Chapter 112

Chapter 112: Intercepting Sword Art

Clang!

Wang Jie’s blade was knocked aside.

He spun with the force and stabbed again, not surprised the old man could block the first strike.

The second was blocked as well.

Wang Jie flowed forward, changing angles, stabbing from every direction.

Every sword was met.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The old man didn’t move from where he stood, yet his sword defended every line of attack—as if his body were wrapped in an invisible wall.

Then, unbelievably, he closed his eyes.

Wang Jie increased speed. The sound of steel striking steel deepened, sparks spraying in bright arcs.

Below the stage, the Outer Court disciples watched in silence. They all knew the old man. His fame in the Outer Court was no less than Wu Mian’s.

Intercepting Sword Art.

That was the old man’s legacy—an art that had become famous throughout the Outer Court. Even Inner Sect disciples struggled to break it. It had once drawn elders out to watch.

People had believed it would be the start of the old man’s rise.

Instead, it earned him nothing but status in the Outer Court—second only to Wu Mian.

He still couldn’t enter the Inner Sect. He still couldn’t even meet the Sect Master.

Wang Jie’s surprise grew with each exchange. He’d already raised his strikes beyond what he’d used against Wen Xing Ru and the others—and still the old man blocked everything.

If this old man were placed on Blue Star, he would surpass Wen Xing Ru, Chong Xuan, and the rest.

Those people were prodigies of a giant power like the Jia Yi Sect. Any one of them should have crushed peers at their level.

Yet the old man’s force continued to compress, tightening around him like a sheath—and in Wang Jie’s eyes, it still wasn’t at its limit.

Wang Jie pressed harder.

The force field shrank from ten meters to five… to three… to two…

Until it hugged the old man’s body.

The old man’s eyelids trembled. His dull sword vibrated violently. His arm went numb, then weak. He could still block Wang Jie’s sword moves, but his body was reaching its breaking point.

Wang Jie was prying the move open with brute force, forcing it apart.

His strength was terrifying.

Then Wang Jie stopped.

He withdrew his blade and stepped back, five meters away, watching with open admiration.

The old man exhaled. His entire right arm shook, and he nearly lost his grip on the sword.

Below the stage, the crowd was stunned.

Most of them couldn’t even see Wang Jie’s attack speed. Which meant they also couldn’t see how the old man defended.

They only understood one thing: any one of those strikes would have killed them instantly.

High above, the man in the pavilion spoke sharply. “Tell Lian Junior Brother not to come. He’s not a match for that one.”

The woman didn’t argue. Neither of them could clearly follow the exchange.

A duel like this, in the Outer Court—unthinkable.

On the stage, the old man frowned. “Why did you stop?”

Wang Jie gave a slight bow, sincere. “Senior has practiced that sword move for a long time, hasn’t he?”

During the fight, Wang Jie had been watching for any sign of deliberate circulation—for any hint of Qi Refining.

There was none.

The old man wasn’t controlling force through a technique. He was using Intercepting Sword Art by instinct.

All of his force moved with that art. He had no method for using force itself.

Chu Yao had once said that if a person threw a punch a million times, a hundred million times, a billion times, force would be born.

That kind of force couldn’t be controlled, but it became instinct.

The old man was exactly that.

And reaching that point was not something done in a day.

Every practice, every swing, demanded a heart that was devout and unyielding.

Otherwise, even a lifetime—or ten thousand lifetimes—would mean nothing.

That was what Wang Jie respected.

The old man looked down at his sword, eyes distant. “Yes. A long time. Very long.”

He lifted his head with a bitter smile. “I’ll tell you something, little brother, even if you laugh.

“I created this move when I was a child.”

His gaze drifted skyward. “I should have been a sword genius. The universe is vast—there should have been a place for me.

“At Ten Seals, I believed I surpassed everyone… even the starforce cultivators.

“But lockforce chained me. No matter how unwilling I was to give up, all I could do was sigh.”

Wang Jie tightened his grip on his hilt.

For a moment, he saw a shadow of his own future in the old man’s back.

Was there truly no future?

The old man turned to leave. He was already at his limit, and he knew it.

But before he stepped off the stage, he asked, curiosity shining through his exhaustion.

“Little brother… if you had struck one more sword just now, I would have lost. Why were you able to stop at that moment?”

It wasn’t only his question.

In the pavilion, the man stared hard as well.

From their vantage point, they couldn’t see the old man’s state during the duel. But after Wang Jie stopped, the old man’s arm shook badly. At most, one or two more strikes would have ended it.

So why stop?

Why stop at that exact moment?

Wang Jie’s mouth quirked. “I felt something in my heart. Maybe I’m a sword genius too.”

The old man burst into delighted laughter. “Good! Good! A sword genius!”

He laughed until his shoulders shook. “Interesting. Interesting!”

Then he walked away, fading into the crowd.

Wang Jie watched him go.

Of course Wang Jie had known the old man’s limit—because Wang Jie had been the one controlling it.

Down below, the Outer Sect disciples who’d been mocking earlier fell silent. They hadn’t been able to see the sword shadows in the duel at all.

One by one, they retreated awkwardly, their laughter gone.

Time passed.

No one else challenged. That old man represented the Outer Court’s peak in swordsmanship.

Then Wu Mian arrived.

He’d heard someone was suppressing the Outer Court with swordsmanship and assumed it was an arrogant Inner Sect disciple.

He hadn’t expected Wang Jie.

“Guest Elder… what is this?” Wu Mian asked, staring at the dismantled challengers and the stunned crowd.

“Tempering my sword through battle,” Wang Jie replied. “Forgive the disturbance.”

Wu Mian let out a pained laugh. “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have let those Outer Court fools embarrass themselves.”

Wang Jie looked him in the eye. “Do me a favor. Spread what happened here to the Inner Sect.”

Wu Mian blinked.

“I want them to know,” Wang Jie continued, voice steady, “that even if lockforce has no future, it can still have a present.”

Wu Mian’s expression shifted. Then he bowed deeply. “Thank you, Guest Elder.”

Wang Jie had come for fame—it was a material he needed.

But after meeting that old man, the desire to change the plight of lockforce cultivators had crept in as well.

If he was going to make a name, then he would make it properly.

And he owed Wu Mian for forging his sword in the first place.

Not long after, Inner Sect disciples arrived.

Inner Sect disciples were all Star-Breaking Realm. They usually didn’t bother with Outer Court affairs. But they’d heard the arena master considered them targets—someone who would have marched into the Inner Sect to provoke them if he could.

How could they tolerate that?

The Outer Court and Outer Sect didn’t dare step in.

So, naturally, the Inner Sect would.

In the pavilion, the woman asked anxiously, “Aren’t you going to stop them? They don’t know anything. If they go up, they’ll just become jokes.”

The man shook his head. “If Jin Chu is here, she can stop them. She’s first in the Inner Sect. I’m not.”

The woman caught the implication. He had no intention of stepping in, either.

“Then what about you?” she pressed. “Will you make a move?”

The man didn’t answer.

“You might not have a choice,” she said, and showed him her terminal.

A single message flashed on the screen:

“Let Li Mo draw his sword — Xia Mu.”

The man was Li Mo.

He stared, then sighed. “Senior Brother Mu already knows?”

“Probably.” The woman’s lips tightened. “I contacted Lian Junior Brother, then told him not to come. He must’ve realized what was happening here and ran to tell Senior Brother Mu.”

Li Mo muttered, “That guy talks too much.”

He looked back down at the stage. After watching the duel, he knew one thing clearly.

He couldn’t win.

But he also couldn’t disobey.

With a resigned breath, Li Mo descended from the pavilion.

The woman watched with bright, almost mischievous anticipation.

On Rainbow Peak, there was a mountain shaped like a sword: Little Sword Mountain.

It belonged to the sect’s true disciple Xia Mu, reserved for sword cultivators. Countless swords were stored there. Rumor claimed that even sword-type four-tribulation Chen Artifacts could be found within.

To enter Little Sword Mountain, one had to be an Inner Sect disciple—and also gain Xia Mu’s approval.

At this moment, Xia Mu stood atop a blade-like ridge, watching two Inner Sect disciples spar below, sword qi crossing like storms.

“I’ve told Li Mo to draw his sword,” Xia Mu said calmly. “How many strikes he loses in will tell me what that person is made of.”

A voice spoke behind him. “That man is cunning. He must be hiding his sword skill. Junior Brother must be careful.”

It was Xia Bei Yi.

Xia Mu knew about the arena in the Outer Court because of Xia Bei Yi.

Xia Bei Yi had heard of it by accident and hadn’t cared at first—until the name Wang Jie resurfaced and dragged old humiliation out of the dark.

Qing Shan Cheng.

The memory alone made Xia Bei Yi’s blood boil. Unable to swallow it, he sought out Xia Mu.

He wanted Xia Mu to teach Wang Jie a lesson—better yet, to make him lose face in front of everyone.

So what if Wang Jie was a Guest Elder? It would be a fair sword duel, on an open stage. Even the Sect Master wouldn’t be able to say much.

And Domain Lord Ning had gone to the Ninth Star Chain. Master Xu was targeting Wang Jie. Wang Jie’s good days wouldn’t last long anyway.

Might as well collect interest first.

Xia Mu didn’t respond. He simply watched the sparring below, eyes calm.

Xia Bei Yi had arrived and instantly been made a true disciple. Because his realm surpassed Xia Mu’s, he insisted on calling Xia Mu “Junior Brother” with every sentence.

Xia Mu found it revolting.

Now he was trying to stir up trouble behind the scenes, pushing Xia Mu to target a Guest Elder.

Petty. Small.

Back at the arena, Wang Jie faced a female Inner Sect disciple.

Her sword was small and delicate, almost like a dagger. It was pure white from hilt to tip.

She smiled brightly at Wang Jie. “Junior Brother, I’m Star-Breaking Realm. Be careful.”

Most people didn’t know Wang Jie’s true identity. They assumed he was an Outer Court disciple.

And to an Inner Sect disciple, an Outer Court disciple was naturally a junior brother.

Wang Jie gestured politely. “We’re comparing sword moves, not cultivation. Senior Sister should hold back.”

He added, dryly, “Don’t get hurt.”

The woman giggled. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.

“The Outer Court hasn’t had such a cute little Junior Brother in ages.”

Wang Jie didn’t even have time to react.

Her white blade flashed.

A light sound rang out—

And Wang Jie’s hilt tapped her back, perfectly measured. She tumbled off the stage.

She stared up at him, blank-faced, as if she still didn’t understand how she’d gotten there.

Wang Jie waved her away.

She climbed back up, furious, challenged again—then got knocked down again.

On the third try, her temper snapped. She started to draw on her Star-Breaking Realm power—

“Stop.”

The single word cracked across the stage.

“Who’s interrupting me?” the woman snapped, spinning, all playful charm gone.

Li Mo approached from the distance, a long sword strapped to his back, his eyes cold.

The woman recognized him and scowled. “So it’s Senior Brother Li. Why stop me?”

Her gaze slid to Wang Jie, and something clicked. She jabbed a finger. “He’s from Little Sword Mountain, isn’t he?”

Li Mo’s tone stayed even. “Little Sword Mountain doesn’t accept Outer Court disciples.”

“Then why stop me?”

“Because we’re comparing swords, not cultivation,” Li Mo said. “Junior Sister, what you were about to do is humiliating.”

Even among the Inner Sect disciples below, voices rose telling her to come down.

Her face cycled through colors. In the end, she glared at Wang Jie.

“Pretty boys are all bad people,” she hissed.

Then she jumped down and stormed off.

Wang Jie stared after her, speechless.

Li Mo stepped onto the stage and faced him directly. “Little Sword Mountain Li Mo. Please instruct me.”

Wang Jie frowned slightly. “Little Sword Mountain? Aren’t you a Frost Splendor Sect disciple?”

Li Mo blinked. “You don’t know Little Sword Mountain?”

The crowd went quiet. A swordsman who didn’t know Little Sword Mountain?

Wang Jie shook his head.

Li Mo’s brows drew together. “Then you’ll understand soon enough.”

He drew his sword and stabbed.

Cold flooded outward.

A sword duel wasn’t supposed to use cultivation. Li Mo didn’t directly move starforce or lockforce—but he’d trained in bitter cold lands, cultivating Frost Splendor starforce for years. When his sword moved, the chill followed as naturally as breath.

Before the blade even reached Wang Jie, frost coated the air around him.