Unfairness Yes, even amidst the competition grounds and its surroundings during the Peak Tournament, a current of unfairness could be vaguely sensed. Li Yuanbai, known as the Fading Sword, was usually a decent enough person, whereas Sima Changbai, the Flourishing Sword, was habitually arrogant in his conduct, and his subordinate disciples were even more overbearing. This disparity meant Sima Changbai enjoyed a rather poor reputation among ordinary disciples, conversely boosting Li Yuanbai’s standing significantly.

What Sima Changbai was doing now was clearly taking advantage of misfortune, seizing the moment when Li Yuanbai’s lifespan was dwindling to deliver a harsh blow. But what use was the indignation of the ordinary disciples? None of the other four of the North Peak’s Six Sword Immortals uttered a single word.

How minuscule was the power wielded by the common disciples. Thus, there was nothing but a lingering sense of unfairness. Nothing else.

All eyes turned toward the key figures in the unfolding drama. One of the main characters was naturally Lu Yuan. When people looked over, they found Lu Yuan’s eyes narrowed, as if he were about to drift off to sleep.

No way, this was too much of a joke. They had heard rumors of the sixth disciple, Lu Yuan, being chronically drowsy and exceedingly lazy in general, but could he truly sleep soundly in a situation like this? If so, he was truly something else.

Lu Yuan seemed to wake up abruptly, stretching languidly and flashing an easy smile. “Excellent. Situ Zuo, Situ You, Sima Wen, Sima Huo, Sima Hao, the five of you wish to seek my guidance?

That’s fine, I suppose. Hmm, defeating the five of you won’t be too easy; it’ll take some effort. Well, I’ll try to wrap it up within the time it takes one stick of incense to burn.

After that, I’m going back to sleep; I didn’t rest well last night.” He even managed a yawn. This declaration was utterly staggering. What a joke.

Situ Zuo, Situ You, Sima Wen, Sima Huo, Sima Hao—this was, for the most part, the strongest team among the ordinary disciples. The strongest among them were at the third or fourth layer of the Qi Refining stage, while the majority hovered around the first or second layer. Such a formidable team.

Even a moderately accomplished figure among the Ten Great True Disciples would find facing this squad an immense headache. And this was setting aside Lu Yuan, who was ranked at the very bottom tier of those Ten Great True Disciples. By everyone’s estimation, Lu Yuan, languishing at the bottom of the True Disciple ranks, should have absolutely no chance of defeating this five-person team.

After all, in the eyes of the crowd, any one of Situ Zuo, Situ You, or Sima Hao—all masters of the Eight Great Marvelous Meridians at the fourth layer of Qi Refining—would not be weaker than Lu Yuan in terms of sheer power, let alone factoring in Sima Wen and Sima Huo, who, though slightly weaker, weren't far behind. Lu Yuan should not have even a sliver of a chance. Only utter defeat, nothing but crushing defeat, was Lu Yuan’s sole possible outcome.

And yet, what did Lu Yuan just say? He claimed he would not only win but do so within the time limit of one stick of incense. Absurd in the extreme.

Absolutely preposterous. A tall tale for a barren wasteland. This was undoubtedly the height of fantasy.

Had Lu Yuan not been driven mad by the immense pressure? Otherwise, he couldn't possibly utter such words. This was fundamentally impossible.

Nearly everyone believed Lu Yuan had lost his mind. On the field. Sima Hao let out a short, mocking laugh.

“Laughable, truly laughable. Lu Yuan, you’ve gone insane.” Lu Yuan simply smiled. “Whether I’m mad or not will be proven in actual combat.” With a slight movement, his hand closed around the hilt of his Yangwu Sword, and he leaped onto the platform.

“The five of you wish for my instruction, correct? Which one of you will go first?” “Let me take the lead,” Situ Zuo said, stepping onto the stage. Situ Zuo was tall and thin, a man around thirty with the natural physiognomy of a long face.

His grip on the sword was unusual; he held it with his left hand. Lu Yuan had heard rumors about Situ Zuo before—word was he was originally an itinerant cultivator who was later brought into the Mount Hua Immortal Sect by Sima Changbai. It was said that his unique, left-handed swordsmanship was incredibly bizarre and unpredictable.

—————— “Begin.” As the presiding elder announced the start of the bout, Situ Zuo’s left hand moved with blinding speed, his left-handed blade already unsheathed. Instantly, glints of sword light sliced through the air, rushing directly at Lu Yuan. Lu Yuan looked on, realizing that many areas around him, usually seldom targeted by a sword point, were suddenly under threat.

This Situ Zuo’s swordsmanship was indeed strange, entirely unlike that of others. Remarkably eccentric. Where common sword styles attacked, this one did not.

Where conventional sword paths led, these did not tread. It followed a path entirely skewed, perverse, and unorthodox. Furthermore, because Situ Zuo wielded this set of techniques with his left hand, the execution felt different from a right-handed application, amplifying the technique’s deviance, oddity, and strangeness.

A flurry of bizarre sword shadows lunged toward him. What an off-kilter style of swordplay. How difficult this technique was to counter.

“Cloud Gathering Impermanence.” Instantly, Lu Yuan deployed the move Cloud Gathering Impermanence. This was one of the rare defensive stances within the One Hundred and Eight Swords of Wind and Cloud. The Wind and Cloud Swords primarily focused on offense, but their defensive maneuvers were formidable as well.

Take Cloud Gathering Impermanence, for instance: the sword’s momentum would condense, resembling clouds massing together, making any attack feel like striking an intangible mist, rendering strikes without purchase—a decidedly powerful defensive technique. “Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang!” Situ Zuo’s left-handed sword struck with terrifying rapidity against Lu Yuan’s blade. Lu Yuan calmed his heart.

Although Situ Zuo’s left-handed swordsmanship was bizarre, his actual martial realm was not high; his strikes lacked any trace of Sword Intent. Thus, Lu Yuan found it relatively easy to defend. He began to analyze Situ Zuo’s technique even as he parried the assaults.

All sword forms in existence are composed of basic actions: cleave, chop, pierce, lift, parry, sweep, cut, thrust, stir, press, hook, and cloud. There are no exceptions. Even though Situ Zuo’s left-handed swordplay was immensely odd, it was still constructed from these foundational movements.

Once swordsmanship reaches the level of Sword Intent, it holds an almost absolute advantage over those who have not attained it. While Lu Yuan analyzed, Situ Zuo also found the situation deeply unsettling. Why was this happening?

No matter how he swung his sword, no matter how eccentric his moves, Lu Yuan managed to defend them all. His rapid-fire strikes felt as if they were hitting puffs of smoke—utterly ineffective. On the surface, Situ Zuo appeared to hold the upper hand, relentlessly pressing the attack.

Yet, Situ Zuo knew the truth: his sword kept losing purchase. This Lu Yuan was definitely peculiar. The legends painted him merely as a lazy slacker, ranked at the very bottom among the Ten Great True Disciples.

Now, it seemed that wasn't the whole story. Observing Situ Zuo’s incoming strikes, Lu Yuan slowly deduced the essence of the technique, grasping the general patterns of the left-handed sword style. That was sufficient.

No need to wait any longer. Suddenly, Lu Yuan launched his attack with fierce momentum: “Gale Crossing,” “Gentle Breeze Brushing the Face”… “Cloud Mountain Heaviness,” “Cloud Formless”—one move followed another in rapid succession. Cold light flashed continuously.

When the light finally settled, the tip of his sword rested precisely at Situ Zuo’s throat. The outcome was decided. Situ Zuo froze.

He had suspected Lu Yuan was not simple, but he hadn't anticipated such a swift defeat. Yet, the sword tip pressed against his throat was undeniably real. Lu Yuan smiled down at him.

“Junior Brother Situ, your swordsmanship is indeed lacking; you must practice more diligently.” This was a verbal slap delivered alongside the physical threat. Situ Zuo had been brimming with confidence before the match, but such a rapid defeat, coupled with Lu Yuan’s condescending words, made his face flush hot. At this moment, aside from a select few elders, most of the spectators were stunned into silence.

In the previous moments, it had seemed Situ Zuo was relentlessly attacking while Lu Yuan was solely defending, suggesting Situ Zuo held a substantial advantage. How could the outcome suddenly flip so drastically? Lu Yuan’s single offensive burst secured the victory.

The turn of fortune was too abrupt. Many found the situation unbelievable. Lu Yuan transitioning instantly from a disadvantage to victory—what exactly had happened in this exchange?

Of course, some sharp-eyed elders, like Venerable Yuanyuan, Sima Changbai, and Ye Yangrong among the North Peak’s Six Sword Immortals, had their eyes light up. When Lu Yuan unleashed his final flurry, they thought they vaguely detected a shadow of Sword Intent. But surely that was impossible; Lu Yuan was only sixteen.

Li Yuanbai had grasped Sword Intent at the age of one hundred and sixteen; even those who managed it earlier hadn't done so by a significant margin. Venerable Yuanyuan, the Master of the North Peak and the most outstanding figure of the ninth generation there, only achieved Sword Intent at thirty-three, and he was heralded as a super-genius. And now, within Lu Yuan’s final sword strikes, there were faint glimmers of Sword Intent?

The Six Sword Immortals of the North Peak exchanged glances, finding it hard to believe, deeming it improbable. Therefore, they decided to watch further. If this young man had truly mastered Sword Intent, things were about to get interesting.

(To those who requested ten thousand words of updates: I am weeping rivers! Oh, Bao Zhilong, Bao Zhilong, did you specifically arrange for me to cry this much?)