In one corner of the Martial Arts Arena, the air seemed to freeze solid.
Fang Tao stared fixedly at Fang Han's sword-wielding figure several yards away, his pupils widening slightly from overwhelming shock.
Fang Han's sword no longer carried the awkward, mechanical stiffness it had before. It was as though it had come alive.
In his hands, the Refined Iron Longsword carried an indescribable smoothness and spirit with every thrust, sweep, lift, and flick.
The whistle of the blade cleaving the air was light and swift, as if a wisp of breeze truly circled endlessly around him.
"This exertion and flow of movement..."
Fang Tao's heart seemed to be gripped by an icy hand before plunging violently into an abyss.
"Minor Accomplishment! He actually... reached Minor Accomplishment in Sword Art?!"
An immense sense of absurdity, followed by even sharper bitterness, instantly drowned Fang Tao.
On the day of the Martial Dao Stele test, when he had seen his ranking fall behind Fang Han—the one who had only broken through to Flesh Refining last—and noticed the strange looks from the others, fierce unwillingness and humiliation had risen in his heart.
These past few days, he had trained like a madman. Even while eating, he practiced moves with his hands; before sleeping, he still reviewed the techniques for exerting force.
He had held back a single breath, wanting only to surpass Fang Han as soon as possible and rise above him once more.
Yet the flowing Sword Art of Minor Accomplishment before him was like a basin of icy water, thoroughly dousing that unrealistic flame in his heart and leaving behind nothing but cold ashes.
Not only had the gap failed to narrow, it had instead... grown even wider!
So wide that it left him suffocating, left him in despair.
Fang Han had surpassed him not only in martial cultivation, but even in martial skills. How was he supposed to catch up?
"How... is that possible?"
Fang Tao muttered in a daze. His fingers clenched the sword so hard that his knuckles turned white, trembling slightly as though he could barely hold the hilt.
The resentment of being surpassed had now turned into a deeper powerlessness, gnawing at his confidence like a venomous snake.
He had a premonition that he might never be able to surpass Fang Han again in his lifetime.
"Hiss... Fang Han's sword?"
"His force flows so smoothly, and the power carries through completely. That's absolutely the level of Minor Accomplishment in Sword Art!"
"With Sword Art like that, no wonder he ranked fifty-ninth on the Martial Dao Stele and suppressed Fang Tao and the others!"
Several disciples who had entered the Inner Hall in the same batch nearby also noticed Fang Han's change. Their discussions brimmed with undisguised astonishment.
Gazes fell upon Fang Han one after another, filled with scrutiny and disbelief.
This collateral-branch disciple who had barely squeezed into the Inner Hall at the very end seemed to be growing at a speed none of them had anticipated, stirring an involuntary sense of crisis within them.
Only Fang Lin stood with his arms folded. He cast a distant glance toward Fang Han's sword practice, curled his lips, and revealed a trace of utterly undisguised contempt.
He then looked away and continued focusing on his own fist stances.
His fist technique had long since entered the Minor Success Stage and was already not far from the Proficiency Realm.
In his eyes, Fang Han's Sword Art, which had only just reached Minor Accomplishment, was merely passable at best.
As for making him feel threatened or catching up to him? The ravings of a fool.
He gave an almost inaudible snort through his nose, the cold indifference of someone who disdained even a glance.
"Huu—"
Sweat had soaked Fang Han's training clothes, plastering them to his skin. Every swing of his sword tugged at his aching, swollen muscles.
An hour of high-intensity Sword Art drills had drained every shred of strength from his body.
Continuing to train could injure him, so he slowly sheathed his sword. Its tip hung toward the ground as his chest rose and fell, and he let out a long breath of stale air.
Just as he was preparing to drag his exhausted body aside for a brief rest, an intentionally raised, excited shout suddenly erupted from the other end of the Martial Arts Arena.
"Quick, head to the Combat Platform! There's a good show!"
"Who's fighting whom?"
"It's Fang Lie, ranked eleventh, against Fang Mei, ranked tenth!"
"Fang Lie, ranked eleventh, is actually challenging Fang Mei, ranked tenth? Interesting!"
"Come on, come on, let's go watch!"
This news was like a massive boulder cast into a tranquil lake, instantly raising enormous ripples.
The disciples who had been training on their own—whether Inner Hall veterans or newcomers—were all drawn in by this challenge involving the "top ten tier."
Many immediately stopped their training and surged toward the Combat Platforms on the eastern side of the Martial Arts Arena, built from hard bluestone and guarded by dedicated instructors, their faces full of excitement and curiosity.
Fang Han's heart stirred as well.
A fight at the top-ten level? Even in the Inner Hall, that definitely counted as a rare sight.
It was the perfect chance for him to learn about the level of strength possessed by the top disciples.
Without the slightest hesitation, he too followed the crowd briskly toward the Combat Platform, treating it as a way to ease his bodily fatigue.
Quite a few people had already gathered around the Combat Platform, and the hum of discussion filled the air.
"I heard Senior Brother Fang Lie initiated the challenge himself. He refuses to accept being ranked below Fang Mei and wants to defeat her, making her hand over the monthly reward for tenth place!"
"The Martial Dao Stele only tests offensive power, but actual combat has a great deal to do with fighting techniques and combat experience. Fang Lie's strength might not necessarily be weaker than Fang Mei's!"
Senior Sister Fang Mei's Frost Palm is no pushover either. This is going to be a good show!"
Standing amid the crowd, Fang Han pricked up his ears to catch the scattered conversations around him, quickly piecing together the reason for this challenge.
It turned out that Fang Lie, ranked eleventh, was unconvinced by the Martial Dao Stele's ranking results. He believed his overall strength was no weaker than Fang Mei's, who held tenth place, and had thus boldly issued a challenge.
His target was the monthly additional resources that made every Inner Hall disciple see red with envy—resources only the top ten could receive.
At the center of the Combat Platform, the two had already taken their positions.
On the left stood Fang Lie, lean and vigorous as a leopard. His short, fitted training attire outlined the smooth lines of his muscles, while his eyes were sharp as an eagle's, carrying undisguised battle intent and edge.
His fists were tightly clenched, his finger joints squeezed white. A heavy aura belonging to the Tendon Refining Realm slowly rose from him as his blazing gaze locked onto his opponent.
On the right stood Fang Mei in spotless white training clothes. Her features were pleasing, and her temperament was like a plum blossom.
She stood straight, her gaze calm and unruffled, as if the challenge before her—which concerned honor and resources—were nothing more than an ordinary spar.
Having likewise reached the Tendon Refining Realm, she faintly radiated a barely perceptible chill that formed a stark contrast with Fang Lie's blazing battle intent.
"The spar begins! Stop at the right moment!"
A stern-faced Inner Hall Instructor stood at the edge of the platform and spoke in a deep voice.
"Ha!"
Before the instructor's words had even faded, Fang Lie moved!
He stomped hard against the bluestone platform, his body shooting forth like an arrow released from its bow, so fast that a blurred afterimage trailed behind him.
His goal was unmistakably clear—seize the initiative and suppress Fang Mei with a tempestuous barrage of attacks.
Tiger Roar Fist: Stone Splitting!
His fist wind howled, carrying an incomparably fierce force as it tore through the air with a dull explosive boom and drove straight at Fang Mei's centerline.
In this punch, power, speed, and momentum had all climbed to their utmost limits, displaying utter resolve.
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