Even in the twenty-sixth century, the frigid air blowing from Siberia remained as bone-chillingly sharp as it had been five centuries prior, blanketing the foothills of Mount Wudang in a sudden, heavy fall of large, swirling snow.

The second day of the Sword Master Tournament had arrived, and the intense competition among the eight hundred entrants vying for one hundred master slots had reached a fever pitch. The morning rounds alone saw hundreds injured, with several swordsmen suffering fatal throat slashes or heart punctures; yet, the remaining participants showed no sign of retreat—they had accepted such consequences upon stepping onto the stage.

However, according to the tournament rules, killing an opponent resulted in immediate disqualification, so the vast majority of contestants pulled their strikes just short of the killing blow.

A minority of spectators, unable to bear the carnage, had already departed, but for Yang Ying, this was only the beginning.

By this time, the swordsmen were unleashing their most carefully guarded trump cards, providing the audience with a breathtaking spectacle. Sword arts from every corner of the globe showcased unique strengths, and even the swordsmen hailing from the Middle East and the West brought refreshing mastery with their scimitars, greatswords, and rapiers.

Since swordsmanship had evolved into a global sport with worldwide participation, martial traditions like the Arabian scimitar techniques and European knightly swordsmanship, both boasting millennia of heritage, had been formally integrated and recognized by the Sword Master Association.

As the competition progressed, the contestants, sensing the near approach of the Master qualification, fought with escalating ferocity. After three rounds, eighty-five stages had yielded a recognized Sword Master, but fifteen others remained undecided—either due to draws or because one fighter had fatally misjudged and killed the other. Those fifteen slots were consequently forfeited, as the organizing committee rigidly adhered to the core philosophy of "quality over quantity" when bestowing the title.

Although the second day featured fewer matches overall, the depth of effort displayed by every fighter provided Yang Ying with richer insights than he had gathered the day before.

Throughout this period, Yang Ying never let down his guard concerning Tong Jinhe. For this day, he had assigned two Dark Templar Voidwalkers to track Tong Jinhe around the clock. Their cloaking was as effortless as breathing, demanding negligible energy compared to the sustained invisibility provided by Spectres.

Yet, until the final ceremony for awarding the Sword Master certificates began, Tong Jinhe remained utterly subdued, exhibiting entirely normal behavior, betraying no hint in word or deed of any intention to avenge his nephew.

Yang Ying could sense that this insult would not be swallowed easily.

Watching Tong Jinhe on stage presenting the awards, Yang Ying mused, "If he doesn't make a move soon, I won't have the time to wait either. Forget it; why should I wait for him to strike first..."

Yang Ying decided to preempt any retaliation from Tong Jinhe by eliminating the threat while it was still nascent. Whether Tong Jinhe would have caused trouble later was irrelevant. The priority was to settle this matter before leaving Earth.

At that moment, Xin Jinyun suddenly asked, "Yang Ying... are you leaving once the tournament concludes?"

Yang Ying's heart stirred, and he countered, "Why do you ask that?"

"I don't know, just a feeling," Xin Jinyun replied with a light smile, a wave of delicate, feminine charm naturally blooming across her expression.

She has the bloodline of an Awakened one; her sixth sense is inherently sharp. She might even awaken someday, Yang Ying thought, before saying, "Your intuition is correct. I will be leaving the day after tomorrow, after the closing ceremony."

Xin Jinyun gazed into the distance. "I've been very happy these past few days. Will you return to Earth in the future?"

"That's obvious. Earth is humanity's home, and it is my home too. How could I not come back?" Yang Ying responded with a smile.

Xin Jinyun was currently a second-year university student, only assisting at her family’s martial arts hall because of the winter break, which lasted two months from Christmas until late February. She wasn't there to watch the tedious award ceremony but to wait for her mother to travel home with her. Although Xin Jinyun practiced swordsmanship, her skill level was far beneath that of the contestants in the arena.

The venue was crowded with armed fighters, many of whom were emboldened by their perceived strength. Yang Ying had served as a subtle escort, turning away numerous men who tried to flirtatiously approach her.

At ten o'clock that evening, the awards concluded. Xin Tianqing collected his daughter from Yang Ying, and the two parties then went their separate ways.

Yang Ying did not return to his hotel. He cloaked himself, boarding a Spectre fighter, and flew to a villa on the city's outskirts. The house was two stories high, fronted by a small garden, with trellises lining the driveway.

This was the residence of Tong Zhishan, and where Tong Jinhe had been staying since arriving at Mount Wudang.

A Dark Templar waited by the door. Upon seeing Yang Ying arrive, the warrior bowed deeply. "Leader, the target is in the villa's study."

"Good. Let's go in," Yang Ying announced, taking the lead.

"Yes," the Dark Templar followed a half-step behind Yang Ying as they passed beneath the grapevines.

As he walked, the subordinate suggested, "For a target like this, a single quick strike would suffice. Why trouble the Leader to come in person?"

"A quick stab might seem satisfying, but it breeds endless complications later. It is better to use a more troublesome method now that leaves no loose ends."

Yang Ying reasoned that Tong Jinhe held a position of social influence. His sudden death would trigger investigations that might eventually trace back to him. Right now, there was a superior solution: the mind control offered by the Dark Archon!

Once Tong Jinhe was controlled, he wouldn't cause trouble; instead, he could actively shield Yang Ying from it—a perfect dual benefit.

The Dark Templar replied, "Everything is as the Leader commands."

Meanwhile, Tong Jinhe, having just returned from the venue as a member of the judging committee, was relaxing with tea in his study. Suddenly, the study door swung open and then immediately shut.

Though no intruder was visible outside, Tong Jinhe’s hair stood on end. He drew the sword from beside his desk, held it across his chest in a defensive posture, and swept the room with a gaze as sharp as a blade.

"Who! Who is there?"

Yang Ying had already stepped fully into the room and extended his right hand.

"Summon the Dark Archon, Grolimore!"

As the words faded, the Dark Archon materialized before him, engulfed in deep crimson flames, visible only as an armored torso and a pair of eyes glowing like searchlights.

Tong Jinhe staggered backward, retreating until he hit the bookshelf, crying out, "You are an alien? What do you want?"

"Use mind control, make him utterly obedient to me, and simultaneously erase his memory of seeing you," Yang Ying commanded, pointing at Tong Jinhe.

"As you will!" Grolimore raised an arm and shot forward a beam of murky, yellow light. Tong Jinhe’s expression immediately shifted; the hostility vanished, replaced by total subservience.