As time passed, the Sword Trial for the Kendo Class soon drew to a close.
The final match was between Qin Tailai, ranked second, and Li Qingmeng, ranked first.
In the eyes of many, Li Qingmeng was undoubtedly someone who seemed to have been handed the protagonist's script.
Not only was she top of her grade academically, she was also president of the Student Union. On top of that, she was the best at swordsmanship.
Of course, she had only been the best at swordsmanship for the past year.
In the years before that, Qingyuan's top swordsman had been Qin Tailai.
Besides Qin Tailai's own considerable talent for swordsmanship, his family background had also played a part.
With his family's means, they couldn't afford to hire a Sword Master, but hiring a Swordsman to teach Qin Tailai was naturally a piece of cake.
And since Qin Tailai himself worked hard enough, his swordsmanship remained in first place year after year.
That lasted until Li Qingmeng appeared. When she first enrolled, she was still too young for her swordsmanship to be particularly impressive.
By the second semester of eighth grade, Li Qingmeng had mastered her swordsmanship and joined the Kendo Class. She then spent a year challenging her way up the rankings, reaching second place.
After another summer vacation, she defeated Qin Tailai when ninth grade began and took the top spot from him.
For a full year after that, through more than a dozen Sword Trials, Li Qingmeng remained in first place.
That was why, two years ago, people in Qingyuan spoke of the Twin Stars of Kendo: Li Qingmeng and Qin Tailai.
But after Qin Tailai went a whole year without managing to reclaim first place even once, the title gradually faded away.
Still, no matter how many times he lost, Qin Tailai had never given up challenging her.
It was a matter of attitude.
If it were a fight to the death, then conceding when he couldn't win would be perfectly reasonable.
But if he didn't even have the courage to challenge someone in an ordinary Sword Trial, he might as well give up the path of the sword then and there.
The way of the sword was found in one's own hands. No matter how cruel the adversity, one could never give up.
Across a thousand years of history, there had never been a shortage of examples of people who forged their Sword Hearts through a hundred defeats. Nor had there been a shortage of those whose Sword Hearts shattered after a hundred victories and a single defeat.
A swordsman was unyielding. Even in defeat, he had to lose with his head held high.
In a sense, Qingyuan's Sword Trials were also meant to cultivate this unyielding spirit. That was why the rules required the weaker to challenge the stronger.
Anyone who couldn't take defeat would be better off giving up the path of the sword sooner rather than later.
Clang!
Soon, the swords of the two fighters collided.
Qin Tailai was far taller and more powerfully built than Li Qingmeng, but when their sword force met, he gained not the slightest advantage.
By the usual differences between men and women's bodies, men naturally had an advantage in strength.
But that only applied to ordinary people, not those who practiced the sword.
At the beginning of sword cultivation, one continually refined the spirit and tempered the body. This tempering was expressed not so much in muscle size as in the development of the nervous system.
Common sense said that bigger muscles meant greater strength, and that was true—but only when the nervous systems were equally developed.
With muscles of the same size, some people were stronger than others. What determined that difference was the development of their nervous systems.
Li Yuanba, renowned in this world's ancient history, had been born with an exceptionally developed nervous system. Though slight of build, he had possessed the strength to lift a giant cauldron.
The price, however, had been a flaw in his temperament: his mind had never matured.
If the increase in explosive power from a given increase in muscle mass was one, then the increase from the same degree of nervous-system development was ten!
Of course, the most formidable outcome came when muscle size and nervous-system development grew in sync.
That was because explosive power wasn't calculated by adding the two together, but by multiplying them.
The swords clashed again and again in the ring. For a time, thanks to his size advantage, Qin Tailai managed to hold his ground despite being a clear level below Li Qingmeng in swordsmanship.
If the difference were only between lv5 and lv6, Qin Tailai might really have had a chance of winning.
But the truth was that Qin Tailai's swordsmanship was lv6, while Li Qingmeng's had already reached lv7.
It might seem like only a single level's difference, but lv6 meant mastery, while lv7 meant proficiency.
Being practiced and proficient was a world apart from being precise and thoroughly adept. The gap between the two wasn't limited to explosive power; they also differed greatly in the finesse with which they channeled force.
So even though Zhao Cheng didn't have much practical combat experience, he could tell at a glance that Qin Tailai might gain some advantage at first through strength and speed.
But as time passed, Qin Tailai would only grow weaker, while Li Qingmeng would remain steady throughout. It was only a matter of time before the former lost.
Qin Tailai might have known that too, but it didn't change how decisively he swung his sword. Defeat was something for later. For now, he would show everything he had learned.
To him, winning or losing wasn't important. What mattered was the process. To fight a hundred battles, lose every one, and still never change one's heart—that, too, was part of the way of the sword.
That was also why, even though Qin Tailai hadn't won once in over a year, his instructors still thought highly of him.
With a temperament like that, he was undoubtedly a promising candidate for the way of the sword.
The path of the sword was not always smooth sailing. Even the Invincible beings who now enjoyed great renown might not have won every battle along the way.
There had been examples of the Demon Fetus forged through a hundred defeats, the Demon Fetus transformed into the Sword God.
Finally, after seventeen exchanges, Li Qingmeng put her sword to Qin Tailai's throat.
Li Qingmeng's swordsmanship was so sharp that once she struck, she struck to kill. Clearly, she had a renowned master guiding her behind the scenes.
"Seventeen moves. Last time, it took eighteen."
"Your swordsmanship has gotten even better!"
Qin Tailai spoke from the ring. His words sounded calm, but his feelings were not as settled as he made them seem.
No one liked losing. Everyone sought victory. He had a steadfast mind and knew that a momentary defeat meant nothing, but he was still a young man, and couldn't help feeling shaken.
That, too, was a process of tempering his heart. When he could truly lose and remain as calm as still water, he would have reached an extraordinary level.
A will like that would be so strong that few things in the world could destroy it.
"A single victory means little," Li Qingmeng said, showing no pride at having won.
It wasn't that she looked down on Qin Tailai or thought beating him was nothing. Rather, her upbringing had taught her that only a humble heart could make room for greatness.
But had victory really left her as calm as still water? No. She still couldn't completely keep from being proud of her victory. Deep down, some joy remained. She was, after all, still young.
After that match, it was finally Zhao Cheng's turn to enter the ring. Even before the final match began, Zhao Cheng had started regulating his breathing and steadying his mind.
With his experience in the simulation and swordsmanship that had reached lv8 at the level of consciousness, he couldn't enter the state with a single breath because his body lacked the talent for swordsmanship. Even so, it took him only a few dozen seconds to settle into it completely.
Once the two fighters left the ring, Zhao Cheng immediately announced the rank he intended to challenge, then calmly went to put on his protective gear.
His opponent hadn't expected Zhao Cheng to challenge him directly, and hadn't prepared himself beforehand.
Still, no one hurried him. They simply let him get ready. Of course, afterward, his instructor would have plenty to say to him.
Only after two minutes had passed was he finally fully prepared, and he stepped into the ring at an unhurried pace.
"Please!"
Zhao Cheng held his sword crosswise. His heart was like a placid lake, and even his voice had grown serene, like cold spring water drawn from an ancient well.