Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

Seven days later, in Yangzhou.

On the south bank of the Yangtze River, beside the Slender West Lake.

The eaves of the Azure Dragon Society's main courtyard cast a deep shadow in the afternoon sunlight. The lake's surface was calm, reflecting the newly sprouted green willows on the shore. The invitations sent from Ten Thousand Snake Island half a month ago had already reached every corner of the world.

The seal at the bottom was the dragon pattern of the Azure Dragon Society, but the signature column read "Young Dragon Head"—this title spread from the East Sea to the East Continent in half a year, and everyone knew about the deeds of the young man from the Dongfang family who used his Demon Sealing Bloodline to subdue the Northern Border and kill the Underworld Emperor in the Gray Mist Sea.

But what the various forces are more concerned about is something else:

The dragon seal on the invitation was made of the highest-grade purple-gold sealing wax used by the headquarters, and it was rumored that only the true Grand Dragon Leader of the Azure Dragon Society had the authority to use it. However, the Grand Dragon Leader never appeared; instead, a "Junior Dragon Leader" acted on behalf of the headquarters.

This suspense is even more unsettling for people around the world than the invitation itself.

Wanfo Temple, Zhenwu Dao Sect, Siji Sword Sect, Wu Family Army, Xiao Family of Luoyang, Liu Family of Qingzhou, Yan Family of Youzhou, Tang Clan of Shu, Murong Family, Dugu Family, Long Family... Some sent elders, some had young disciples act on their behalf, and some even had their family heads attend in person without any attempt to avoid suspicion.

The inns and taverns in Yangzhou were full of people half a month ago, and the streets were filled with people carrying swords and knives.

Even more noteworthy are the newly emerging young talents.

Ye Xingchen, Wu Zetian, Qin Lin'an, Chu Yunxiao, Wangwo, Guiyuan, the Four Great Sword Masters, Murong Qiudi, Dugu Xin, and Long Aotian—behind each of these names lies a combat power of at least the Grandmaster level.

They gathered in Yangzhou and turned the once quiet embankment of Slender West Lake into a bustling marketplace.

In the inn, some people were betting on whether the young dragon leader could suppress these prodigies, while in the teahouse, some were speculating about who the great dragon leader was and why he didn't show himself.

On the island in the middle of the lake, the arena for the sword duel has been set up. The platform is made of a single piece of bluestone, and it is twenty feet in circumference. The lake water on all sides is wide enough to accommodate spectators from all sides.

Li Chenzhou, one of the three leaders of the Azure Dragon Society, personally presided over the event. He sat on a black wooden chair without armrests, his arms crossed over his chest, and his aura as a half-step Celestial being weighed down on everyone's heads like a silent, colossal mountain.

He didn't say a word, only occasionally opening his eyes to scan the crowd. Those whose eyes met his seemed to unconsciously shrink by half an inch. Someone asked in a low voice:

"Li Sanlong has arrived in the capital, but why isn't the Great Dragon Head here?"

The person next to him shook his head:

"No one has ever seen the true face of the Grand Leader of the Azure Dragon Society, so it's already quite an achievement to see the Young Leader today."

One after another, the prodigies from all sides took to the stage. Ye Xingchen stood with his sword in his arms, a broken sword lying across his knees. He closed his eyes, his breathing as even as if he were asleep, but no one dared to approach within three feet of him.

Wu Zetian stood in Taitung, clad in black armor and wielding a long sword. She was half a head taller than most men, her armor covered in layers of sword marks, and her eyes held a sharp, piercing gaze.

Qin Lin'an, dressed in a black and yellow brocade robe, sat upright in a grand chair, holding a book and reading leisurely, as if he had come for a spring outing rather than to attend a banquet.

The four sword masters lined up on the west side of the platform, their four sword intents—one strong, one gentle, one swift, and one slow—intertwined to form a formation.

He sat on the corner of the stage, hands clasped in self-forgetfulness, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile that held both Zen-like wisdom and mockery.

Guiyuan stood by the railing on the side of the platform, watching the fish swimming in the lake, his expression peaceful as if he were admiring his own backyard.

On the viewing platform, the heads and elders of various families whispered among themselves.

Some speculated that the young dragon leader would announce something today, some were pondering whether the six-month agreement was credible, and some were secretly observing the seat of the great dragon leader—that seat was empty. A black wooden chair, even wider than the one Li Chenzhou sat in, was placed on a platform one step higher than the sword-fighting arena directly behind it. Nine coiled dragons were carved on the back of the chair, but no one sat down.

At noon, the lake suddenly became still.

The wind stopped. The water calmed. The whispers that had been rising and falling on the island in the middle of the lake seemed to have been cut off in an instant. The clamor of the city was suppressed by some invisible force at that moment, like a giant hand pressing on the throat of Yangzhou.

Everyone looked up at the same time, gazing at the sky above the island in the middle of the lake.

A figure in ink came from the north, stepping through the air.

Without using a boat, a sword, or any external aids, he simply walked on air, each step leaving a dark golden ripple on the lake's surface. The ripples spread outwards, striking the roots of the weeping willows on the shore, causing the willow branches to tremble slightly.

The aura of a Grandmaster at the peak of the ninth level descended slowly onto the island in the middle of the lake like an invisible mountain. The heads of families at the Grandmaster level in the audience turned pale and their backs hunched over. Some of them silently shattered their teacups in two.

Dongfang Weiwo landed in the center of the dueling platform. His dark cloak billowed up briefly upon landing before falling back down, his long hair spreading out in a black mass behind him. He glanced around, his dark golden gaze lingering for a moment on the face of each young prodigy.

Ye Xingchen opened his eyes. There were two sword intents that had solidified into a tangible form in his eyes, but the moment he met Dongfang Weiwo's gaze, the sharpness of those two sword intents diminished by three-tenths.

Wu Zetian gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, her thumb pressing against the guard, her knuckles turning slightly white.

Qin Lin'an put down the book, making a soft sound as it closed.

The sword intent of the four sword masters simultaneously contracted by three inches—the invisible sword formation collapsed inward the instant Dongfang Weiwo landed.

Wangwo was still smiling, but the nonchalance in her smile was suppressed by something heavy. Guiyuan withdrew his gaze from the lake and looked at Dongfang Weiwo, his eyes, which were as calm as lake water, showing ripples for the first time.

"The young leader of the Azure Dragon Society is here."

Dongfang Weiwo spoke.

"I've invited you all to Yangzhou today to discuss only two matters."

The entire room fell silent. Even the sound of breathing was suppressed to a minimum.

But in the silence, Ye Xingchen stood up.

He stood up very slowly, as slowly as a knife being drawn inch by inch from its sheath.

The broken sword, which had been lying horizontally on his lap, naturally slid into his right palm when he stood up.

He did not draw his sword—it was only half a sword, the broken edge polished smooth as a mirror, more dangerous than any sword he had wielded in his prime.

"I am naturally attentive to the two matters that Shaolong wants to discuss."

Ye Xingchen spoke, his voice neither loud nor soft, carrying a husky quality like a sword blade slowly gliding across a whetstone.

But before that—I have a favor to ask.

Dongfang Weiwo turned her head to look at him.

"I've heard many rumors about you," Ye Xingchen said. "Slaying a demon celestial being with a single sword in the Northern Frontier. Slaying the Underworld Emperor on the Gray Mist Island. I've heard each of those rumors at least three times. But I'm not one to believe rumors."

He picked up the broken sword, its tip pointing diagonally to the ground. The sword had no light, no aura, and no superfluous decorations; he simply held it in his hand.

I only believe what I've tried.

Wu Zetian snorted through her nose, a mocking laugh, but she didn't draw her sword; she wanted to see what would happen.

Qin Lin'an opened the book again, using the spine to cover half of his face, but the eye that was exposed was very bright.

The four swordsmen remained completely still, their longswords not even trembling slightly. Wangwo's smile deepened by half an inch. Guiyuan withdrew his arm from the railing and straightened his back.

Dongfang Weiwo looked at Ye Xingchen and remained silent for two breaths.

Then he took the Frostbite Sword from his waist.

"Okay." He only said one word.

Ye Xingchen moved.

His movements were completely unexpected. One moment he was standing there talking, and the next he was already three feet in front of Dongfang Weiwo, his broken sword slashing out horizontally.

The angle of that sword strike was extremely tricky—it didn't go straight in, didn't strike vital points, and didn't take the middle route. Instead, it cut diagonally along the lower edge of Dongfang Weiwo's left rib, like a snake silently gliding through the grass.

The broken sword's blade was devoid of any aura; it simply cut into the opponent's weakest point in their defense with extreme speed and angle.

Dongfang Weiwo shifted his body slightly to the left, turning three inches. His Frostbite Sword remained sheathed, held vertically against his left ribs. The broken tip of the sword grazed the scabbard, producing a clear, metallic clang, sparks flying.

Ye Xingchen's attack missed, and the moment the broken sword grazed the scabbard, he flipped his wrist, changing the sword's momentum from a horizontal slash to a downward chop.

The broken sword had no sharp edge, but the force of the blow landed precisely on the point where Dongfang Weiwu's right shoulder collarbone was joined—if the sword had struck, the blunt side of the broken edge would have shattered the bone.

This time, Dongfang Weiwo didn't block. He took half a step back, just enough to let the tip of the broken sword cleave past him three inches from his shoulder. The force of the sword's strike lifted the hem of his cloak, the dark fabric fluttering in the wind before falling back down.

Ye Xingchen missed twice in a row, and for the first time, a genuine glint of competitiveness flashed in his eyes.

He pulled back his broken sword, twisted his wrist, and thrust forward—this sword strike was so fast that it was impossible for the naked eye to follow it. Only a silver-gray afterimage could be seen extending from the broken edge of the sword, heading straight for Dongfang Weiwu's heart.

That was his strongest probing strike. It appeared to be just a physical attack from a broken sword, but in reality, the sword intent had materialized. That silver-gray phantom was a blade formed from the sword intent, faster and sharper than a real sword.

Dongfang Weiwo drew his sword.

The moment the Frostbite Sword was drawn, everyone saw that scene.

A dark golden sword light rose from its sheath, like the breath exhaled by a dragon that had slumbered for a thousand years the moment it opened its eyes. The temperature on the entire island in the lake plummeted by three degrees, and a thin layer of ice formed on the lake surface, cracking outwards from the center.

He did not dodge Ye Xingchen's sword.

He thrust forward to meet the silver-gray sword intent head-on, the tip of the Frost Sword precisely meeting the center of the sword intent extending from the broken sword. The instant the two forces collided, there was no explosion, no shockwave, no shattering sound—a dark golden light silently spread from the center of the collision. Ye Xingchen's silver-gray sword intent, upon contact with the dark gold, was diluted, dissolved, and absorbed like ink falling into clear water. In a flash, the materialized sword intent was completely dissipated, leaving only a fragment of the broken sword, less than two feet long.

Ye Xingchen's pupils contracted. He tried to back away, but Dongfang Wei did not give him a complete way out.

After breaking through the sword intent head-on, the Frostbite Sword advanced three inches, its tip stopping two fingers' width in front of Ye Xingchen's throat. A dark golden sword light shot out half an inch from the tip, stopping almost touching the hair on Ye Xingchen's Adam's apple.

The entire arena was completely silent.

Ye Xingchen stared at the tip of the sword in front of him for three breaths, then suddenly smiled.

That smile was one of acceptance mixed with surprise, like a wolf that had been starving for three days finally finding prey worth fighting for.

"A fine sword."

He lowered the broken sword, tip pointing downwards, shifting from an offensive stance to a standing position. "Young Dragon Leader, I've heard your second request. If there's no fighting for six months, I, Ye Xingchen, will be the first to stand guard."

He turned and walked back to where he was, rested the broken sword across his lap, and closed his eyes again.

But this time, the corners of his mouth were turned up when he closed his eyes.