PFC Chapter 547: First Glimpse of Talent
Chapter 547: First Glimpse of Talent
On the arena, Qin Mu stood still.
He chose an iron sword that he bought casually from a blacksmith shop near the inn. The blade was fairly sharp, the body was straight with no patterns, and the hilt was wrapped with hemp rope, which was new and a bit prickly.
He held the sword as if it were a twig he had casually picked up from the roadside.
On the other side, Lei Heng had already stepped onto the arena.
He looked even more imposing than when he had been seen from a distance.
His shoulders were like two small hills, his arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his exposed forearms were covered with old scars of varying depths, some whitish and some with a faint brown tinge.
He carried no weapon, his hands hung at his sides, his fingers slightly spread, his palms as thick as two rounded anvils.
With each step he took, Tie Mu on the arena emitted a low, muffled thud.
After he stopped, his gaze fell on Qin Mu, and he looked him up and down before giving a disdainful sneer: "Qingfeng Sword Sect? Never heard of it."
Qin Mu didn't reply, but simply drew his sword from its sheath, casually twirled it, and pointed the tip of the sword diagonally at the ground.
Lei Heng glanced at the sword flourish, his brow twitching slightly before quickly regaining his nonchalant expression: "You're going to use this broken sword?" he asked.
Qin Mu glanced at him: "This is my weapon."
Lei Heng didn't say anything more.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking.
Below the stage, Lin Qingshi clenched his fists, looking tense.
Lin Xiaolu stood beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her expression equally tense.
The junior disciples behind her also squeezed to the edge of the fence. The shortest one stood on tiptoe, his hand on the wooden stake, his eyes fixed on the arena.
The old man sat on the rock, holding the teacup in his hand for a long time, but hadn't drunk a drop.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on the hand Qin Mu was holding the sword in.
On the arena, Lei Heng made a move.
His figure was like a mountain being pushed forward, each step leaving a deep footprint on the ironwood, carrying an unstoppable momentum as he rushed straight toward Qin Mu.
He didn't use any moves to test the waters, nor did he use any feints to build up his momentum; he simply struck out with his palm.
The palm strike carried a dull whistling sound, and when it landed on the surface of the arena, the dust on the surrounding wooden planks was shaken and scattered to both sides.
The palm, wrapped in a strong wind, struck straight at Qin Mu's chest.
Qin Mu made a move.
His movements were subtle, and it was hard to tell that he was using any force.
With just a slight twist of his wrist, the iron sword was delivered at an extremely natural angle.
The moment the sword tip touched Lei Heng's palm, there was no loud clang of metal clashing, no explosive sound of colliding true energy.
There was only a soft sound, like a gentle breeze brushing past my ear.
However, Lei Heng's body stopped.
His palm stopped in mid-air, no more than three inches from Qin Mu's chest, but he could no longer push it in.
The palm strike, carrying a strong wind, shattered inch by inch before his palm and dissipated in the wind, as if it had hit an invisible wall.
Then, as if pushed by an invisible hand, his feet left the ground, and his body flew backward, over the edge of the ring, over the top of the fence, and crashed heavily onto the open ground in front of the stands.
"boom--"
A dull thud.
Dust billowed, gravel flew, and the burly body rolled twice on the ground before coming to a stop, lying on its back, its chest heaving once, and then remaining still.
The entire training ground fell silent for a moment.
Qin Mu sheathed his sword, the iron blade sliding into the scabbard with a very soft "click".
He stood still, without making any unnecessary movements or expressions.
The deathly silence in the audience lasted for a moment, then it exploded.
"What?! One sword strike?! Just one sword strike?!"
"I didn't see it clearly... how did he draw his sword?"
"That Lei Heng is known for his toughness. He lost five matches in a row at the last autumn hunt and was fine. How come he was sent flying like that this time?"
"That sword was just a piece of junk, the blade wasn't even properly sharpened..."
"Did you see that? The spot where his sword touched Lei Heng's palm seems to be Lei Heng's weak point!"
"Nonsense! Lei Heng practices external martial arts; he has no weaknesses whatsoever!"
"How did he fly out?"
No one can answer.
The discussions came like a tidal wave, one after another.
More people began to take a closer look at the young man on the stage, who was wearing a gray robe and had an ordinary iron sword hanging at his waist.
On the high platform, Xu Longxiang finally turned his gaze back.
He hadn't paid any attention to this match originally.
The previous matches were mostly unremarkable, so there was no need for him to watch every single one.
But he clearly didn't see that sword strike clearly; he only felt an extremely light and sharp force emanating from the center of the arena.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on Fan Li, his voice even lower than before: "That person just now...did you see him clearly?"
Fan Li remained silent for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words.
His brows were slightly furrowed, and it took him a while to relax them. His voice was also very low:
"I see it clearly, but I don't see it completely."
"His sword strike wasn't fast, it was precise. He cut right at the weakest point of Lei Heng's palm strike, as if he knew Lei Heng's power habits, where his center of gravity was, and where his energy gate was. Such insight shouldn't belong to an unknown rogue cultivator."
Xu Longxiang's gaze returned to the arena, landing on the figure in gray cloth: "Check it out. What's this person's name? Where are they from?"
Fan Li nodded slightly: "Yes, Your Highness."
Chen Ruoyao sat beside Xu Longxiang, her eyes beneath the white jade mask also fixed on the gray-clothed figure.
Her lips curved slightly, but she quickly regained her aloof and indifferent expression.
She knew it was His Majesty, and that he was using this method to gradually move towards becoming "the best in the world".
A surge of inexplicable pride welled up within her, mixed with a restrained urge to laugh but a reluctance to do so.
Your Majesty could easily overturn the entire arena in one move, but you insist on playing it slowly like this.
Below the arena, Yan Shisan leaned against the shadows by the fence, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the figure in gray cloth.
He had been watching the whole time, from the moment Lei Heng stepped onto the stage to the moment the sword was thrust out; he hadn't looked away the entire time.
His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed, and he whispered, "This sword... I can't withstand it..."
On the other side of the arena, Bai Yujing still sat on the open ground where no one dared to approach, his moon-white robe fluttering slightly in the autumn wind.
His gaze fell on the figure in gray cloth.
Then he lowered his head slightly, tapped his fingers lightly on his knee twice, and whispered, "Interesting."
Lin Xiaolu's mouth hadn't closed since the iron sword was handed out on the arena.
She watched helplessly as Lei Heng, who was as tall as an iron tower, was sent flying by a single sword strike, crashing heavily onto the open ground in front of the stands, raising a cloud of dust.
Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly open, and she couldn't utter a word for a long time.
It wasn't until Qin Mu sheathed his sword and walked towards the edge of the arena that she suddenly snapped out of her daze and grabbed Lin Qingshi's sleeve beside her:
"Senior brother...where did you meet such an amazing person?"
Lin Qingshi also had his mouth agape, his gaze still fixed on Qin Mu:
"I...I didn't know he was so amazing. I didn't have enough money with me when I registered, and he covered it for me."
Lin Xiaolu had already loosened her sleeve, ran a few steps towards Qin Mu, stopped in front of him, looked up, and said in a clear, crisp voice:
"Brother Zhao! You...you're amazing! How did you do that sword strike? I didn't even see it!"
Qin Mu looked at her face, which was slightly flushed with excitement, and smiled: "The more you practice, the faster you'll get."
Lin Xiaolu blinked, seemingly wanting to ask more, but then felt it inappropriate to continue, so she swallowed back the words that were on the tip of her tongue and replaced them with a gentle smile:
"Brother Zhao, will you still practice swordsmanship in the future? Could you... could you occasionally give me some pointers?"
At the entrance of the Qing Shi Sword Sect's tent, the old man slowly put down the rough porcelain teacup in his hand.
He had been looking in the direction of the arena the whole time.
He observed very carefully, and he had a premonition that this young man who called himself Zhao San was far more than that.
What he showed today probably doesn't even amount to a fraction of his true strength.
But he didn't voice this premonition; he simply swallowed his words.
Several junior disciples from the Qing Shi Sword Sect also gradually gathered around, craning their necks.
The shortest one, A Yuan, squatted at the edge of the crowd, tilting his head back, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Qin Mu, and whispered:
"Brother Zhao...you are much more capable than Senior Brother."
Standing beside Qin Mu, Lin Qingshi subconsciously scratched the back of his head when he heard his junior brother say, "Much better than the senior brother."
He originally wanted to ask Qin Mu how he had done that sword strike, but after thinking about it, he swallowed all those questions back.
He paused for a moment, then said, "No matter what, I'm treating everyone to dinner tonight!"
After he finished speaking, he realized that what he said was a bit too blunt, so he added with a smile:
"Although our Qing Shi Sword Sect doesn't have much good stuff, we do have a stewed chicken dish that's exceptionally delicious. My junior sister's cooking skills are among the best in the entire Northern Territory."
As soon as he finished speaking, Lin Xiaolu's face turned red. She slapped Lin Qingshi's shoulder hard: "Senior brother! Say less!"
Qin Mu was standing at the edge of the crowd, talking to Lin Xiaolu, when the gong on the arena sounded again.
It was Bai Yujing's battle.
Bai Yujing walked very slowly, her pace neither hurried nor slow, like someone strolling by the water.
When he stepped onto the stage, his moon-white robe shimmered softly in the autumn sunlight, and the hem was gently lifted by the wind before falling back down.
His opponent was a man wielding a gun, the barrel of which was entirely black, the tip of which gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
After the man stepped onto the stage, he didn't waste any words. He clasped his hands in a salute, then stood with his spear raised, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground. His gaze fell on Bai Yujing, as if waiting for him to make the first move.
Bai Yujing did not draw his sword; he simply stood there, his hand resting on the hilt, his fingertips slightly curled.
His gaze fell on the tip of the gun, a faint smile playing on his lips.
After a few moments of silence, the man with the gun finally made his move.