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

"You brought Hua Tiegan here not to prevent me from refusing to fight. You brought him here to leave yourself a way out—if you can't beat me, Hua Tiegan will give you a chance."

"Or rather, Hua Tiegan is your tolerance for mistakes."

"You say the gap in strength is insurmountable, but deep down you're not really confident."

Yan Gaotian's expression changed.

"You're talking nonsense!" His voice suddenly turned shrill. "You think I'm afraid of you? A piece of trash at the Qi Refining Realm?"

"Why did Hua Tiegan leave?" Sun Fan interrupted him.

Yan Gaotian opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

"Hua Tiegan left because I saw him for who he really was. But you didn't see me for who I am." Sun Fan's voice was soft, but every word pierced Yan Gaotian's ears like nails. "You brought him here, thinking he was your protector. But you never expected that I would move that mountain away."

He looked into Yan Gaotian's eyes: "Now, you have no way out. You only have one path—to defeat me."

"Of course, this is the only path we have for each other now."

Yan Gaotian's fingers trembled slightly inside his sleeve.

It's not fear.

It's panic.

An inexplicable unease, like a bug crawling on his chest, made him feel uneasy all over.

He could easily crush that tiny ant over there with a flick of his wrist.

In his three years at the Dark Martial Arts School, he has encountered countless battles and duels in various secret realms, large and small, and earned the title of Ferocious Tiger through countless victories.

But why would a tiny ant make him panic?

Because of variables.

That ant always seems to produce incredible variables.

He took a deep breath, regained his composure, suppressed his panic, and resumed his tiger claw stance.

"Finished?" His voice returned to its cold hardness. "If you're done, then come and face your death."

Sun Fan did not move.

He stood there, his right hand on the hilt of his sword, which remained unsheathed.

The two men faced off.

Yan Gaotian tried to find Sun Fan's weakness, but he couldn't.

The more he searched, the more confused he became; the more confused he became, and the more his mind became trapped in the snares of thought.

It's as if he's started fighting with himself in the ring.

An incense stick has burned out.

The people in the audience began to whisper among themselves.

"Why haven't you made a move yet?"

"Is that scholar scared?"

"No...look at the man in black's face."

Yan Gaotian's expression was indeed off.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, not from the heat, but from an inexplicable pressure.

Sun Fan stood there, doing nothing, but the pressure surged over him like a tide, wave after wave.

He couldn't figure it out.

He was clearly only at the Qi Gathering Realm, and his internal energy was far superior to Sun Fan's. With the support of his internal energy, his strength, speed, and reaction were all above Sun Fan's.

But he just couldn't move.

It's not that the body can't move, it's that the heart is moving.

Every time he considered making a move, a thought would pop into his head—what if this attack was dodged? What if Sun Fan's sword was faster than he expected? What if—

He gritted his teeth, suppressed those thoughts, and took a step forward.

This step was taken with great difficulty.

Sun Fan still didn't move.

But his demeanor changed.

If he was like a stagnant pool just now, now that stagnant pool begins to surge. Not outward, but inward—all his momentum, all his spirit, all his power are converging on his right hand, which is holding the sword.

Yan Gaotian sensed it.

He was only a little over two zhang away from Sun Fan, and the oppressive feeling grew stronger and stronger, so strong that he could hardly breathe.

This is not normal.

It's impossible for a martial artist at the Opening Meridian Realm to give him this kind of oppressive feeling.

Unless—there's something wrong with his sword.

Yan Gaotian suddenly remembered something.

Back in the Dark Martial Arts School, someone once said that Sun Fan's sword contained sword intent.

He didn't believe it at the time.

Sword intent is something that only martial artists at the fifth level can even begin to grasp. How could a martial artist at the first level possibly possess sword intent?

Now he believes it.

But that was no ordinary sword intent.

It was something...that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

It's like death.

It wasn't murderous intent, nor was it killing aura; it was death itself.

Cold, silent, irresistible.

Sweat rolled down Yan Gaotian's forehead, soaking the back of his clothes. His fingers trembled, not from fear, but from the restlessness within his body—a restless energy filled with dread.

A martial artist's inner strength lies in fear.

How is that possible?

He gritted his teeth and took another step forward.

This step is heavier than the last.

Sun Fan still didn't move.

But his momentum had already reached its peak.

If it was a stagnant pool before, it is now a mountain. A mountain pressing down on Yan Gaotian's heart, so heavy that he can hardly straighten his back.

Those below the stage couldn't understand what was going on, but they could see that the man in black's face was getting increasingly grim, as if he were fighting against something unseen.

Dong Dahai figured it out.

His pupils suddenly contracted.

"The squad leader... is gathering his strength."

Red Wolf was taken aback: "What power?"

"I can't explain it," Dong Dahai said in a low voice, "but I know that if Yan Gaotian doesn't make a move now, he'll never be able to."

Yan Gaotian also knew.

He couldn't wait any longer.

If he waits any longer, he will lose even the courage to make a move.

He took a deep breath, mobilizing all his inner strength, and a dark light emanated from his tiger claws. Then he moved—

It wasn't rushing over, it was lunging at them.

Like a real tiger, it leaped up from three zhang away, its claws carrying a whistling wind, heading straight for Sun Fan's throat.

He used all his strength in that claw strike.

He was confident that this claw strike could tear apart the defense of any martial artist at the Qi Opening Realm.

Then he saw Sun Fan's sword.

Sun Fan drew his sword.

Draw your sword.

It was just one sword strike.

There was no fancy opening move, no charging stance, not even any warning. The sword seemed to have always been there, waiting for Yan Gaotian's throat to crash into it.

Yan Gaotian saw the white light.

Unhappy.

It could even be described as somewhat slow.

But there's no way to avoid it.

It wasn't because the sword was fast, but because the moment he saw it, his body no longer belonged to him. The power that had been building up for three days and three nights was released all at once, like a mountain collapsing, like a sea overflowing, overwhelming and inescapable.

He thought of how his younger brother Yan Gaojiang looked when he died.

He thought of his mother's dying words.

He thought about every step he had taken along the way—from the dark martial arts school to Jiangnan, from the Five Tiger Generals to the number one person in the South, from being decisive and ruthless to being cautious and methodical.

He remembered what Sun Fan had said—"You have no way out."

It turned out to be the case.

It turns out he had no way out all along.

From the moment his younger brother died by Sun Fan's sword, he had no way out.

A flash of white light.

Yan Gaotian's head flew into the air, tumbling and spraying a cloud of blood. His body remained in a lunging posture, taking two steps forward before crashing to the ground.

The head fell to the ground, rolled a few times, and then stopped.