A thin sheen of sweat had formed on Jingliu’s palms.
Because she had applied for early graduation, this assessment would differ drastically in difficulty from her usual exams.
The youngest among her fellow examinees was at least a hundred years old.
Though she had also passed the adulthood exam, of course.
“If we run into Abominations of Abundance, that’s one thing.
At least we know most of their weak points.”
“You’re not wrong.
But if we end up matched against some strange race from across the stars, that could get tricky…
Still, best not to draw a fellow Xianzhou native.”
“Why’s that?
I’d say our batch is pretty decent compared to our generation…”
Two examinees behind Jingliu muttered in low voices.
She perked up her ears and listened carefully.
There was no harm in gathering more information like this.
“Idiot.
The ones who get recorded into the virtual combat space to serve as prodigy-level opponents are mostly the legendary geniuses from Xianzhou history!
Some of them were outright invincible among their generation!”
“We might know their weaknesses, but they know ours just as well.”
“Damn, why didn’t you say so earlier?!
What’s the point of fighting then?”
“And you still don’t believe me when I call you an idiot.
The point is—we only have to last five minutes.”
“Ah, so that’s how it is…”
Hearing this, Jingliu pressed her lips together.
But a moment later, a flash of resolve gleamed in her eyes.
Her master had told her that her talent with the sword was extraordinary—defying all common logic.
And besides, who said she wasn’t a prodigy herself?
“Enough.
Save the idle chatter.” The examiner shot a glance at the two whispering behind Jingliu but said nothing more.
The academy naturally took great interest in a student who, at merely twenty-three years of age, was already qualified to take the Cloud Knight examination.
Anyone here to take the exam would already know these basic facts.
Those two brats had only been talking for Jingliu’s benefit.
Whether it was a gesture of goodwill or simple camaraderie between classmates—none of that was his concern.
“Lie down inside the simulation pods.
The assessment will begin momentarily.”
As the candidates settled into their pods, a flash of white light followed.
In the next instant, they found themselves within a virtual world resembling an arena.
The assessments would not be conducted simultaneously.
They proceeded one by one, in order of examination numbers.
This also allowed the candidates to observe and analyze the combat styles of other students, as well as the combat habits of the simulated opponents.
Jingliu’s examination number was 66.
She watched as another examinee, crushed beneath the pressure of hundreds of machines commanded by a winged, eared being, wore an expression of utter despair.
Though the enemies were many, as wave after wave of examinees wore them down, their combat data gradually scattered and thinned.
Then, examinee number 46 took the stage.
What appeared across from him was not an army bearing down like a crushing tide—but a mere child, perhaps eight years old, his face still carrying the faint, soft roundness of baby fat.
In his hand was a sword of moon white.
The blade measured a mere 170 centimeters—taller than the boy himself—yet no one felt the slightest sense of incongruity.
Because the pressure of his presence felt at least 280 centimeters tall.
Jingliu’s gaze was seized by him.
Her pupils trembled violently.
The hand gripping her sword tightened unconsciously.
“Qiong…” she breathed, her voice shaking faintly.
But seeing the cold, indifferent look in his eyes, she had no choice but to accept the truth—this was nothing more than a fragment of data.
“Do not let your guard down.” The examiner watched the candidate exhale in visible relief and frowned, compelled to warn him.
As expected, the very instant the words left his lips, before the examinee could even react, his head was severed in a single stroke.
The slain examinee reconstituted from a swirl of data, respawning beside the examiner.
His face was still stricken with panic.
In that one fleeting instant, all he had felt was a violent shudder of pure terror.
“Virtual Network Designation 0017.
He is the grand-disciple of the last Sword Champion of Cangcheng.
At the time his data was recorded, he was eight years old.
Yet even then, he had no peer among the entire younger generation of Cangcheng.”
A palpable weight settled over the faces of the remaining examinees.
Virtual Network Designation 0017—that meant, since ancient times, he was the seventeenth individual in all Xianzhou history qualified to be entered into this virtual combat network.
Though the Xianzhou Cangcheng had been destroyed, some visual records still survived.
That single strike of the last Sword Champion—cleaving heaven from earth—had left an indelible impression upon all who saw it.
The assessment continued.
But after that, not a single candidate could last more than five exchanges against him.
Some tried to rely on footwork and agility to stall for time.
But in response, the sword in his hand would summon starlight from across the heavens.
Starlight flooded the entire arena, and any notion of stalling through nimble movement became laughable.
When he summoned the starlight, he also became visibly weakened.
So the examinees could only do their utmost to wear him down as much as possible.
Perhaps that alone might earn them a few more points.
“Number 66.”
Jingliu nodded.
Her expression complex and unreadable, she gripped her sword and stepped onto the arena.
The opening signal had barely sounded.
A flash of cold light flared.
Two longswords clashed in the air, the ringing impact tearing through the silence.
One figure spun, blade sweeping horizontally, a razor wind of snow skating past their opponent’s shoulder.
The other sank their wrist to deflect the force, sword-tip tapping the ground to borrow momentum, flipping backward—their boot soles grinding faint scars into the bluestone.
The rear sword pressed flat against the waist to parry.
Sparks from the collision of steel scattered across brow bones.
The attacker tilted their head to evade, then twisted their grip and drove the blade toward the opponent’s wrist meridian.
The flat of the sword crashed against the guard, jarring the opponent’s knuckles numb.
Amid the weaving, interlacing dance of sword flowers, one stepped along the stellar compass, blade spiraling into a straight thrust.
The other twisted at the waist, side-stepping, the sword’s edge shaving a strip of brocade clean from their clothing.
In the next instant, they spun back, blade sweeping horizontally.
The two swords locked before their chests, crossguards grinding together.
Wrist strength against wrist strength.
Knuckles whitened.
Breathing froze between the touching blades.
Cold light reflected the razor-sharp glint in each other’s eyes.
Abruptly, one disengaged, spinning away, the tail of their sword sweeping toward the opponent’s knee.
The other lifted their knee to evade.
The sword tip seized the opening and drove toward the heart.
But then—an impossible flick of the wrist.
The flat of the blade cracked against the sword-hand.
A muffled thud.
The longsword flew free.
A streak of cold light brushed past the ear and embedded itself deep into the pillar behind.
The trembling sword tassel swayed against the cascade of falling hair.
In the eyes of the virtual Bai Qiong, a flicker of almost-human confusion surfaced.
He did not understand why, but this opponent seemed to know his swordsmanship intimately—his patterns, his rhythms…
But seeing that his sword had already left his hand, he knew he had lost.
This was data carved into the deepest substratum of his being.
So without hesitation, he dissolved into a cluster of disordered data streams and vanished from the arena.
Jingliu said nothing.
She returned silently to the observation seats.
The surrounding examinees cast awestruck glances her way.
None of them had imagined that this girl—barely twenty-three, an age when most of them had still been playing in the mud—could possess such strength.
But the examiner could clearly see something deeper.
“You’re very familiar with his swordsmanship and his combat mentality.”
“…” Jingliu pressed her lips together.
A look of reminiscence flickered in her eyes, but her voice came out deliberately flat.
“I trained under him for a time.”
A wave of astonished looks swept toward her.
“…Ah.
My apologies.” Regret colored the examiner’s eyes.
His words must have stirred up some painful memories.
Nearly everyone knew—the lineage of the Sword Champion of Cangcheng had been extinguished.
The grand-disciple of that generation’s Sword Champion had also perished in that great catastrophe.