Chapter 36: Equally Matched?

"Ah!" Luo Zhiming's startled scream jolted Zhou Yan awake.

Slowly, Zhou Yan lowered his raised right hand, then removed the foot he had planted on Luo Zhiming’s chest, stepping aside in silence. Cold sweat beaded down his back.

Clearly, the aftermath of having slain thousands of enemies in the Realm of Calamity was beginning to show. When faced with Luo Zhiming’s hostile ambush, Zhou Yan’s instincts had immediately classified him as an enemy to be dispatched without a second thought—a single move away from dealing a fatal blow.

“I must be doubly vigilant against these effects. If I really cause trouble, it will be hard to explain.” With this in mind, Zhou Yan looked up at Luo Xuan.

The young woman was watching him, her eyes tinged with surprise. She couldn’t help but ask, “Zhou Yan, have you… fought in real combat before?”

Zhou Yan shook his head against his conscience, telling a lie, “No, this is my first time sparring with someone.”

Well, it was indeed the first time with a ‘normal’ person…

Luo Xuan considered his answer for a moment, then turned her gaze to Luo Zhiming, who was still sprawled on the ground. “Get up. What kind of swordsman lies there like that?”

Luo Zhiming, hearing her voice, snapped out of his panic and scrambled to his feet. He lifted his mask, casting an embarrassed and resentful glance at Zhou Yan, but when Zhou Yan met his gaze, he quickly looked away in fear.

His forehead was slick with cold sweat.

Taking a deep breath, Luo Zhiming faced Luo Xuan’s questioning stare and stammered, “Instructor Luo, I—I'm not feeling my best today. Let Yan Yong spar with him instead.”

With that, he melted into the crowd of onlookers, still clutching his sword, his gaze toward Zhou Yan laced with lingering dread.

“This guy is definitely playing the fool. Hiding his true strength!”

Luo Xuan shot Luo Zhiming a glare, then turned toward Yan Yong—who had already stopped his own practice and come over after hearing the commotion.

“Yan Yong, will you take the bout?”

“Sure,” Yan Yong replied without hesitation, casting a puzzled glance at Luo Zhiming now hiding among the trainees.

He had been absorbed in practicing the Flow Block and hadn’t bothered to watch Luo Zhiming’s earlier ‘bullying.’ But now, seeing Luo Zhiming hiding in the crowd, he was surprised.

Luo Zhiming returned his look with a meaningful glance.

Yan Yong frowned, sensing a trace of schadenfreude in Luo Zhiming’s expression.

“Is there something unusual going on here?”

Meanwhile, as Yan Yong agreed, Luo Xuan nodded, “Hurry up and put on your protective gear, then come back.”

Yan Yong dutifully headed to the changing room and, within minutes, returned fully armored.

Under Luo Xuan’s direction, the scene was reset.

Yan Yong and Zhou Yan stood at the center of the training hall, while the others stepped back to give them space and watched with anticipation.

Luo Zhiming, buried within the crowd, stared intently at Zhou Yan, who now faced off against Yan Yong.

“I was caught off guard by this guy’s aura earlier and got tripped up. I want to see what secrets he’s hiding!”

Having calmed himself after the earlier incident, Zhou Yan was now able to consciously suppress his mind, forcing himself not to dwell on the slaughter he’d witnessed in the Realm of Calamity. He took up the Owl Stance, body angled, right hand raised, sword held beside his face—the blunt-tipped blade aimed squarely at Yan Yong.

It was the very opening move Luo Zhiming had used earlier—Red Thrust.

Yan Yong, seeing Zhou Yan assume this posture, couldn’t help but sneer, mirroring the same stance.

He spoke airily, “Zhou Yan, the three attacks of Falcon Strike are killing moves in the Southern Bright Sword. If you can’t catch your opponent off guard and finish them in one blow, using them rashly will only weaken their effect.

“A word of advice: only use these killing techniques when you’re sure you can win.”

Off to the side, Luo Zhiming rolled his eyes.

“Show-off, what a pretentious show-off.”

“Just wait. I tried to show off earlier and ended up making a fool of myself.”

He snickered inwardly, eager to watch Yan Yong embarrass himself the same way. At the same time, he glanced at the silent Zhou Yan, feeling an odd urge to cheer him on.

“Zhou, you’d better give it your all—don’t play favorites!”

Zhou Yan simply pressed his lips together at Yan Yong’s ‘kind advice,’ keeping his sword steady—the tip unwavering.

He quietly replied, “I understand. Please go easy on me.”

Yan Yong, seeing Zhou Yan still stubbornly maintaining the Red Thrust posture, realized the man had no intention of accepting his guidance. He raised an eyebrow, about to lecture him as a senior, but was interrupted by Luo Xuan.

“Yan Yong, just fight. Why do you talk so much? You don’t go on like this when sparring with Luo Zhiming.”

Her tone was cold.

Yan Yong stiffened, holding his tongue. His gaze toward Zhou Yan grew dangerous. He blamed Zhou Yan—the ‘cripple’ before him—for Luo Xuan’s reprimand.

“Watch out, I’m coming!” he barked, then sprang forward with a sudden burst of Sparrow Step, a short-range explosive footwork. In an instant, his sword tip was at Zhou Yan’s face.

His speed, precision, and power were all a notch above Luo Zhiming’s.

Zhou Yan’s expression remained calm, carefully suppressing his instinct to kill. With a flick of his wrist, he shifted from Red Thrust to a downward smash—Eagle Break.

He struck aside Yan Yong’s seemingly unstoppable thrust with precision.

“Mmm…” Luo Xuan, watching from the sidelines, narrowed her eyes.

“To fluidly shift from one sword form to another—if this isn’t a novice’s fluke, then only a swordsman who has trained the Southern Bright Sword to mastery could do this…”

She hadn’t finished her thought when Zhou Yan, having knocked aside Yan Yong’s blade, followed up with a seamless upward flick of his wrist.

The blade darted for Yan Yong’s masked face—a swift, piercing motion like an osprey diving for fish—Osprey Snatch!

So fast!

Yan Yong reflexively threw his head back, using another Sparrow Step—the move that put great strain on the ankles—to leap away, barely dodging what should have been an inescapable strike.

Relief turned to cold sweat down his back. Yet he reacted quickly, countering with an upward slash—Harrier Flip—his body twisting with the unpredictable agility of a harrier in flight.

Zhou Yan was undaunted, spinning his sword in a cascade of defensive arcs—Buzzard Intercept.

The clang of steel echoed as they traded blows, offense and defense cycling in rapid succession. Their exchange was so swift and fierce that the watching trainees barely dared to breathe.

Seconds later, Yan Yong let out a roar, gripping his sword with both hands and bringing it down in a heavy vertical chop that knocked Zhou Yan’s blade aside.

Zhou Yan retreated a step, but his stance remained steady.

“Ring ring ring—”

From not far behind, a familiar ringtone sounded.

Zhou Yan sheathed his sword, turning to Luo Xuan with a soft apology, “Instructor Luo, I’m sorry—I have to go to work…”

Luo Xuan gazed at him quietly, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

With permission, Zhou Yan called a farewell to Yan Yong, then picked up his phone and went to the changing room.

Yan Yong did not respond. Beneath his mask, his face was grim.

Had he not switched to a two-handed grip just in time…

Could he have blocked Zhou Yan’s last strike?

***