I looked at him without a second thought.
Both of us clashed furiously.
Zhao San moved first.
His sword swept forward in a wide arc, and the air around it shifted—warm, then cold, then warm again.
Spring rain.
Summer heat.
Autumn wind.
Winter frost.
All four seasons folded into a single blade.
The crowd recognized it immediately.
“The Four Seasons Sword Art!”
“The Zhao Clan’s signature technique!”
“He’s actually using it in a public match!”
“He’s really going all out from the start”
I’d never heard of it, but I could feel it.
Every time his sword moved, the qi around it changed.
It wasn’t just a technique.
It was a rhythm.
A cycle.
Spring—a gentle cut that hid a second strike.
Summer—a blazing thrust meant to overwhelm.
Autumn—a sweeping slash that carried weight like falling leaves.
Winter—a cold, precise stab aimed at my throat.
It was famous in the city for a reason.
Anyone else at my realm would have been cut down in the first exchange.
But I wasn’t using a technique built on seasons.
I was using one built on freedom.
His spring rain met my sword—and my sword wasn’t there anymore.
His summer heat followed—and I was already behind it.
His autumn wind tried to trap me—and I stepped through it like it wasn’t real.
His winter frost came for my throat—and I was already past.
The crowd went quiet.
Much to their surprise, my wooden sword didn’t crack.
It shouldn’t have lasted a single exchange against a pseudo-Immortal-grade blade.
But it didn’t even splinter.
Without a moment’s delay, I swung it, using the Heaven Freedom Sword Art to counter every one of his moves.
I didn’t match his seasons.
I ignored them.
His technique had four patterns.
Mine had none.
He tried to predict me.
I wasn’t predictable.
He tried to overwhelm me.
I was already moving.
He tried to end it.
I refused.
The battle was swift.
I crushed Zhao San overwhelmingly.
He put up a tough fight, though.
Glancing in Xue’s direction gave him something to fight for.
The realm gap gave him an edge I had to work around.
But edges weren’t enough.
The final exchange came fast.
His sword swept toward my neck.
I stepped inside the arc, brought my wooden blade up, and struck the flat of his weapon.
Crack.
Both of our swords shattered.
Fragments rained across the arena floor.
The crowd didn’t breathe.
The cultivators stared at the broken pieces.
A pseudo-Immortal-grade sword, destroyed by a wooden training blade.
No one understood how.
“The winner of this round is Fengxi!” the host announced in a daze.
I looked at Zhao San.
He stood there, disheartened and disheveled.
“Your turn to fulfill your bargain,” I said calmly, striking a pose with my hands behind my back.
System.
Save this.
This is now my new pose.
I said it with a shrug.
He removed his spatial ring and threw it at me.
I caught it,” as for the service, you will find your use very soon ” I said with a smirk.
then ignored everyone else and stepped down from the arena.
Clap.
Clap.
An old man stood by the side, clapping for me.
“Looks like you caught me, Young Master Zaitian.”
Elder Mo Xuan.
A gourd of wine in one hand, gulping it like he’d been watching a show.
He’s definitely drunk.
Now I understand the saying—don’t judge a book by its cover.
“I have a deal for you.
This will benefit both of us,” he said between hiccups.
“Both of us owe the clan a huge debt.
So what do you think?”
So he’s a debtor like me.
Now I understand.
“So what’s the deal, and how much will I gain from it?” I asked, just to see where this was heading.
“Be serious, Young Master,” he said, half-seriously.
I kept staring at him.
He sighed.
“You have to fight the Young Master of the Lu Clan.
Rumors have it he’s awakened his ancestral bloodline, and he’s currently in the Nascent—”
The moment I heard Nascent, I turned and walked away without wasting a second.
Did this crazy old man take me for granted?
Remember, Host.
No insults for one month.
” What if I can raise your Cultivation realm” Elder Mo Xuan said all of a sudden.
I stopped.
…
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