The Swordsman

After the second round ended, the courtyard fell quiet for a while. The steward closed the roster and left, and the others dispersed. Some went to sit by the wall, while others headed back to their lodgings.

Lin Qing didn't go far. He sat down on the steps, leaned against a stone pillar, and slowly circulated his Bamboo Breath once through his body.

His meridians were clear, and the twin ice and fire crystals rested quietly deep within his bamboo body. Only the two marks on his palms had dimmed somewhat since that morning, like freshly burned coals covered by a thin layer of ash, still hot underneath.

He looked down at his palms, closed his hands, then opened them again.

The short-rope Soul Master from the second round hadn't been particularly strong, but he had been tenacious. Without the Bamboo Soul locking his movements at the crucial moment, that match might have dragged on longer.

He leaned against the stone pillar without thinking about whom he would face next. He simply sat and waited for his body to return to a stable state on its own.

About a quarter of an hour later, someone walked past with light footsteps. Lin Qing looked up and saw the man in the dark blue short shirt walking along the base of the wall toward the exit, his steps even,

as if he wasn't hurrying anywhere in particular, but had merely stepped beyond the boundary of the conversations in the courtyard and placed himself in an open space.

He didn't stop as he passed the entrance to the training ground, nor did he glance inside, as though he had repeated the action many times before.

Lin Qing looked away and paid him no further attention.

As dusk approached, the bell sounded in the courtyard again. It wasn't loud, but it was clear, like a thin iron rod striking a sheet of copper. The note was short, with no lingering echo.

Dusk covered most of the training ground. The warmth the flagstones had soaked up during the day was slowly fading, and a thin chill had entered the air.

The steward stood by the table and opened the roster again. He glanced at the four people remaining in the arena and said, "The next round will be decided in a single match. The winners stay, and the losers leave."

He offered no further explanation and gave them no extra time to prepare, as though the rule had been written on the wall since the first day of training.

"Number four, number seven."

Lin Qing rose and walked into the arena. The person opposite him also stepped forward-dark blue short shirt, a lean build, and steady steps, still moving at that same pace, in no hurry to show anything. He stopped in front of Lin Qing and looked at him without speaking first.

A slender sword floated at his side. Its blade was straight and dark, with an extremely thin layer of cold light gleaming along its edge. It was as still as a line of ink set upright.

"Number seven," he said.

"Number four." Lin Qing gave his number as well.

The steward glanced at them. "Begin."

The blue-clad swordsman didn't move first.

He stood where he was, sword tip pointing down, as though still waiting for something. Lin Qing didn't wait. He pressed his left hand toward the ground and activated Bamboo Sea Emergence.

Bamboo shot from the cracks between the flagstones, green-gold light spreading through the dusk as a dense wall of bamboo rapidly rose between them.

More than a dozen stalks crowded together, their leaves overlapping and half-blocking the two men's view of each other.

The blue-clad swordsman moved at the very moment Lin Qing made his move.

He wasn't fast. He merely took a step into the edge of the bamboo grove. He didn't pause as he passed through the first row, and when he entered the second, he didn't look for a gap. Instead, he chose a more direct approach-whenever he needed to pass through a stalk of bamboo, he simply walked toward it, and the stalk split open on its own the instant he reached it.

Lin Qing noticed. Those weren't clean cuts made by a sword. Their edges were jagged, as though an exceedingly fine strand of Soul Power had shaken them apart from within.

His sword tip never touched the bamboo, but wherever he walked, each stalk split open before he passed, forming a gap just wide enough for him to get through, neither too wide nor too narrow.

It was as though he had seen through the paths the bamboo would take as it grew, determining each stalk's direction before it could put out a branch.

Bamboo Sea Emergence continued to spread and grow denser, but his pace didn't slow.

The number of splits increased, yet the spaces between them remained even, as though the width of every step had been precisely measured. Lin Qing moved among the bamboo branches, using them to pole-vault from one branch to another, constantly changing positions.

The blue-clad swordsman neither quickened nor slowed his steps, maintaining a fixed rhythm as he passed through the grove.

Lin Qing landed back on the ground. Cold Qi gathered in his palm, and he struck at the side of the blue-clad swordsman's shoulder.

When his palm touched the man's shoulder, he felt resistance. It wasn't as thick and solid as the earth-attribute Soul Master's defense from before, but something thinner, with a structure like the surface of ice.

The cold Qi seeped in slightly faster than expected. The man's movements paused for a brief instant, as though some force had gently held him down for a moment, before flowing smoothly again.

He turned sideways to evade Lin Qing's follow-up attack, then retreated half a step and opened the distance between them again. Lin Qing didn't pursue. He stood where he was and confirmed that the cold Qi had indeed seeped in, but not as deeply as he had expected, as though an invisible boundary had blocked it.

He watched the man's breathing and noticed that it had grown slightly faster. The change was small, but it was there, as though maintaining that even pace now required extra effort.

The blue-clad swordsman adjusted his stance and slowly raised his sword tip, pointing it toward the ground between himself and Lin Qing. For the first time, he changed his posture of simply observing without attacking.

The slender blade glimmered faintly in the dusk, like a fish turning over in deep water before sinking back out of sight.

"Your bamboo," he said, "has grown denser than before."

Lin Qing stood at the other end of the grove, his gaze on the hand holding the sword, and didn't answer. He was watching the blade's edge. That cold light was flowing at an extremely slow pace, moving from the hilt toward the tip. With every inch it moved, the blade grew heavier.

He had seen many ways Martial Souls exerted their power, but this slender Sword Martial Soul operated a little differently. It wasn't accumulating power, but pressing it deeper, until one might think it was merely sitting there.

Lin Qing didn't continue waiting for him to adjust.

The Bamboo Soul emerged from his sea of consciousness, crossed the distance between them, and paused at the edge of the blue-clad swordsman's consciousness. The man's movements halted for the briefest instant, as though someone had gently knocked on a door from outside, but he hadn't yet had time to react.

Lin Qing used the spring of a bamboo branch to leap up and press down from above. The power of ice and fire gathered in both palms at once as he struck at the side of the blade.

In that half a breath, the blue-clad swordsman held his sword horizontally before him. Sword Qi spread out naturally, forming an extremely thin barrier between Lin Qing's palms and the blade. Lin Qing's palm force struck the sword, and ice and fire surged into it together, meeting, colliding, and repelling each other inside the blade.

The slender sword gave an extremely soft, trembling hum, like a string pulled too taut being plucked.

A hairline crack appeared on the blade's surface and spread from the middle toward both ends, but the sword didn't break.

The blue-clad swordsman lowered his head to look at the crack, then raised it and looked at Lin Qing.

"Enough." He withdrew his sword and stepped back. "If we keep fighting, the sword will break." He held the slender sword upright at his side, as though he no longer needed it to do anything for the time being

. His breathing was heavier than before, but his stance remained steady, his center of gravity unchanged.

He glanced at Lin Qing. There was neither resentment nor surprise in his eyes; it was as though he had merely confirmed a result he had estimated beforehand but had yet to verify.

The steward's voice came from the side of the arena. "Number four wins."

Lin Qing withdrew Bamboo Sea Emergence. The bamboo stalks retreated one by one into the cracks between the flagstones, and the motes of green-gold light scattered and faded. He walked back to the wall and stood there, the glow of the two marks on his palms slowly dimming.

The blue-clad swordsman also returned to his side, drew his sword back to his side, and said nothing. He simply leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, as though he had already gone over the match in his mind and confirmed that he had missed nothing.

Dusk had completely covered the training ground. The last sliver of daylight shone obliquely over the wall, casting a long shadow across the ground. Soon, it too would sink away.

[End of chapter 23]