The Misaligned Force in Chen Wuya's palm was still pulsing, crackling like sparks bursting when a red-hot iron rod was plunged into cold water. He stared at the three men, one corner of his mouth twitching. In a level voice, he said, "I'll count to three. The first one to make a move—will be wounded by the second."
The alley fell silent for a moment.
Senior Brother Zhao frowned slightly. His left hand was already resting on his sword hilt, but his gaze swept toward the two men beside him. The wounded disciple was breathing a little heavily, his left shoulder drawn tight, the tip of his sword tilted faintly forward. The crouching disciple remained half-crouched and motionless, fingers hooked around the end of his scabbard, waiting only for the order.
"Three!"
Before Chen Wuya's voice had even faded, the wounded disciple's wrist jerked. His blade thrust forward a few inches—though he had not truly attacked, his aura had shifted, and his body leaned forward slightly.
The crouching disciple reacted with astonishing speed, immediately sweeping his sword across toward Chen Wuya's side to guard against a surprise attack. Yet in Senior Brother Zhao's eyes, this looked like his teammate recklessly pressing forward, leaving his defenses wide open!
"You're courting death!" Senior Brother Zhao roared. His longsword swept sideways, heading straight for the wounded disciple's ribs!
A cold gleam flashed past. The wounded disciple suddenly realized what was happening and hastily brought his sword around to block. With a clang, the two swords collided, sparks flying. He staggered backward, nearly crashing into the woodpile, all color draining from his face. "Senior Brother? Have you gone mad?"
"You moved first!" Senior Brother Zhao retracted his sword and regarded him coldly. "He knew you wouldn't be able to hold yourself back."
Chen Wuya slid backward, coming to rest against a broken wall. Yet he showed no sign of panic. Instead, he laughed. "See that? You can't even tell who attacked first, and you're still talking about coordinated attacks?"
"Shut up!" The wounded disciple gnashed his teeth. His right arm shook violently, and his sword rose again.
Senior Brother Zhao raised a hand to stop him, his expression dark as he stared at Chen Wuya. "You clearly don't understand the Canglang Art. How can you point out our flaws?"
"Don't understand?" Chen Wuya tilted his head with a smile. "You practice the 'right path,' while I walk the 'contrary way.' You can't hit me, yet I can see exactly which sinew each of your moves draws its strength from—don't you find that strange?"
The crouching disciple slowly stood, hesitation showing in his grip. "He... was right about the 'Severing Current' variation just now. That detail is only passed down within our inner sect."
"You believe his nonsense too?" the wounded disciple snapped, glaring furiously. "A swindler making a living by wandering outside the proper path could know the finishing principles of the Qingfeng Thirteen Forms?"
"Didn't I already say?" Chen Wuya spread his hands. "Your senior brother's sword left his waist and legs disconnected. If I were you, I would have sliced his wrist already." As he spoke, he suddenly kicked up a fragment of stone, sending it straight toward Senior Brother Zhao's face.
Senior Brother Zhao turned his head to dodge. His sword pressed downward with the motion, guarding against Chen Wuya taking the opportunity to close in. Yet in that instant, Chen Wuya did not follow up. Instead, he stamped down hard, poured Misaligned Force into his palm, and slammed it against the ground!
Dust billowed into the air, and several stones shot upward, flying toward the three men's feet.
"There's someone behind you!" he shouted.
The three instinctively turned around. Their blades crossed, and they nearly collided with one another. The crouching disciple was a moment too slow in withdrawing his sword, and its tip sliced across Senior Brother Zhao's cloak, cutting a gash through it.
"Enough!" Senior Brother Zhao bellowed. "Don't fall for his traps again!"
But the crack had already been planted.
The three men stood in a loose formation, their gazes flickering with mutual hesitation. The wounded disciple panted heavily, the look he gave Chen Wuya shifting from anger to fear. The crouching disciple's grip had changed; he was no longer wholly focused on locking onto his target, but repeatedly glanced at his fellow disciples from the corners of his eyes. Though Senior Brother Zhao still stood in the center, his feet had already retreated from a stable triangular formation into a single-line defense.
Chen Wuya slowly rolled his shoulders and neck. Misaligned Force circulated once through his limbs. Though it moved with some sluggishness, it could still support one burst of swift movement. He knew he could not drag this out any longer.
"Do people from your Qingfeng Sect learn the sword first, or obedience first?" he suddenly asked, his tone flippant. "You don't look like swordsmen to me. You look more like actors rehearsing a play—one person recites the lines, two people echo him, and when the performance is over, you even have to applaud one another."
"You're courting death!" The wounded disciple could endure no more. With a furious roar, he lunged forward, sword light cascading like a waterfall as it cleaved straight down toward Chen Wuya's head.
Chen Wuya neither received nor blocked the attack. His feet stepped into the Universe Reversal Step, and his body dipped low, actually slipping beneath the other man's sword shadows. Misaligned Force flowed along with his steps. His right palm swept low across the ground, its edge grazing the opponent's ankle.
With a faint crack, the wounded disciple's ankle went numb. His entire body pitched forward, and he fell awkwardly into the muddy ground.
Enraged beyond reason, Senior Brother Zhao leaped into the air. His sword stabbed down from above, swift as a flash of lightning.
Chen Wuya spun aside. Misaligned Force surged upward in reverse, and a line from a fragment of the Canglang Art flashed through his mind—a mantra the system had judged to be a "misunderstanding": "Those who reverse the meridians live; those who follow and defend perish." He did not retreat. Instead, he met the sword's momentum and cut into the center line, spreading the five fingers of his left hand and aiming his palm at the sword's spine as Misaligned Force exploded outward.
"Clang!"
The sword shuddered violently. Senior Brother Zhao's tiger mouth went numb, and his attack faltered.
In that fleeting opening, the crouching disciple launched a side attack, his sword tip thrusting straight for Chen Wuya's throat.
Chen Wuya lowered his head and dodged. With another Misstep, he slid sideways, his body rising and falling like a wave. He actually trapped both attacks at his sides, borrowing force to strike with force as his right palm lightly pushed against the crouching disciple's elbow.
The man's arm stiffened. His sword veered off course and collided with Senior Brother Zhao's blade!
With a clatter, the two swords struck each other, sparks scattering in all directions.
Both men retreated half a step, their expressions changing drastically.
"You did that on purpose!" Senior Brother Zhao glared with eyes wide in fury.
"What did I do?" Chen Wuya retreated to the mouth of the alley and brushed at his sleeve, wearing a half-smile. "You two were the ones who started fighting. Who else could you blame?"
"After him!" Senior Brother Zhao ordered sharply. "Don't let him get away!"
The three men tried to encircle him again, but after their successive blunders, their formation had already fallen into disorder. Chen Wuya seized the opportunity to turn and sprint. His figure flashed once before disappearing into the dusk at the alley's mouth.
Angry shouts continued behind him, accompanied by chaotic footsteps.
He cut through streets and alleys, choosing narrow paths and rooftops. Using the Universe Reversal Step to travel in reverse, he left behind footprints impossible to distinguish as real or false. After several turns, the town's noise gradually faded, and the footsteps behind him thinned out as well.
When he reached a barren slope outside the town, he stopped to catch his breath and looked back once, confirming that no one was following closely.
In the distant woods, a ruined temple loomed faintly. Its eaves jutted crookedly, its remaining roof tiles flaked away, and the incense burner before the entrance had toppled over, its ashes not yet cold.
He wiped away his sweat and muttered, "If you practice the sword without practicing your brains, you deserve every beating you get."
He straightened his blue cloth sash and walked slowly toward the ruined temple.
The moment he stepped onto the stone stairs, his foot suddenly slipped.
Looking down, he saw half of a broken sword wedged between the stones. It was mottled with rust, its edge curled, as though someone had snapped it in half by brute force and discarded it here.
He crouched and reached out to fiddle with it.
A blurry character, "Qing," was carved into the hilt.
Before he could examine it closely, the sound of branches snapping came from the woods behind him.
Chen Wuya abruptly raised his head, his gaze locking onto the depths of the forest.
A figure stood behind a tree, its cloak half-concealing its body. A longsword hung downward in its hand, droplets of water dripping from the tip.
Before you continue