What True Strength Really Was

The entire arena fell silent.

After a full three breaths, the Martial Arena erupted.

"One move?! H-How is that possible?!"

"Did I see that wrong? Ning Zhiyuan's Raging Waves was at the Hundred Refinements Fifth Layer! It could even cleave black ironstone apart. How could Qin Jue deflect it with a single sword strike?"

"It was the Tide Rising Sword Technique! I recognize that move—it was the third stance, Tidal Stance!" One sword-practicing disciple's face flushed red, and his voice trembled. "Using an opponent's force against them, turning yin and yang around! But... isn't this something only senior disciples at the Hundred Refinements Seventh Layer or above, with Qi and Blood Smoke, can pull off?"

"Exactly! To redirect force, you first have to withstand it! How could a body at the Hundred Refinements Fourth Layer bear the violent recoil from someone at the Hundred Refinements Fifth Layer? Why didn't his arm break?!"

The disciples looked at one another, unable to hide their shock. Their cultivation might not be high, but they understood the principle that one overwhelming force could defeat a hundred techniques. Qin Jue's move had turned their understanding upside down.

On the high platform, Yun Qianyue's pupils suddenly contracted. For the first time, her cool expression shifted.

"It wasn't just technique..."

She stared fixedly at Qin Jue's perfectly motionless right hand, waves rising in her heart. The essence of Tidal Stance is to use four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds, but first you need the strength to back up those four ounces! Ning Zhiyuan's strike carried far more than a thousand pounds. To guide that kind of force, your own Qi and blood and internal organs must be strong enough. Otherwise, you'll cripple yourself before you even hurt your opponent!

"He's only at the Hundred Refinements Fourth Layer. How could his Qi and blood be stronger than Ning Zhiyuan's after taking a Qi Burst Pill?"

"This isn't some sword technique... He's crushing him with an absolutely solid foundation!"

Yun Qianyue looked at Qin Jue in an entirely different light. Before, she had merely admired his talent for the sword. Now, in her eyes, Qin Jue was a freak whose martial foundation was enough to make even her uneasy.

"Qin Jue... just how many more surprises are you hiding?"

On the arena, Ning Zhiyuan gasped, his hair disheveled, his eyes gradually turning mad.

"I won't accept this... How could I lose to you? I'm going into the Inner Court! I'm Heaven's chosen!"

Ning Zhiyuan knelt on the ground, both hands gripping the earth so tightly that his nails cracked and blood seeped out. He lifted his head. His bloodshot eyes had lost all reason, leaving only a gambler's desperation.

Lose?

No. He couldn't lose. If he lost, he'd be cast aside, thrown away by his Lineage like trash. If he lost... Su Jin would never look at him again!

"So what if I'm a collateral branch? As long as I win—as long as I kill you—I'll be a direct descendant! I'll be the heavens!"

Ning Zhiyuan suddenly let out a shrill howl. His trembling hand plunged into his robes and pulled out a black porcelain bottle.

Crack!

The bottle shattered in his grip, and seven or eight crimson pills spilled out.

"Those are... Qi Burst Pills?!"

A sharp-eyed disciple below cried out. "A single one can burn up all your blood essence! He's got a whole handful? Has he gone mad? He's going to sever his meridians and destroy his martial foundation!"

Ning Zhiyuan's hand shook violently.

He stared at the handful of crimson pills in his palm. In his mind, he saw the horrific aftermath of swallowing them: shattered meridians, exhausted Qi and blood.

It was a dead end.

His instinct to survive made him hesitate. His stiff fingers stopped at his lips, unable to push the pills inside.

He turned unconsciously toward the white-clad figure on the high platform. A plea glimmered in his eyes, as if he were waiting for the other man to call a halt.

But Ning Wuque merely stood there, leaning forward slightly, a smile on his lips—gentle and cruel.

"Zhiyuan."

Ning Wuque's voice was soft, yet it cut clearly through the noisy crowd and reached Ning Zhiyuan's ears. "Don't forget. This is your last chance."

His last chance.

Those five words shattered every last defense in Ning Zhiyuan's heart.

To him, the encouragement in Ning Wuque's eyes seemed like a lifeline.

"Right... my last chance..."

The fear vanished from Ning Zhiyuan's eyes. He muttered to himself, "As long as I win... I can have everything..."

"For the Lineage! For glory!"

Under the crowd's horrified gaze, Ning Zhiyuan went mad. He stuffed the handful of pills into his mouth and swallowed them all whole without even chewing!

In just one breath.

The medicine took effect, and violent Qi and blood rampaged through his body. Ning Zhiyuan's formerly sturdy frame rapidly shriveled. His skin lost its luster, turning gray and desiccated.

Yet the aura around him surged madly at that moment!

It was the final radiance he had bought by burning through his life and squeezing out every last drop of potential.

"Qin—Jue—!"

Ning Zhiyuan's voice no longer sounded human. It seemed to come from the depths of hell.

He reached out with his withered hand, and Frost Blade, embedded in the distance, was drawn back into his grasp by the pull of his raging Qi and blood.

Frost Blade was no longer crimson. It had turned a bizarre blackish red.

Die!!

Ning Zhiyuan became a gray-black blur and charged at Qin Jue once more.

It was still the third move of the Thousand Waves Saber—Raging Waves.

But this was the final strike of a life being burned away. The saber technique had lost all form; only pure destruction remained. The blackish-red blade glow swelled to three zhang in an instant, surging forward like a real tsunami. The entire Martial Stage trembled violently.

"He's gone mad! He's lost it!"

"He's trying to take them both down!"

The disciples below retreated in terror.

Qin Jue looked at the bloody blade glow, his gaze turning cold.

"Qi and blood propped up by external aids are nothing but a castle in the air. Let me show you what true strength is."

Qin Jue drew a deep breath and drove the fourth revolution of the Nine Revolutions Viscera Refining Secret Record to its limit. The great dragon of his spine shuddered, and an incomparably pure force surged into his arm.

The Cold Iron Sword in his hand suddenly gave off a faint, yet piercing, hum.

Bzzzzzz—

The sound was quiet, yet it made everyone's eardrums sting, as if countless cicadas were flapping their wings beside their ears.

The second move of Cicada Wing Thousand Layers—Thousand Threads.

Unlike the clumsy version he had used at Silver Moon Bay, Thousand Threads now carried high-frequency vibrations. It was more than twice as powerful as when he had just grasped it!

The air around the sword shattered instantly, churning into countless tiny currents. The pale golden Qi and blood seeped into the blade, making the ordinary Cold Iron Sword glow with an eerie light.

Faced with Ning Zhiyuan's decayed yet frenzied blackish-red blade glow, Qin Jue shot forward like lightning.

This time, he used no technique at all. He simply—cut!

Then an astonishing scene unfolded.

Ning Zhiyuan's seemingly world-destroying blackish-red blade glow touched the edge of Qin Jue's sword and vanished like snow meeting boiling oil!

No, it hadn't vanished.

It had been shredded!

The thousands upon thousands of tiny threads clinging to the blade had sliced through it countless times in an instant!

The sword flashed.

Qin Jue was already standing behind Ning Zhiyuan.

He slowly sheathed his sword.

Crack.

A sharp snap rang out.

The high-grade Mundane Artifact Frost Blade in Ning Zhiyuan's hand suddenly broke in two. Its cut was as smooth as a mirror.

Then Ning Zhiyuan's body, withered like a skeleton, stood rigidly in place.

A gust of wind swept past.

Countless fine lines of blood suddenly burst across his body.

His life force had been spent, and the pills' side effects had taken hold. He now looked like a corpse drained of every drop of moisture.

He struggled to turn his skin-and-bone neck, his cloudy gaze searching through the crowd for something.

At last, his eyes settled on a corner below the stage, where a girl in a pale pink dress stood.

It was Su Jin.

She was covering her mouth, staring at him in horror. Her eyes held only fear—not the slightest trace of pity.

Ning Zhiyuan's cracked lips trembled. His emaciated hand shook as he reached toward her, trying to grasp his final thread of hope.

"Su... Su... Jin..."

"I... am... not... a... waste..."

His voice was faint, filled with resentment. He wanted to tell her that everything he had done was to escape his status as a collateral descendant and stand proudly at her side. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't accept it—that he couldn't accept losing like this to her childhood sweetheart.

He opened his mouth, but his life force had been utterly drained. Not another sound came out.

His withered hand fell limply to the ground.

Thud.

Ning Zhiyuan's body crashed to the ground. His skin was shriveled, his flesh withered, and he had become a dried-up corpse.

His death was utterly gruesome.

A collateral descendant with a bright future ahead of him had thrown away his life for an empty scrap of dignity and a love he could never have, ending with his body and soul destroyed and his bones reduced to dust.

Only Qin Jue stood coldly to one side, looking at the body on the ground with a calm expression.

"On the path of martial cultivation, if your heart isn't in the right place, all you'll find in the end is a flower reflected in a mirror and the moon's reflection in water."