Wandering Swordsman |

Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, Situ Dengfeng smiled slightly, his face radiating kindness. He looked around, his gaze sweeping across each face, as if engaging in a spiritual dialogue with every spectator. His voice, loud and powerful, resounded throughout the entire square: "Good morning, fellow martial artists who have come to watch the battle, and young heroes who are participating in the competition!"

The crowd fell silent immediately, everyone holding their breath, waiting for Situ Dengfeng to say something next.

"Today is the first day of the new year, and also the final day to determine the rankings of the sixteen winners from each group." Situ Dengfeng's voice was filled with solemnity and joy. "To thank the guests from the martial arts world, whether they are participating in the competition or accompanying them to watch the competition, everyone will receive two taels of silver as a celebratory gift after today's ranking battle."

These words immediately sparked cheers from the crowd. The unaffiliated youths, in particular, cheered wildly, their faces beaming with excitement and gratitude. Those from prestigious sects and academies also applauded, their applause expressing both admiration for Situ Dengfeng's generosity and anticipation for this grand martial arts competition.

"Now, I declare today's martial arts competition officially open!" Situ Dengfeng's voice echoed through the air, each word clearly reaching everyone's ears. With his announcement, the atmosphere in the central square reached its peak. Cheers, applause, and shouts of approval from the audience rose and fell, as if the whole world had come alive.

The first pair to compete were Long Zaitian, the winner of the first group, and Zhang Hu, the winner of the second group.

The match officially began. The two stepped onto the training platform, stared at each other, and their eyes flashed with the sparks of battle.

Long Zaitian, dressed in a long blue robe with a long sword at his waist, exuded a commanding presence. His handsome face and refined air revealed an extraordinary quality. He slowly drew his sword, its tip reflecting a dazzling light in the sunlight, as if proclaiming his pride and confidence. He smiled slightly, his eyes filled with a burning desire for victory.

Zhang Hu was dressed in tattered beggar's clothes, but his eyes were unusually firm. In his hand he held a wooden stick that had been polished and patinated, the cracks and mottled marks on the stick bearing witness to the countless storms he had weathered in the martial world. He was not tall, but his muscles were solid, giving him an aura of unwavering stability.

At this moment, Long Zaitian launched the first attack. His longsword, like a nimble azure dragon, instantly pierced towards Zhang Hu. The sword tip drew graceful arcs in the air, its light as sharp as lightning, aiming straight for Zhang Hu's vitals. Zhang Hu remained calm and composed, lightly swinging his wooden staff to precisely block Long Zaitian's attack. The wooden staff and the longsword collided, producing a crisp clanging sound, and the two figures swiftly clashed on the training platform.

In the audience, people's eyes followed the two men's movements closely, and they occasionally let out gasps of amazement.

Although only Long Zaitian from the Changhe Sword Sect came to Jingtian Pavilion, it did not hinder his popularity among the audience. Many people in the audience below the training platform cheered for Long Zaitian, their voices loud and passionate, as if they were injecting more power into him.

The Beggars' Sect disciples standing behind the elders were not to be outdone. They shouted Zhang Hu's name, their voices filled with encouragement and support.

Long Zaitian's swordsmanship flowed like clouds and water, each move fluid and natural, the sword tip dancing in the air like a tightly woven net. Zhang Hu, on the other hand, appeared more composed; the wooden staff in his hand was agile and varied, each swing accurately deflecting the opponent's attacks.

The duel between the two was like a spectacular dance, with every movement full of power and beauty.

Just as Long Zaitian and Zhang Hu were locked in a fierce battle, Long Zaitian's expression suddenly changed. His body swayed slightly, and he spat out a mouthful of blood, then instantly lost all strength. The tip of his sword drew an arc in the air before falling limply. In his final moments, he used his last strength to prop himself up with his sword, preventing himself from collapsing. His eyes were filled with shock and confusion, as if he couldn't understand why he had suddenly lost his fighting ability.

Seeing this, Zhang Hu was curious, but he quickly realized something was wrong with himself. With a violent cough, he also spat out a mouthful of blood. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, as a wave of weakness washed over him, he immediately imitated Long Zaitian, using a wooden stick to prop himself up and prevent himself from collapsing. His eyes were filled with fear and confusion.

This scene unfolded so suddenly that the atmosphere in the entire central square froze instantly. In the stands, elders from various factions, disciples from major sects, and even those unaffiliated with any sect, all stared in disbelief, utterly dumbfounded. Their faces were filled with shock and confusion, as if time itself had stopped.

At this moment, Situ Dengfeng immediately used his lightness skill, his figure as swift as a swallow, and flew lightly to the center of the training platform. His face was ashen, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's, scanning his surroundings as if trying to take in every detail. He quickly stepped forward, squatted down, and carefully checked the condition of Long Zaitian and Zhang Hu. Long Zaitian and Zhang Hu were both pale and weak, but they still managed to support themselves with their swords and wooden sticks, unwilling to fall.

Situ Dengfeng gently placed his fingers on the pulses of the two men, probing them with his inner energy. After a moment, his expression grew even more solemn. He stood up, his gaze revealing an unwavering determination. Then, under everyone's watchful eyes, he raised his voice with his inner energy and shouted, "Attention everyone! Stop the competition immediately and check the condition of all participants!"

The command, like a thunderclap, instantly resounded throughout the central square. The audience below began to murmur amongst themselves; some covered their mouths in alarm, while others whispered amongst themselves, their faces filled with confusion. The young heroes, unaffiliated with any sect or faction, looked particularly uneasy, their voices filled with worry and bewilderment.

"What exactly happened? Why did Long Zaitian and Zhang Hu suddenly vomit blood?"

"Could someone have secretly poisoned it?"

"Can this competition continue?"

"This is too bizarre; this is definitely not a coincidence!"

In the audience, elders and disciples from various sects stood up, their faces filled with shock and unease. Huang Zhangwen, the leader of the Qingcheng Sect, frowned, a hint of worry in his eyes. Liu Ruomei, an elder of the Emei Sect, calmly directed her disciples to prevent chaos from breaking out.

Master Zhikong and Master Zhiming of Shaolin Temple exchanged a glance, their faces also filled with worry. Master Zhikong clasped his hands together and chanted a Buddhist prayer, his steady voice carrying across the training platform: "Amitabha. Hero Situ, someone must have secretly poisoned us; we must find out as soon as possible."