked startled, then stumbled backward, the fabric on his right arm tearing apart into shreds that scattered like butterflies. He exclaimed in shock:

"Who?!"

"It's just been a long time since I've seen such an interesting young fellow. I feel like playing around a bit, hehe. You don't need to mind me."

The newcomer flicked his robe. He was an exceptionally dashing and unrestrained middle-aged man. He casually waved to the referee and said with a smile to Wang Anfeng:

"Such a young age, and such a big mouth. What do you say? I'm down here too. Tell me, can I fight you?"

"Of course. I will temporarily seal my internal force, and it will be limited to ten moves. How about it?"

Wang Anfeng exhaled, his fear slowly dissipating, replaced by calmness and excitement. He slowly clasped his fists:

"Shaolin, Wang Anfeng."

The man burst into laughter:

"Hahaha, you have courage, you have courage. I am Xu Ziyang, the Dragon General of Wangxian County!"

"Watch the sword!"

Accompanied by excited, hearty laughter, Xu Ziyang pointed his fingers and pressed several acupoints on his body to seal his internal force. The wooden sword in his palm trembled slightly, and his swordsmanship immediately unfolded. His more refined internal force, coupled with a swift and sharp sword style, transformed into a cold glint that struck towards Wang Anfeng. Within the blink of an eye, it appeared before the latter. Judging by its speed, there was no time to react, causing a wave of gasps.

The arbiter's face turned ashen. He gathered his full power, ready to rush to the rescue if anything unexpected happened.

Which it did.

But just as the arbiter took his right foot forward, Wang Anfeng, who still appeared somewhat dazed, suddenly retreated. His speed surpassed that of the wooden sword. On the arena, one person retreated rapidly, while the other charged forward, the sword's edge suspended in mid-air, unable to advance an inch, nor daring to retreat.

The white robe and the ink-blue hemline intertwined, like white clouds drifting in the sky. It wasn't killing intent, but rather carried a poetic grace. Just as he was about to fall off the stage, Wang Anfeng exerted force from his waist, spun his body, and his fist smashed forcefully onto the now dispirited wooden sword, emitting a light clanging sound.

A sharp glint appeared in the young man's dark eyes.

Hummm~

Energy coursed through his five fingers, gripping the long sword, producing a clear sword cry. The surrounding youths' eyes widened, but before they could utter their gasps, Wang Anfeng's left hand transformed into a palm and struck the sword, pushing the wooden sword several inches away before the blade could rotate.

At the same time, he shifted his body, his right elbow smashing towards Xu Ziyang's abdomen with a spinning motion. Its sharpness and ferocity were far beyond his previous attacks, and its speed was incredibly fast. Xu Ziyang's heart sank; the figure had already appeared before him.

Startled, the energy within his body transformed into a roaring dragon, surging into the long sword. The sword moved with his body, defending himself. His internal force was, after all, much more refined than Wang Anfeng's. Moreover, to save face, he was performing with 'full effort.' The long sword narrowly traced a perfect defensive arc just as the fist was about to strike. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. But at that moment, a fair hand suddenly appeared, casting a deep shadow in his eyes.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

A few light sounds, followed by the sharp, needle-like pain of several acupoints. With his internal force sealed, he had no means to defend his body. His hand loosened, and the next moment, the long sword in his palm changed hands.

Anxious, Xu Ziyang didn't lose his composure. He steadied his body, his palms crossed, about to employ the Cloud Ink Palm technique to fight back. But just then, a large foot stomped onto his shoulder with fierce momentum. The force was so great that he stumbled and lost his balance.

Immediately, a barrage of kicks and leg sweeps enveloped his body like a storm. There was no technique or skill involved, just rough, savage, yet rapid and powerful movements like raindrops on banana leaves. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Xu Ziyang was forced to retreat step by step. The frenzied leg combination concluded with a powerful whip kick. Xu Ziyang finally managed to catch his breath. As he looked up, a shadow loomed over him—

Several meters in the air, the young man in the ink-blue martial attire leaped up. He clenched his left fist and reversed his right palm to hold the wooden sword. At the highest point, the young man paused slightly, then spun and chopped down.

Waves of energy erupted, kicking up a cloud of dust. An ink-black dragon soared into the sky, roaring defiantly, its vibrations echoing through the surrounding mountains.

Wang Anfeng landed unsteadily, the wooden sword in his hand turning to dust under the immense True Qi. Enduring the soreness in his body, his face remained calm and peaceful. He bowed slightly to the now unsealed Xu Ziyang, who exuded a powerful aura like a descending divine general:

"I concede."

He shifted his feet slightly, his gaze falling upon the many young heroes below. Wang Anfeng clasped his hands and bowed again to the crowd.

"Shaolin's Wang Anfeng."

"I request your defeat."