Twisted Logic's Fierce Battle, Misaligned Energy Shatters Weapons

The sound of the iron rod hitting the ground still echoed in the air as Chen Wuya slowly raised his palm, his fingertips pointing forward.

"First student, please step forward."

Before the words even fell, the bearded man roared, "Attack!"

Dozens of people surged forward like a tide, sword light and blade shadows instantly tearing through the open space in front of the camp. Dust was kicked up, and the wooden fence creaked under the strain. The young man in white flashed forward, his sword tip drawing a cold line, aiming straight for Chen Wuya's throat—fast, accurate, and ruthless, holding nothing back.

Chen Wuya didn't retreat.

He tapped his foot, and his entire body slid forward half a step as if riding the crest of an opposing wave. The iron rod swept across the ground, kicking up loose soil that rose into the air, obscuring the vision of several people. The moment the dust cloud formed, his steps became abruptly disoriented. His left foot stepped where his right should be, his right shoulder pressed down over his left knee. He appeared to stumble, but in reality, he had shifted his position three feet away.

The sword's edge grazed his neck, carrying away a lock of hair.

A system prompt exploded in his mind: [High-frequency attack detected, activating Misaligned Energy Resonance Mode].

He spun sideways with the momentum, neither blocking nor parrying. Instead, he reached out and lightly touched three inches below the white-clothed youth's wrist, using the latter's forward momentum to guide him slightly. The new sword immediately changed direction, smashing directly into another burly man lunging forward with a saber.

"Clang—!"

Sparks flew.

The moment the sword blade met the steel saber, a strange vibration traveled through the weapons into both their arms. The white-clothed youth felt a sharp pain in his hand, and looking down, he saw that his sword's edge had chipped, leaving a grain-sized gap.

"What?!" He stumbled back two steps.

Chen Wuya was no longer in the same spot. He darted through the crowd like a fish through reeds, his arms spread wide, palms facing upward as if welcoming an invisible rain.

Seven weapons swung down from different angles, sealing off all escape routes above, below, left, and right. The wind from the blades pressed against his face, filled with killing intent.

"He's surrounded!" someone growled.

But Chen Wuya merely let out a low shout, "Energy goes the wrong way!"

The true energy within his body suddenly reversed its flow. The path that should have circulated through the Ren and Du meridians was forcibly twisted, surging from the tailbone up the spine and exploding at the Jianjing acupoint. The system judged: "Error Rationalized—Meridian Reconstruction Complete."

Misaligned energy spiraled out from his arms. Before his palms even touched the weapons, he had already captured the rhythm and vibration frequency of each swing in the air.

He clapped his hands twice—not to strike, but to strike at the "momentum."

The first palm landed three-tenths of the way up the saber's back, the second palm hit the vibration node of the sword's spine, and the third palm lightly brushed the middle section of the spear shaft... The movements were incredibly fast, almost too quick to follow.

In an instant, three steel sabers snapped successively, their breaks jagged like saw teeth; two long swords twisted and deformed, their blades twisted into spirals before falling to the ground; the only surviving iron spear, though unbroken, was forced from its wielder's grasp by a counter-force, flying out and embedding deeply into the mud with a "thud," still humming ominously.

"Crack."

A broken saber clattered to the ground, scattering debris.

The entire scene fell into dead silence.

Someone stared at the half-broken saber hilt in their hand, their face pale. Others instinctively let go, dropping their remaining weapons.

"He... he didn't even touch us..." a burly man wielding an axe stammered, his voice trembling, "How did they break?"

Chen Wuya stood in place, his sleeves fluttering slightly, his breathing steady.

"You practice 'aligned energy,' I walk the path of 'misaligned energy'," he said, his voice not loud but clearly reaching everyone's ears. "The aligned follow the flow, the misaligned break through the current. The stronger your force, the harsher the rebound."

The bearded man glared at him, veins throbbing on his forehead.

"Nonsense!" he roared, "What kind of bullshit misaligned energy! It's just some evil trickery!"

Before his words faded, he swung his hundred-pound saber, his muscles bulging, and stomped his foot, leaving a crack in the earth. This was his ultimate technique, the "River Severing Slash," which had once split giant boulders in mountain ravines.

The saber wind howled, stirring up waves of dust.

Onlookers retreated one after another, afraid of being caught by the residual force.

Chen Wuya, however, did not dodge.

He stepped forward into the saber's light, his footwork strangely drawing an inverted arc. His center of gravity shifted erratically, left and right, like a drunkard slipping on ice. This was the ultimate application of the "Universe Reversal Step"—using misalignment to break stability, using chaos to disrupt order.

When the saber's edge was only three inches from his neck, he lightly tapped the saber's back with his iron rod, his left hand's five fingers seemingly pulling an invisible thread.

Misaligned energy surged up the saber's body, rushing against the grain of the metal.

The bearded man suddenly felt his arm go numb, as if countless tiny needles were piercing his bones. Immediately after, his hand cracked, blood splattered, and the hundred-pound saber inexplicably fell from his grasp.

"Clang!"

The saber hit the ground, and before it even stopped, it broke in half on its own, the break as clean as if it had been sliced.

Everyone gasped.

Chen Wuya bent down, picked up the broken half of the saber, weighed it, and tossed it into the air.

The blade flipped, catching the setting sun in a silver flash.

"Martial arts isn't about who shouts the loudest to set the rules," he said, looking at the stunned Jianghu figures, his voice turning cold. "Today's lesson is titled: When Your Righteous Path Collides With My Crooked Logic, Who Shatters First?"

The broken saber landed with a ringing sound.

No one responded.

The bearded man stood frozen, looking at his bleeding hand and the broken weapons, his lips moving. In the end, he said nothing more. He slowly turned, waving his hand to signal his remaining men to retreat. Some helped their injured companions, others silently picked up broken blades, and they withdrew from the camp with heavy steps.

The white-clothed youth still held the chipped sword, staring blankly at Chen Wuya.

After a moment, he looked down at his sword, then at the scattered broken weapons and metal scraps on the ground. Finally, without a word, he sheathed his sword and turned to leave.

The crowd dispersed, leaving only shattered blades scattered across the open ground, dust still settling.

Chen Wuya leaned on the iron rod, slowly exhaling. Forcing his true energy to reverse had left his meridians aching, and a diagonal gash from flying blade fragments marked his right arm. Blood beaded and slid down his forearm, forming a red dot at his fingertips.

Old Wu Tou appeared beside him at some point, holding an old medicine box, and stood behind him.

"Kid," the old man's voice was low, "it's time to treat your wounds."

Chen Wuya didn't turn around, merely nodding slightly.

He gazed toward the end of the distant official road, where the last sliver of the setting sun was sinking below the mountain ridge, elongating his shadow.

The sound of the medicine box opening echoed, bandages and porcelain bottles laid out one by one.

Old Wu Tou tore open his sleeve, revealing the wound. The bleeding had stopped, the edges tinged a faint blue-purple.

"The misaligned energy backlash was too fierce, injuring your tendons," the old man frowned. "Don't use your body to brute-force the shock next time."

"It's fine," Chen Wuya smiled. "As long as they remember this battle."

Old Wu Tou said no more, dipped a cloth in medicinal water, and gently wiped away the blood.

Chen Wuya suddenly asked, "What do you think they'll say when they go back?"

"They'll say you're a madman," the old man replied in a low voice. "They'll say you use sorcery, that you can shatter weapons from a distance."

"Even better." The corners of his mouth lifted. "Madmen aren't scary. What's scary is... when you can't refute the logic of a madman."

Old Wu Tou paused, then looked up at him, his expression complex.

In the distance, a crow landed on the tip of a broken spear, flapped its wings, and let out a short caw.

Chen Wuya raised a hand, touching a bruise on his left shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly.

Old Wu Tou reached out and pressed on his shoulder. "Don't move, you hit this spot too."

Just then, Chen Wuya suddenly sensed something unusual.

He lowered his head to look at the iron rod stuck in the ground—the tip of the rod trembled slightly.

It wasn't the wind.

It was a vibration coming from the ground.