The sound of the iron rod striking the ground still echoed through the air when Chen Wuya slowly raised his palm and beckoned forward with a fingertip.
"First student, step forward."
Before the words had even faded, the bearded man roared, "Attack!"
Dozens surged forward like a tide. Blades and sword shadows instantly tore across the open ground before the camp. Dust rose beneath their feet, and the wooden barricade groaned under the strain. The young man in white flashed forward, his sword tip drawing a cold line straight toward Chen Wuya's throat—fast, precise, and vicious, leaving not the slightest room for mercy.
Yet Chen Wuya did not retreat.
He tapped the ground with one foot, and his entire body slid half a step forward as if riding the crest of a current running upstream. The iron rod swept across the ground, sending loose soil billowing into the air and blocking several people's vision. At the instant the dust rose, his steps suddenly fell into disorder. His left foot stepped where his right should have, his right shoulder pressed against his left knee. He seemed to stagger, but in truth had already shifted three feet away.
The sword edge grazed past his neck, carrying away a strand of hair.
System prompt: [High-frequency attack detected. Activating Misaligned Force resonance mode.]
He turned with the momentum, neither parrying nor blocking. Instead, he held his hand three inches beneath the young man in white's wrist and gave it a slight tug, borrowing the force of his forward rush. The new sword immediately veered off course and struck another burly man charging in with a saber.
"Clang—!"
Sparks flew in all directions.
The instant the sword clashed with the steel saber, a strange vibration traveled along the weapons into both men's arms. The young man in white felt a sharp pain in the web between his thumb and forefinger. Looking down, he saw that a chip the size of a grain of rice had already broken from the sword's edge.
"What?!"
He staggered back two steps.
Chen Wuya was no longer where he had been. Like a fish slipping through a narrow gap, he darted into the center of the crowd, spreading both arms with his palms raised as if welcoming an invisible rain.
Seven weapons hacked down from different angles, sealing off every path of retreat above, below, left, and right. Blade winds pressed against their faces, murderous intent chilling the air.
"He's surrounded!" someone growled.
But Chen Wuya merely gave a low shout. "Let force take the side door!"
The true qi within his body suddenly reversed course. The path that should have circulated along the Governing and Conception Vessels was forcibly twisted, surging from his coccyx up his spine before exploding at the Jianjing Acupoint. The system declared: "Error Rationalization—meridian reconstruction complete."
Misaligned Force spiraled out through both arms. His palms never touched the weapons, yet they had already caught the rhythm and vibration frequency of every slash in the air.
He struck with both hands—not at the people, but at the "momentum."
The first palm landed three inches from the back of a saber. The second cut into the vibration node of a sword's spine. The third brushed lightly across the middle section of a spear shaft... His movements were so swift that his trajectory was nearly impossible to see.
In an instant, three steel sabers broke one after another, their jagged edges resembling saw teeth. Two long swords twisted out of shape, their blades wound into knots before falling to the ground. The only surviving iron spear did not break, but a countershock sent it flying from its owner's grip. With a deep thud, it plunged into the mud and continued to hum.
"Crack."
A broken saber struck the ground, scattering splinters.
The entire field fell deathly silent.
One man stared at the hilt that was all that remained in his hand, his face turning pale. Several others instinctively let go, allowing their ruined weapons to fall.
"He... he didn't touch us at all..." A burly axeman's voice trembled. "How did they break?"
Chen Wuya stood where he was, his sleeves lifting slightly, his breathing steady.
"You practice 'flowing force.' I use Misaligned Force." His voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly into every ear. "The flowing follows momentum. The misaligned runs against the current and breaks the deadlock. The stronger your force, the fiercer the rebound."
The bearded man glared at him, veins throbbing at his temples.
"Babbling nonsense!" he roared. "What the hell is Misaligned Force? It's nothing but demonic sorcery and an illusion!"
Before his voice had faded, he had already swung a saber weighing a hundred jin. His muscles swelled across his body as he stamped one foot down, leaving cracks in the earth. This was his ultimate trump card—"River Severing Slash," a move that had once split a massive boulder in a mountain ravine.
The saber wind howled, rolling up waves of dust.
The onlookers retreated one after another, afraid of being caught in the aftershock.
Yet Chen Wuya neither dodged nor avoided it.
He stepped into the blade light. Beneath his feet, his steps traced a bizarre reverse arc, his center of gravity shifting left and right as if a drunk were slipping across an icy surface. This was the ultimate application of the "Universe Reversal Step"—using misalignment to shatter stability, using disorder to control order.
When the blade was only three inches from his neck, he lightly tapped the back of it with the iron rod in his right hand. The five fingers of his left hand beckoned through the air, as though tugging on an invisible thread.
Misaligned Force shot up the blade, surging backward along the metal's grain.
The bearded man suddenly felt his arm go numb, as though countless fine needles were drilling out from his marrow. Then the web between his thumb and forefinger split, blood spraying out, and the hundred-jin saber fell from his grip against his will.
"Clang!"
The blade struck the ground. Before it had even stopped, it broke in two by itself, the fracture smooth as if sliced.
Everyone sucked in a breath.
Chen Wuya bent down, picked up half the broken saber, and weighed it in his hand before tossing it into the air.
The blade spun, drawing a streak of silver beneath the setting sun.
"Martial arts aren't governed by whoever shouts the loudest." He looked over the silent martial artists, his voice turning cold. "Today's lesson is called—<When Your Righteous Path Collides with My Crooked Logic, Which of You Breaks First?>"
The broken saber fell to the ground with a clear ring.
No one answered.
The bearded man stood frozen, staring at his bleeding palm and broken weapon. His lips moved, but in the end he did not say another word. He slowly turned and waved for the remnants of his group to withdraw. Some helped their injured companions to their feet, while others silently picked up the broken weapons and left the camp with heavy steps.
The young man in white still held the chipped sword, staring blankly at Chen Wuya.
After a moment, he looked down at the sword, then at the broken weapons scattered across the ground. In the end, he said nothing, sheathed the sword, and turned away.
The crowd dispersed, leaving only shattered blades strewn across the open ground as the dust slowly settled.
Chen Wuya leaned on the iron rod and slowly exhaled. Forcing his true qi to reverse course had left his meridians faintly aching. His right arm had also been cut by a flying blade, and beads of blood slid down his forearm, gathering into a single red point at his fingertip.
Old Wu Tou had approached at some point, carrying an old medicine chest and standing behind him.
"Boy." The old man's voice was low. "Time to treat your wounds."
Chen Wuya did not turn around. He merely nodded lightly.
He gazed toward the end of the distant official road, where the last trace of sunset was sinking behind the mountain ridge and stretching his shadow long.
The medicine chest opened. Bandages and porcelain bottles were laid out one by one.
Old Wu Tou tore open his sleeve, exposing the wound. The bleeding had already stopped, and the edges had taken on a faint bluish-purple hue.
"The backlash from Misaligned Force was too fierce. It injured your sinews." The old man frowned. "Next time, don't use your body to forcibly bear the shock."
"I'm fine." Chen Wuya smiled. "As long as they remember this battle."
Old Wu Tou said nothing more. He dipped a cloth in medicine and gently wiped away the blood.
Chen Wuya suddenly asked, "What do you think they'll say when they go back?"
"That you're a madman." The old man answered quietly. "That you use demonic arts and can shatter weapons from the air."
"Even better." The corners of his mouth lifted. "A madman isn't frightening. What's frightening is when the madman's reasoning is something you still can't refute."
Old Wu Tou paused and looked up at him, his expression complicated.
In the distance, a crow landed atop the broken spear. It shook its wings and gave a brief, harsh cry.
Chen Wuya raised a hand and touched the bruise on his left shoulder, his brows drawing together slightly.
Old Wu Tou reached out and pressed down on his shoulder. "Don't move. You injured this spot too."
Just then, Chen Wuya suddenly sensed something strange.
He lowered his head and looked at the iron rod planted in the ground—the tip trembled slightly.
It was not the wind.
It was a vibration coming from the ground.
Before you continue