Martial Arts Secret Realm: Only I Can Know the Plot?

Chapter 126 Overcoming Force with Momentum

Sun Fan raised his head and looked at Luo Qingshan. His eyes had changed, not in a fierce way, but in a deep, still gaze, like a stagnant pool of water, calm on the surface, but with something surging beneath.

The crimson hue in his eyes deepened slightly.

"Senior Luo," he spoke, his voice soft but each word clear, "you said my fighting style is wrong. Then look at this sword strike, isn't it right?"

He raised his sword.

It wasn't a thrust, a chop, a slice, or a flick. He simply raised the sword, tip pointing to the sky, blade hanging low to the ground, hands gripping the hilt as if holding a flag.

Then he closed his eyes.

He is sensing, he is gathering momentum.

Luo Qingshan frowned. He didn't understand what the point of this pilgrimage-like action was.

Are we charging up?

But he can interrupt at any time, strike at any time, and win the game.

He wasn't going to act like an idiot and see just how powerful the attack would be once it was fully charged.

That's a foolish thing to do.

But just as he tried to move, he found that he couldn't move.

Pressure enveloped him.

He sensed a strange aura emanating from Sun Fan—not killing intent, not oppressive aura, not the previous "heavy" feeling. Rather, it was something indescribable, as if Sun Fan's presence was fading, as if ink on a painting was slowly spreading, as if a person was disappearing from this world.

Instead, a sword was used.

Sun Fan's demeanor faded, but his swordplay intensified.

It wasn't that the sword's color had deepened; rather, its presence had become stronger. So strong that Luo Qingshan had to shift his attention from Sun Fan and focus it on the sword. Looking at the sword, he suddenly felt that it wasn't just a sword, but a mountain, an ocean, a storm in the making.

He instinctively took a step back.

In the stands, Zhang Guangcheng, who had been leaning back in his chair, suddenly sat up straight. He didn't notice anything amiss. His eyes were fixed on Sun Fan on the ring, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

Sword stance.

It's not sword intent, it's sword momentum.

Sword intent is something that only martial artists at the fifth level can even begin to grasp, while sword momentum is a higher level of existence than sword intent.

The fifth realm leads to enlightenment, the sixth realm paves the way, and the seventh realm is where momentum is gathered.

Gather your own strength and use it to intimidate others.

On the arena, Sun Fan opened his eyes.

His eyes had changed. A crimson hue spread from the edge of his pupils to his entire iris, so red it looked as if it were about to drip blood. But his gaze was calm, as calm as a stagnant pool, beneath which lay an abyss.

Luo Qingshan's feeling changed. It was no longer "heavy," but "pressure"—a sense of oppression that surged from all directions, with nowhere to escape, like the sky collapsing, like the earth sinking, like an entire snow-capped mountain pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

His shattered jade hand trembled. Not from fear, but from a primal, instinctive reaction—his inner strength was gripped by terror, his muscles by terror, every single cell in his body by terror. They wanted to escape, but they couldn't, for there was nowhere to run on the arena.

This is the power of the sword.

It's not about internal strength, nor speed, but something on a higher level—momentum.

Luo Qingshan gritted his teeth, forcibly suppressing the fear. He raised his hands, his ten fingers spread wide like ten sharp daggers. He had spent two years cultivating to reach the Qi Gathering Realm, and now he was being overwhelmed by a first-year student.

He rushed over.

This was Luo Qingshan's first proactive attack. His speed wasn't extreme, but his Shattered Jade Hand drew countless silver-white trajectories in the air, like a dense net, enveloping Sun Fan in the middle.

Each palm strike carries internal force compressed to the extreme.

Each strike could shatter a rock into powder.

The diva in the audience frowned slightly; she knew that Luo Qingshan was serious.

Then Sun Fan drew his sword.

It was just one sword strike.

It wasn't a fast sword, but a slow sword. So slow that Luo Qingshan could clearly see every trajectory of the sword tip's movement, starting from the lower left and moving to the upper right, drawing a graceful arc, like the moon rising and the sun setting.

But Luo Qingshan just couldn't avoid it.

It wasn't because the sword was fast, but because the moment he saw that arc, he was already locked in place. That "force" pressed down on him, making it impossible for him to move an inch. His shattered jade hands felt like they were bound by a thousand-pound iron chain, requiring all his strength to lift even an inch.

The tip of the sword grazed the edge of his palm.

It wasn't heavy, but it was precise. Precise enough to strike exactly at the point where he exerted his strength, just as the Shattered Jade Hand was compressed to its limit and about to release. That moment was when his hand was most vulnerable, like a fully drawn bowstring that would snap at the slightest touch.

Luo Qingshan had a small, shallow wound on his palm, but blood was seeping out.

It's not a major problem, but for someone with the Shattered Jade Hand technique, it could be fatal.

Because his power generation point was broken.

Palm techniques emphasize "momentum"—unlike sword techniques, the "momentum" of palm techniques is accumulated and continuous. One palm strike follows another, each more powerful than the last, like waves building up one after another. But if the point of force exertion is broken, that "momentum" is severed, like waves crashing against rocks and shattering.

This sword strike shattered not his palm, but his heart.

Sun Fan used this sword to tell him.

I was able to break your palm before, and I was able to break it afterward. Luo Qingshan took several steps back, looked down at the thin bloodstain on the edge of his palm, and then looked up at Sun Fan.

The very point upon which his palm technique depended for survival was thus eliminated.

Sun Fan stood there, gripping his sword, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground. His face was paler than before, and the bloodshot in his eyes seemed about to drip out, but his gaze remained calm, as calm as a stagnant pool.

"This is—" Luo Qingshan's voice was so hoarse that he almost didn't recognize his own. "What's the name of this sword strike?"

"A deadly sword strike," Sun Fan said. "My master only taught me one sword technique."

Luo Qingshan stared at him for a long time, then lowered his head to look at his own hand. The wound on the edge of his palm was still bleeding, the blood dripping onto the alloy arena, gleaming a dark red under the lights. He clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking, the pain from the joints still there, but it didn't affect his fighting ability.

He can still fight.

But he didn't want to fight anymore.

Because he had seen what he wanted to see. Not Sun Fan's limit, but Sun Fan's sword. That sword strike was no longer something that someone in the Opening Meridian Realm should possess, nor even something that someone in the Gathering Qi Realm should possess. It was something higher, something that transcended realms.

He didn't know what level Sun Fan's sword strike had reached.

However, he was certain that it was not something he could access, or even something he should be able to understand at his current level.

Sometimes, learning about things you shouldn't be involved in beforehand can only make your path more complicated.

He can't beat him. It's not that he's not strong enough, it's that his martial arts level is too low.

He couldn't understand how Sun Fan could master something of this caliber.

But he took a deep breath, straightened up, and gave a relieved smile.

I admit defeat.

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