Chapter 273: Executed by His Own Hand

...

At Wang Rushi's words, the surrounding crowd began guessing the identity of the old man in the overcoat.

For a time, opinions varied wildly.

Soon, the most credible theory spread among them:

This elder bore a striking resemblance to the direct disciple of the Yiqi Martial Arts Gym who failed his challenge and was executed back in the day.

Someone dug out old news reports to compare against the old man's appearance, but he had already climbed too high to be seen clearly. They could only rely on memory.

"Wait a minute... This report says that direct disciple lost at the seventeenth martial gym. Who did he lose to?" someone asked.

"I—I think it was Grandmaster Wang!" someone said, flipping through the report.

...

"Rumble!!!"

Thunder suddenly cracked across the sky, which had just filled with heavy clouds. Bean-sized raindrops began to fall.

...

The old man's expression did not change.

All those years ago, he had been defeated by the man in the yellow robe standing opposite him.

That clash had completely rewritten his fate.

He didn't know what would have happened if he had won. He might have fallen at the final martial gym, or he might have conquered them all and found fame and success.

But he knew exactly what happened when he lost.

It actually hadn't been so bad.

Yes, it hadn't been so bad.

He was glad he could still tell himself that.

Of his sixty years, he had given the first ten to his parents and the next thirty to his sect. These final, not-quite-twenty years, he had given to himself.

Raindrops struck his face, soaking his long hair and his overcoat.

He took off the military overcoat, carefully folded it, and then looked toward Wang Rushi as he drew the Single-Edged Sword from his waist.

It was the only weapon he had carried with him all this time.

This action was instantly noticed by the onlookers.

"He swapped weapons! Master Xiao, who lost earlier, used a Broadsword. This Liu Fu isn't using a Broadsword!"

"What did he use last time when he lost to Grandmaster Wang?"

"I think it was a Broadsword!"

"Then he must have blamed his weapon for the defeat. After all these years, he must have found a way to counter it!" someone reasoned.

However, this claim was immediately shot down.

"Do you even know what Grandmaster Wang used to beat him back then? A Waist Saber!"

"A Waist Saber?!"

These words triggered gasps from many who didn't know the details of that old battle.

As the saying goes, one more inch of weapon means one more inch of power.

It meant that when both fighters were relatively equal in agility and not locked in close-quarters grappling, the one with the longer weapon held the initiative.

And compared to a Broadsword, a Waist Saber was considerably shorter.

If the two combatants were of similar skill, a Broadsword wouldn't necessarily be any less agile than a Waist Saber either.

It could be said that a Broadsword was a natural counter to a Waist Saber!

"That's why that battle was so heavily criticized! He had the weapon advantage but still suffered a crushing defeat. At the end of the day, his fundamentals simply weren't up to par!" explained someone familiar with the old match.

"Then we have nothing to worry about. Inner demons are hard to break. I bet he'll fall right here again."

"That's just fate."

A wave of cheers for Wang Rushi quickly surged through the crowd. Many looked forward to watching this Grandmaster Wang execute the arrogant challenger, just as he had done in the past.

This was especially true since the old man now carried the additional identity of an outcast, someone eliminated by the Third Lake Prefecture.

"Bianliu County, under the Luo Sheng Sect, Liu Fu."

The old man shifted his feet—right foot blocking, left foot sweeping sideways—and settled into a fighting stance.

The two men faced each other from a distance.

This time, it was the old man who moved first.

His right hand lunged forward. Three fingers held the sword in a reverse grip, while the other two fingers thrust ahead, swiping straight for Wang Rushi's eyes.

Facing this preemptive 'Golden Thread Wiping the Eyebrows' strike, Wang Rushi remained expressionless. He brought his hands out from behind his back, but he didn't draw a Waist Saber. Instead, he produced a pair of bizarre weapons. The twin blades faced inward, shaped like crescent moons. They opened and closed in his hands, weaving together in a dance of yin and yang, resembling mandarin ducks.

"Meridian Mandarin Duck Blades!"

Someone in the crowd recognized the weapons. Compared to most armaments, they were incredibly difficult to master; practitioners often injured themselves before ever hurting an opponent.

But once mastered, they almost always allowed the wielder to seize the initiative.

Dual blades against dual blades—this match was going to be good.

Wang Rushi chopped the male blade toward the old man's extended fingers, while thrusting the female blade straight at his chest.

A metallic clang rang out. The Single-Edged Sword in the old man's left hand parried the female blade, while the blade in his right hand hacked into the male blade. His two fingers hovered just two inches from Wang Rushi's eyes, unable to advance any further.

Wang Rushi flicked his blades upward. At this moment, the unique advantage of his weapons became apparent: their curved edges hooked freely, the sharpened lips aiming directly at the old man's wrists. But to Wang Rushi's surprise, instead of retreating, the old man surged forward. The Single-Edged Sword in his hand scraped along the crescent blades, and his fingers closed the gap, stopping a mere inch from Wang Rushi's eyes.

Forced to pull his strength back, Wang Rushi realized that if he continued the upward hook, the advancing old man would only suffer injured arms, whereas he himself would be blinded.

But the old man advanced again. He flipped his Single-Edged Sword from a reverse grip to a standard grip and slashed at his opponent's neck.

This caused Wang Rushi to frown.

He remembered that over a decade ago, the old man's techniques hadn't been this wide, sweeping, and aggressive. They had been much more meticulous and refined. How was it that as he grew older, his fighting style had seemingly grown younger?

Left with no choice, he could only step back again.

But that single step back opened the floodgates.

The twin swords in the old man's hands suddenly accelerated, unleashing blinding streaks of cold steel that sliced through the curtain of rain and completely shattered Wang Rushi's momentum.

"Clang—"

"Clang, clang, clang—"

In mere seconds, the speed of his blades reached its absolute peak, furiously colliding with the Meridian Mandarin Duck Blades. Wang Rushi hadn't anticipated his opponent building momentum so rapidly. That earlier retreating step had laid the groundwork for his current predicament, forcing him to backpedal endlessly.

Blades clashed, and within seconds, he was forced to the edge of the arena formed by the celestial steps.

The crowd below watched this scene with their hearts in their throats.

Normally, while standard arenas also had out-of-bounds rules, stepping out didn't cost a life. But here, high up in the air, if Wang Rushi fell down without the use of his cultivation, it would be virtually impossible for him to survive.

"Don't panic. Now that he's at the edge, he just needs to deflect the force and sidestep. They're both on this high platform; Liu Fu won't dare put his full strength into an attack."

An expert pointed out the flaw.

Logically speaking, in a normal arena match, once the fighter with the upper hand backed their opponent into a corner, they would strike with at least ninety percent of their strength, if not a full hundred. But currently, they were dozens of meters in the air. If Old Master Liu swung with everything he had, and Wang Rushi deflected the blow and sidestepped it, the one plummeting to his death would be Old Master Liu.

Yet soon enough, the crowd noticed something unusual.

The white-robed figure in the rain stood a meter from the edge. Even as his twin swords furiously danced, his body remained completely still.

As the saying goes, the hands follow the body's movement, but right now, the old man was displaying a mastery over force and momentum that completely surpassed their understanding.

With just two hands and a pair of swords, he unleashed waves of blinding white arcs, swinging with such intensity that even the curtain of rain seemed to part before him.

Meanwhile, the face of Wang Rushi opposite him was entirely drenched, making it impossible to tell what was rain and what was sweat.

The crowd's hearts clenched involuntarily.

That was a true grandmaster, an expert who had once defeated his opponent despite a weapon disadvantage. Yet now, facing a rematch, he was completely trapped, separated from death by the slimmest of margins.

"Kick!" a voice yelled from the crowd, immediately drawing curses from everyone else.

Everyone knew that recklessly throwing a kick during a martial duel was a massive taboo. While it might seem like a good way to catch the opponent off guard, if it was dodged, the kicker would instantly lose their footing. This was especially perilous for Wang Rushi, who was teetering on the edge; if he lost his center of gravity, he would undoubtedly plunge off the platform.

The person who shouted was quickly singled out and scolded ruthlessly.

"You can do it, Grandmaster Wang!!!" someone shouted, and more and more people quickly joined in.

At this point, it was a pure battle of willpower, a test to see if Liu Fu would expose a flaw, and whether Wang Rushi could seize that sliver of a chance to survive.

As long as Wang Rushi was given a single opening to sidestep a strike and adjust his positioning, the tide of this duel could easily turn.

United in their support, the crowd's roars merged into a torrent that pierced the rainy veil. Remarkably, the sheer intensity of their voices seemed to make the rain vaporize, causing white mist to suddenly billow up in a scene straight out of a miracle.

But they had no idea that the pressure Wang Rushi faced right now was enough to crush him.

He was indeed searching for a flaw, but not to sidestep and dodge like the crowd assumed. Instead, his eyes were locked rigidly onto the old man's waist, hoping to find an opening amid the overwhelming flurry of sword strikes.

'Not this strike.'

'Not this one.'

'Not this one either.'

Sweat poured off him like rain, and the Meridian Mandarin Duck Blades in his hands were on the verge of slipping from his exhausted grip. Yet he kept staring fixatedly at the old man's right waist, hunting for a weakness. This desire had become a full-blown obsession, the sole thought occupying his entire mind.

'No. No.'

'Still no!!!'

'Why hasn't the opening appeared yet?!'

He was on the brink of madness. Veins bulged on his forehead, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.

Just as he was about to succumb to despair, he suddenly caught a gap. The old man's right waist was exposed outside the defensive shield of his sword arcs. Wang Rushi's heart instantly exploded with ecstasy!

Then, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he raised his right leg!

A vicious side kick!

Its target aimed directly at the right side of the old man's waist!

...

"Thump!"

A muffled thud rang out.

Joy practically overflowed from Wang Rushi's eyes. It was a direct hit!!!

But when he looked up, he was met with the old man's slightly mocking gaze.

'Why?!'

Wang Rushi was utterly bewildered.

'Why didn't he fall?'

'He doesn't even look like he's in pain?!'

In that brief moment of distraction, the Single-Edged Sword in the old man's right hand glided forward, tracing a silver arc before slashing squarely across Wang Rushi's chest.

"Squelch!"

Blood splattered into the air.

Immediately after, the old man thrust his left hand downward. Unable to dodge, Wang Rushi's only supporting left leg was impaled. He crashed to the ground in agonizing pain, blood pooling around him.

"Your hidden injury... why isn't your hidden injury there anymore..."

Wang Rushi gasped from the ground, but his words only made the old man's gaze turn ice-cold.

"How did you know it was a hidden injury, and not a vital weak point?"

Back then, when he had lost to the man before him, it was precisely because his opponent had seized a mid-fight opportunity to relentlessly target his right waist—one of his three hidden injuries. Unable to withstand the assault, he had coughed up blood and tasted defeat.

...

Wang Rushi stared at the twin swords in the old man's hands with sheer terror.

"You can't... you can't kill me... I spared your life back then..."

"Who told you about my hidden injury?"

The old man stood in the downpour, his eyes as cold as the freezing rain, looking down at Wang Rushi from above.

"It was Xu Chengyi! Xu Chengyi came to me! He said your sect had already made arrangements—that you had to lose for your sect to secure its foothold! You can't blame me! You really can't blame me!!!" he blurted out, abandoning all pretense of dignity. Aside from Meng Qianqiu at the very beginning, every single person the old man had faced on his way up here had been killed in a single strike.

He was terrified. He was Grandmaster Wang! He held a supreme status in the Third Lake Prefecture! He hadn't lived long enough yet!

"You can't kill me! I'm a grandmaster! Anyone who kills a grandmaster of the Third Lake Prefecture will fight it to the death!!!" he screamed in terror, his voice carrying down to the crowd below.

"You don't understand."

The old man shook his head.

"Turn your head. Look at the people down there."

Wang Rushi was deeply confused, but he could only obey. He lowered his head and peered through the transparent floor of the arena to look at the massive crowd below.

Contempt, apathy, endless whispering, eager anticipation for the next challenger to appear... The spectators wore all sorts of expressions. Countless pairs of disgusted eyes swept over the high platform—not just glaring at the old man, but at Wang Rushi as well.

"After all these years, you still don't understand this Lake Prefecture," the old man murmured. He flourished his Single-Peak Sword, severing the tendons in the despairing Wang Rushi's wrists and ankles.

Then, he turned around, preparing to leave.

"Kill... just kill me..."

Wang Rushi's face was ashen. After seeing the expressions of the crowd below, he had changed his mind.

But the old man had already climbed the steps and walked away.

Wang Rushi was already dead—just as Liu Fu had died all those years ago.

This was the Third Lake Prefecture.

There was no place here for martial instructors who did not belong to the Third Lake Prefecture, just as there was no place for the weak.

Immediately after.

The Eighteenth Martial Arts Gym, the Nineteenth Martial Arts Gym, the Twentieth Martial Arts Gym...

The cheers and roars from the crowd on the ground grew louder and louder.

By the time the grandmaster of the First Martial Arts Gym finally appeared, the noise had reached an absolute crescendo, shaking the entirety of the Third Lake Prefecture.

Nearly everyone was screaming themselves hoarse, roaring until the veins bulged in their necks and their eyes turned completely bloodshot.

They wanted nothing more than to see that white-robed figure collapse to the ground.

But in the end, as the grandmaster of the First Martial Arts Gym died in total despair...

The deafening roars abruptly ceased.

Amid the relentless rain.

The crowd on the ground felt a sudden, piercing chill radiating from the inside out. Uncontrollable shivers racked their bodies.

"Let's go home..."

Someone couldn't take it anymore. Unwilling to witness the final outcome, they just wanted to go home.

They were terrified. Terrified that the old man might actually succeed.

It wasn't just an isolated feeling. Soon, a sizable portion of the crowd began making up excuses to flee through the torrential downpour, scurrying back to the safety of their homes.

"I'm not watching anymore. I'm going home to sleep. I'm tired..."

"The Martial Dao has long since declined anyway. The Third Lake Prefecture doesn't rely on the Martial Guild anymore..."

"Garbage martial gym. I'm done watching. I have to work tomorrow morning anyway. What the hell does winning or losing have to do with me?"

"So what if he wins? Look at what era we're living in! You people are so funny, taking this so seriously. Just watch it for the entertainment..."

Similar voices rang out.

At the very top of the celestial steps, the elder looked down at the ugly faces of the departing crowd. A smile—one that was hard to define as either triumphant or deeply sorrowful—graced his lips.

"Hoarding your secrets, hiding your best moves... hoarding them until the very end, and this is the result. This is the modern Martial Guild. This is the modern Third Lake Prefecture."

"It's absolutely sickening."