Chapter 73: A Formidable Foe with a Twisted Sense of Humor!

Zhou Yan sheathed his sword and turned around, watching as his opponent, under the referee’s authentication device, released the enforced lock of his protective gear. Then he saw the young man lower his head in silence and leave the arena.

An expected outcome.

Zhou Yan stepped down as well, following the staff’s guidance back to his own lounge. While glancing at the screen, he briefly reviewed the battle in his mind, only to find there was little worth analyzing.

Weak!

That was Zhou Yan’s first impression of his opponent. After all, thanks to the high-efficiency breathing technique he’d been practicing under the burning of his spiritual essence, and the support of the “Essence of Life” he’d received as a reward, his physical body alone had nearly doubled the normal human limit. Coupled with the modest enhancements from his fate equipment, his constitution had been raised to a level of “24.”

Most of his opponents had no access to the breathing technique. Even those few blessed with exceptional talent, who managed to refine their bodies beyond ordinary limits without it, could perhaps reach a “12” or “13” at best.

Before such overwhelming power, skill was meaningless.

Moreover, Zhou Yan’s Nanjing Swordsmanship was equally outstanding. He had endured countless high-frequency real battles in the Realm of Calamity, making him far stronger than the average expert.

If he couldn’t defeat ordinary contestants at a glance, that would be the real joke.

He had not even exerted his full strength to claim victory.

“Unconsciously, my strength is now enough to crush the vast majority of ‘ordinary’ swordsmen.”

This thought flashed through Zhou Yan’s mind before he dismissed it and focused on the screen.

Luo Xuan had always said that several prodigies, each making their names known, were competing this year—and she was convinced he couldn’t defeat them. Zhou Yan, though usually modest in Luo Xuan’s presence, knew his real abilities had long since surpassed her expectations. Still, he was always cautious, never letting slip an opportunity to study potential rivals in action.

*

Nearly three hours later, around noon.

Zhou Yan picked up yet another glass of water—he’d lost count of how many had been refilled by the staff—took a sip, and his eyes flickered as he watched the screen.

In the arena on the screen, a young man emerged from the passage, seemingly even younger than Zhou Yan himself. He was tall and slender, his arms so long that when dropped vertically, his fingertips nearly reached his knees—an ideal physique for swordsmanship.

Beneath a tousle of short, black hair, his face was unremarkable—not handsome or dashing, but with a gentle expression tinged by a faint smile.

Ordinary in appearance, yet extraordinary in bearing.

The moment he stepped onto the field, Zhou Yan’s gaze was riveted.

“A formidable one has arrived,” Zhou Yan murmured.

Like attracts like.

The instant Zhou Yan saw the young man, he knew he was likely the strongest opponent he would face in this tournament.

He looked up at the four-sided screen above the arena, scanning the portraits and names.

[Thirty-second Exchange Match]

[Tang Zhengju vs. Li Guanchi]

“Li Guanchi...”

Zhou Yan softly repeated the name as he looked at the young man’s photo.

To be scheduled for the final match, coupled with such an aura—this must be the seed recognized as the strongest by the Lihuo Pavilion for this exchange.

Zhou Yan sat upright, eyes fixed on Li Guanchi, who was already adopting his stance on the screen.

His brows raised in surprise.

A textbook-perfect owl stance, sword held horizontally beside his face.

Wasn’t this the posture he himself used to dispatch his opponent in the third match?

Yet, when Zhou Yan used it, the technique exuded murderous intent, as if he stood atop a mountain of corpses, a demon thirsting for blood.

Li Guanchi, on the other hand—even through the screen, his stance appeared as natural as if it had been created for him alone.

Even if Li Guanchi’s posture deviated slightly from the standard, Zhou Yan felt he was still in the right.

A terrifying opponent!

Zhou Yan silently elevated his estimation of Li Guanchi.

After watching nearly thirty matches and some sixty competitors, Zhou Yan had identified several noteworthy swordsmen.

The first was Zheng Keren—though not the most admirable character, with his father’s careful guidance, he had real skill. His swordplay was fierce, his physique formidable, and his debut was no less impressive than Zhou Yan’s: a single strike sent his opponent flying.

The second was Xiang Ping, whom Zhou Yan had briefly encountered. His fundamentals were rock-solid, his fighting style meticulous. Though he hadn’t won in an instant, he’d read his opponent perfectly, weaving a seamless web from which there was no escape.

There were two or three others of similar caliber, each overwhelming their opponents with ease.

Now, with Li Guanchi’s appearance, he leapt straight to the top of Zhou Yan’s personal threat ranking.

While Zhou Yan pondered, the referee in the arena announced the start of the match.

In the next instant, Zhou Yan’s pupils contracted.

On the screen, Li Guanchi’s footwork was a blur, his figure becoming a streak of white as he closed the distance in a heartbeat.

He followed with a flowing sidestep into the “Crimson Thrust.”

The movement, the posture, the trajectory of the sword, the recoil after the strike—even the way his opponent was sent flying—were almost identical to Zhou Yan’s.

But—faster, sharper, more... exquisite!

“Is he... provoking me?”

“How interesting!”

Staring intently at the tall, composed young man sheathing his sword and retreating, Zhou Yan’s left eye suddenly gleamed with excitement.

Two swordsmen, strangers until now, had just engaged in their first silent duel, mirroring each other’s techniques.

“In terms of technique, you are superior...

“But victory in battle is determined by more than mere skill.

“Body, mind, reflexes, even the hunger for victory... In these, I am not inferior to you!”

Zhou Yan knew he was at a temporary disadvantage, but his fighting spirit blazed all the brighter.

...

The first round—sixty-four into thirty-two—came to a close with Li Guanchi’s dazzling, instant victory, identical to Zhou Yan’s.

Zhou Yan was finally released from his lounge.

Within seconds of stepping outside, his phone rang, and he quickly answered. It was his sister, Luo Ke, asking him to meet her outside the main entrance on the first floor.

On his way to the door, Zhou Yan noticed the way people looked at him had changed. Where there had been a hint of mockery earlier, now there was mostly curiosity and wariness.

None, however, approached him as Xiang Ping had done that morning.

It made sense. Though he now ranked among the strongest at the “student” level, there were still those who matched or even surpassed him in reputation.

Every year, one or two new faces emerged with such prowess.

There was no need yet for others to curry favor.

On the contrary, quite a few students seemed eager to test themselves against him.

Someone who had shone so brightly in the chaos—if they could defeat him, would they not steal his glory for themselves?

*