Immortal of the Nine Realms

As the deafening cheers of the audience echoed through the arena, Little Eight remained unmoved. His gaze was fixed upon Fang Chen, pity flickering in his eyes.

Little Eight’s voice rang in Fang Chen’s ears.

”You and I are but blades in the hands of others. If you die, do not hold it against me.”

Fang Chen nodded. ”I won’t blame you. But if you are the one dead, do not resent me either.”

”Me? Dead?” ridiculed Little Eight.

A streak of disdain flickered through his eyes. His mastery of the Seven-Colored Thunder Sword Intent had yet to meet an equal. Among cultivators of his realm, none had survived a single strike from him.

The crowd’s clamor grew ever louder with voices rising in eager anticipation of bloodshed. Some demanded that Little Eight end Fang Chen with one strike, while others insisted on two or three.

From the guest pavilion, Xu Yan exclaimed, ”Even the spectators can see how this duel will end. I truly did not expect you to risk everything and have such a bet against me.”

”Ah, such is the nature of a Sword Duel Palace. Outsiders only see the vast spirit stones we amass, yet they fail to grasp the risks and dangers lurking behind our gambits,” murmured Nangong Yuancheng.

He turned to Long Ruo and consoled, ”Lady Long, even if you suffer a loss, it matters little. As a disciple of the family’s second branch, recovering from a setback should not be difficult.”

The surrounding nobles nodded in agreement, their expressions painted with feigned sympathy.

Long Ruo saw through their pretense and merely chuckled.

These hypocrites were the ones with the largest bets against her, and yet they pretended to be impartial. Truly disgusting. Compared to them, her late husband was far more pleasing to the eye.

Long Ruo snorted. ”A comeback? Why would I need that? Do you take me for a fool? Would I best against Xu Yan knowing defeat was certain?”

Her light laughter sent a ripple of unease through the assembly. The nobles stiffened, their faces darkening as suspicion crept in.

Xu Yan taunted, ”You’re just throwing a tantrum because I spoke of your husband. Cut the act. Do you think you can deceive anyone with your empty words?”

Long Ruo responded, ”I am not you. A mere mention would not cause me to lose composure. Instead, think of how much you’ve bet. If you lose, you’ll have to live a strenuous life.”

She smiled, unfazed.

A chill spread through the pavilion as realization dawned upon them. A premonition of disaster loomed.

Meanwhile, within the arena, as the spectators’ chants reached a fever pitch, Little Eight finally summoned his lifebound flying sword. In an instant, countless streaks of thunder wreathed about him, like a god of thunder.

”Yes! Cut him down!”

”Don’t kill him in one strike! My bet is on three!”

The crowd’s eyes burned with fervor as they shouted excitedly.

Little Eight turned to Fang Chen and demanded, ”Lady Long must think highly of you to send you to duel. Your sword intent must be exceptional as well. Show me.”

As he spoke, the thunder around him shifted hues. True to its name, the Seven-Colored Thunder Sword Intent cycled through its forms. With each change, the oppressive aura grew stronger. Eventually, it surged, reaching tenfold its original might as it took on a purple color.

As Fang Chen slowly opened his eyes, a glimmer of eerie blue flashed within them.

The next moment, the seven-colored thunder around Little Eight began to surge wildly.

The crowd, expecting Little Eight to strike out at any moment, missed the flicker of shock that flashed in his eyes.

Out of nowhere, a bolt of seven-colored thunder exploded on Little Eight, causing him to stagger back, scorched and smoldering.

The arena fell silent.

Suddenly, gasps filled the stands

”What?!”

Had they seen wrong? Did Little Eight’s own sword intent turn against him just now?

”You—”

Little Eight’s eyes snapped to Fang Chen, his lips parting in disbelief. Before he could utter another word, another bolt of seven-colored thunder came crashing down. This time, he tumbled across the arena.

Panic crept into his eyes. He had lost control of his sword intent.

That which should have been his greatest weapon now turned upon him like a vengeful specter, no longer heeding his command.

The dueling palace grew deathly quiet. Faces turned pale, and a few twisted in fury. A sharp voice shattered the silence. Someone yelled, ”This is a rigged match!”

Accusation eyes turned toward the VIP stands. They glared at Xu Yan and the palace masters angrily. A rigged match was common, but this? This was a farce unlike any they had seen.

Concurrently, Little Eight’s sword intent had struck him seven or eight more times. Finally, he lay on the ground, scorched and motionless. As his breath ceased, the surrounding thunder light dissipated into nothingness, as though it had never existed.

The crowd remained frozen, a suffocating silence sweeping the palace.

Then, the weight of their losses settled upon them. They had wagered everything—fortunes, livelihoods—only to be robbed by an absurd twist of fate. Fury erupted like a storm, and curses rained upon the VIP pavilion.

Xu Yan stared mindlessly at Little Eight’s corpse.

Nangong Yuancheng’s face scrunched with displeasure. As the curses grew louder, he turned a sharp gaze to Long Ruo and Xu Yan and grunted, ”Well played. A spectacular performance, indeed.”

He had bet a fortune of over a hundred thousand mid-grade spirit stones. This was the earnings of managing his Sword Duel Palace over a decade. Stones that should have gone to his family were now lost in the blink of an eye.

”This has nothing to do with me,” snapped Xu Yan as she rose from her seat.

Her patience wore thin as the insults piled upon her, and her voice cut through the chaos like a blade. ”Silence!

She threatened, ”Another word, and I’ll drag you all to the Great Sun Sect’s spiritual cultivation chambers!”

A collective shudder rippled through the crowd. No one dared to provoke the Great Sun Sect as they were one of the three great sects of the Prison Wind Lands. To them, anyone who belonged to the Great Sun Sect was an untouchable existence.

Xu Yan turned back to Long Ruo and berated, ”You heard them! This is a rigged duel! What tricks did you play? Did you buy off Little Eight? What leverage do you hold over him that he would throw his life away for you?”

Little Eight’s wandering soul hovered over his corpse, looking lost and confused. Even in death, he did not understand how he had died.

Long Ruo snickered, ”And yet you deny your madness. Why would I bribe your sword cultivator and let him die like that?”

”That much is unlikely,” mused Nangong Yuancheng. ”However, today was a sword duel, not a technique duel. Your man did not even draw his blade, while Little Eight had died. This match cannot stand.”

The other palace masters quickly echoed his sentiment, their voices rising in agreement.

In the stands, members of rival Sword Duel Palaces seized the opportunity and incited the masses to protest.

Xu Yan smirked. ”Without a satisfactory resolution, the Long Family may never do business in Yunlu City again.”

Long Ruo pondered for a moment, then raised her hand with a serene smile.

The palace fell into silence with all eyes upon her.

”There are no rules for a rematch, but if you wish to see, I can oblige,” mused her.

A rematch?!

Excitement rippled through the hall.

Long Ruo said, ”Xu Yan, send another challenger.”

Xu Yan’s gaze flickered.

Another challenger? Aside from Little Eight, she was not confident in any of her remaining Enlightenment Realm sword cultivators.

Nangong Yuancheng calmly offered, ”Palace Master Xu, I can lend you a man.”