Chapter Fifty-Five: Battle

“My student, don’t you agree with me?” Yu Shifei said.

Yu Xiner was momentarily stunned, but quickly regained her composure. After a brief pause for thought, she replied, “I don’t think Chen Bo will lose so easily. There might still be a chance for him to turn the tables.”

“What? My dear disciple, don’t tell me you actually have some sort of relationship with that little rascal? Good heavens! What is the world coming to!” Yu Shifei exclaimed, on the verge of a breakdown.

Yu Xiner smiled knowingly. She understood her master all too well. Though she always wore a fierce expression, ready to beat up anyone who crossed her, deep down she was full of girlish sentiment. After all, she herself was only in her twenties.

It seemed the headmaster was also quite childlike at heart, despite being, by all accounts, two or three centuries old. Truly, they were a family—such similar personalities.

A thousand meters away, Chen Bo had no way of hearing their conversation; otherwise, he would certainly have rolled his eyes at Yu Shifei. Cursing him to be defeated in a single round? She ought to be dragged out, have her pants pulled down, and given a spanking! Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s really just a spanking, nothing more.

On the stage, Chen Bo and Chen Long stood on opposite sides, only a dozen paces apart. Chen Bo held a longsword in his hand, a spiritual weapon of the lowest tier, which he had received as a reward from the system after completing a side quest.

Across from him, Chen Longze stood unarmed. Although surprised to see such a precious spiritual weapon in Chen Bo’s hand, he did not consider it a real threat to his life.

Chen Long’s gaze was filled with greed as he stared at the shimmering sword, wishing he could claim it for himself. Jealousy gnawed at him—why had the family entrusted such a treasure to this good-for-nothing and not to him?

He simply assumed the sword was a gift from the Chen clan. After all, who in this world would believe in the existence of something as fantastical as a system?

Chen Bo stood tall and proud, his black robes fluttering in the breeze, making a rustling sound. His expression was icy, and his sword pointed straight at Chen Long. His lips parted as he declared, “This sword is called Ziwei, forged from black iron, blade length two feet eight inches, weight thirty catties. Ten years spent sharpening this blade, yet it has never tasted frost or snow. Today, the sword leaves its sheath, to cut down all that is unjust.”

“Awesome! The streamer’s ancient martial arts style is worth seven thumbs up!”

“Let me give him a thumbs up too!”

“Luo Feng tipped the streamer 666 coins. That was a flawless performance—so natural, so unpretentious. Born to be an actor!”

“R Jia tipped the streamer 6,666 coins. The previous commenter is my main account, this is my alt. Giving props to the streamer’s acting skills.”

“Leaf Listening to the Waves tipped the streamer 66,666 coins. ‘Ten years spent sharpening this blade, yet it has never tasted frost or snow.’ That sounds like a poem by Li Bai, but what’s with the last two lines?”

“The whole screen is filled with thumbs up! Here’s a big wave of them from me too!”

“Ximen Chuixue and Ye Gucheng express their utter refusal to accept this!”

“I, Ye Liangchen, am thoroughly convinced by the streamer.”

“He doesn’t even need Tiger Balm to soar into the sky—no one in this world can stop him from showing off now!”

Chen Bo’s speech left the live chat in awe, and the audience present as well. It simply exuded an air of superiority, didn’t it? Of course it did!

Below the stage, some sword-wielders silently began composing their own lines in their heads.

For example, ‘This sword is called… forged from… blade length… weight…’ and then finish with a cool poem, just like the finishing touch on a masterpiece.

But clearly, most of those present lacked the literary talent to compose a good poem. At best, they would produce some comical doggerel.

Chen Long’s face turned from pale to livid. He had to admit, Chen Bo’s display was quite something—full of presence, like a lonely master with no equal.

In comparison, Chen Long suddenly felt he’d been relegated to the lower ranks—it made him furious, itching to slap Chen Bo to death.

He snorted coldly and said, “Enough with the nonsense! Chen Bo, today it’s either you or me! Make your move!” Unable to think of anything suitably impressive to say, he settled for something simple, at least to avoid being completely overshadowed by Chen Bo’s momentum.

As soon as he spoke, the tension in the arena shot up—a scene fit for a bleak autumn day.

“You want me to make the first move?” Chen Bo asked, making Chen Long flush with anger—interrupted just as he opened his mouth, and by the person he hated most.

“Hmph! What if I do let you, you useless wretch?” Chen Long sneered.

Since things had reached this point, Chen Bo had no reason to refuse. He raised his sword and, stepping into the Huashan Seven-Star Footwork, flashed forward in a few swift movements, closing in on Chen Long.

The longsword thrust toward Chen Long’s chest like a startled swan in broad daylight. Even before the blade reached him, Chen Long felt a sharp pain in his chest—danger! Extreme danger!

He had no time to dwell on his earlier words and hurriedly dodged aside. He might look down on Chen Bo, but he wasn’t foolish enough to try and block a spiritual weapon barehanded—his hands were not made of iron.

And even if they were, they’d probably be damaged by this sword. Such is the difference a weapon makes.

Having evaded the first strike, Chen Long was just about to counterattack when he realized the sword was sweeping toward him again—the previous move had been a feint! Damn it, this wretch is cunning!

Cursing inwardly, he dodged once more. He managed to avoid being hit, but his shirt was sliced open at the chest—victory and defeat were determined in the very first exchange.

All of this happened in the blink of an eye, but everyone present was a genius and could follow their movements clearly. Seeing Chen Long fall behind, the spectators erupted in astonishment.

“Am I blind or what? How is this possible?”

“What the—! My eyes! I can’t believe it!”

“Chen Long was too careless. Even though Chen Bo has lost all cultivation, he hasn’t forgotten his combat experience—and he has a spiritual weapon. Chen Long, unarmed and overconfident, has paid the price. Next time he won’t be so careless, and that’ll be the end for Chen Bo.”

“Heh, underestimating your enemy is the greatest taboo in battle. If Chen Long doesn’t change, his path as a cultivator will never go far. Unless he gets absurdly lucky, he’ll die from his own arrogance one day.”

“No doubt, Chen Bo is in danger now. Chen Long will definitely go all out next time.”

The crowd believed Chen Bo had simply gotten lucky, his victory due to Chen Long’s carelessness. Even Chen Long thought so.

“I didn’t expect you to cut my clothes. It seems your swordsmanship is quite good, even without cultivation. Hmph! But you won’t be so lucky next time!” Chen Long snarled.

The first major climax of this novel is here!

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