Martial Dao: I Can Enhance My Talents

"Fang Han of the Qingxuan Sect is victorious."

The voice of the referee, Xuanyuan Jing, rang out, declaring Fang Han’s victory.

Fang Han flicked his wrist, sheathing his Cyan Blade Sword, and waited for the next opponent.

Mo Yuan clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms. His body trembled slightly from the extreme humiliation and unwillingness to accept defeat.

His current situation was remarkably similar to that of Yin Bin, the very person he had just called a good-for-nothing.

He gritted his teeth and walked off the arena stage without a word, his figure cutting a desolate silhouette.

Over at the Qingxuan Sect’s area.

"He won that easily?"

A trace of surprise flashed through Yun Qianyue’s and Li Feng’s eyes.

They had expected a fierce battle, since the opponent, like Fang Han, was at the Early Stage of Eighth Grade.

But they never thought it would end so quickly and decisively.

Fang Han’s strength was greater than they had anticipated, and this might not even have been his full power.

’Can I really surpass him again?’

Huang Ling’er’s mouth was slightly agape. Fang Han had surpassed her in the rankings, and she had been training diligently all this time, hoping to take back her spot.

But after witnessing this battle—a fight that was practically a one-sided domination despite their equal Cultivation levels—she was no longer so confident about surpassing Fang Han.

In the Netherworld Pavilion’s camp, the atmosphere was oppressive.

Ming Gu, the Elder leading the Netherworld Pavilion, had a grim expression. His gaze swept over the disciples behind him, finally landing on a young woman who had been standing quietly in a corner.

The young woman was petite, dressed in a form-fitting black martial arts uniform. Her face wasn’t stunningly beautiful, but it held a strange pallor.

Her eyes were large and jet-black, yet her pupils seemed unfocused, exuding a cold indifference to everything.

At her waist hung a Short Sword, a third shorter than a typical blade. Its Sword Scabbard was pitch-black and unadorned.

Standing there, her aura was so restrained that one would almost overlook her existence if not paying close attention.

"You Ling, you’re up."

The Netherworld Pavilion Elder said in a low voice.

Hearing this, the young woman named You Ling slowly raised her head. Her emotionless eyes looked at Fang Han on the stage as if he were an inanimate object.

She didn’t reply, merely giving a slight nod before stepping forward in complete silence.

Her movements didn’t seem fast, yet her figure flickered like a phantom, and in moments, she had silently appeared on the arena stage, facing Fang Han from ten zhang away.

As she took the stage, a faint, chilling aura spread out, and it was as if the very light on the arena stage dimmed slightly.

Her right hand rested lightly on the hilt of the Short Sword at her waist, and an extremely dangerous aura instantly locked onto Fang Han.

"You Ling, ranked third among the Netherworld Pavilion’s new Entry Level disciples!"

Fang Han watched You Ling take the stage, his expression growing serious.

According to Elder Chen Xuan, this woman also had an Early-Stage Eighth Grade Cultivation, but her strength was above Mo Yuan’s, making her an extremely tricky opponent.

The dangerous aura she exuded upon taking the stage confirmed this.

The referee, Xuanyuan Jing, glanced between the two. Without saying a word, he simply gave a slight nod, signaling the start of the match.

The instant Xuanyuan Jing nodded, the air on the stage seemed to freeze.

SHING!

SWISH!

Two distinctly different sounds of swords ringing out erupted almost simultaneously!

Fang Han’s Cyan Blade Sword shot out like a bolt of cyan lightning, accompanied by a tearing whistle of wind, as he thrust straight for You Ling’s throat. It was the swift and fierce opening move of the Wind-Splitting Swordsmanship.

But You Ling’s sword was faster! And more deceptive!

She drew her sword so fast it was just a blur of black. The Short Sword left its scabbard without a sound, its dark blade seeming to absorb the light.

Only in the instant of the thrust did it trace a faint, almost invisible, ink-black arc through the air.

Though she moved second, her strike arrived first, aiming for the pulse point on Fang Han’s wrist from a viciously cunning angle.

Fang Han’s pupils contracted. With a flick of his wrist, he instantly changed his Sword Technique from a thrust to a slice, the edge of his blade carving a sharp arc to meet that strange streak of black.

CLANG!

The first clash of the two swords was crisp but brief, a spark flaring and dying in an instant.

A terrifying force erupted from the collision, sending them both stumbling backward.

’Such a fast sword!’

Fang Han was alarmed. His own Swordsmanship was known for its speed, yet his opponent’s was even faster.

She must be practicing a Middle Grade Sword Technique renowned for speed, and like him, she had also reached the Mastery Level.

WHOOSH!

You Ling’s vacant eyes locked onto Fang Han. In a flash, she closed the distance between them again.

The Short Sword in her hand struck out, so fast it left afterimages. In an extremely short time, she had already swung it several times.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Fang Han wielded his Cyan Blade Sword in an impenetrable flurry, forming a dense screen of sword shadows to block You Ling’s continuous attacks.

A rapid series of metallic clashes, like rain on banana leaves, echoed across the arena stage.

Fang Han’s Swordsmanship was grand and sweeping, carrying the swiftness and tearing sensation of the Wind Momentum. The wind from his blade howled, his presence imposing.

You Ling’s Swordsmanship, on the other hand, was imbued with the swiftness of Fast Momentum—a speed pushed to its absolute limit. Her attacks were unorthodox, forsaking all else in the singular pursuit of ultimate speed.

Sword Qi crisscrossed the stage. Occasionally, a stray strand of Sword Qi would slash across the ground, leaving shallow marks.

The spectators held their breath, captivated by the brilliant yet perilous sword duel.

"That You Ling’s Swordsmanship is so bizarre!"

On the Qingxuan Sect’s side, Huang Ling’er couldn’t help but exclaim softly, her small hands clenched tight.

She knew that if she were the one facing You Ling, she would probably be defeated quickly.

Yun Qianyue’s gaze was calm as she whispered.

"Her sword style is practiced for the sole purpose of killing. It’s extremely dangerous."

Li Feng, cradling his long saber, remained silent. His eyes were sharp, and his intense focus on the stage showed that he, too, was engrossed in analyzing the battle.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

In the blink of an eye, Fang Han and You Ling had already exchanged over a hundred moves.

Since both had cultivated a Middle Grade Sword Technique to the Mastery level, the competition naturally came down to whose Swordsmanship was superior.

And on that point, Fang Han had the clear advantage.

As a top-level Middle Grade Sword Technique, the Wind-Splitting Swordsmanship was more powerful than an ordinary Middle Grade technique.

As Fang Han gradually adapted to You Ling’s bizarre Swordsmanship, the superior power of his Wind-Splitting Swordsmanship began to clearly manifest.

With every clash of their blades, You Ling’s black Short Sword would let out a faint whine, and the hand she held it with would grow a little more numb.

Compared to the beginning of the fight, the dexterity of her hand had decreased, and the speed of her swings had slowed.

She had clearly noticed this, and the faintest flicker of emotion finally crossed her vacant eyes.

’Now’s my chance!’

A sharp glint flashed in Fang Han’s eyes.

His Cyan Blade Sword let out a long, clear hum. The airflow around the blade gathered frantically, producing a shrill whistle.

’Sky Splitting Gold-Breaking!’

He unleashed the most piercing move of the Wind-Splitting Swordsmanship!

The sword light condensed until it was almost solid, forming a thin, pale-cyan line. It ignored the screen of sword shadows You Ling had created, piercing through her defense to stab straight at her heart.

This strike was fast, ruthless, and precise! It pushed the concentration and piercing power of the Wind Momentum to its absolute limit!

You Ling’s expression changed drastically. Sensing a fatal crisis, she brandished her Short Sword in a flurry, creating a pitch-black Sword Curtain in front of her as she hastily retreated.

RIP!

However, the sword of Split Wind was unstoppable.

Like a hot knife through butter, the pale-cyan sword light easily tore through the black Sword Curtain and landed precisely on the spine of You Ling’s Short Sword.

CLANG—!

A massive, dull, and piercing sound, far louder than any previous clash, exploded outward!

As if struck by a heavy blow, You Ling’s petite body shuddered violently. She let out a muffled grunt, and the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of her sword hand split open, instantly dyeing the hilt red with blood.

She could no longer hold onto the black Short Sword. It flew from her grasp and landed in the distance with a CLATTER.

The immense force sent her flying backward, lifting her off the ground.

A figure flashed by. Xuanyuan Jing appeared behind You Ling, catching her gently with a sweep of his sleeve and neutralizing the force of the impact.

"Fang Han of the Qingxuan Sect is victorious."

Xuanyuan Jing glanced at the pale-faced You Ling and announced the result.

Fang Han slowly sheathed his sword, his chest rising and falling slightly, his breathing a little ragged.

The strangeness of this woman’s Swordsmanship and her incredible speed were things he had rarely encountered. If not for the superior power of his Wind-Splitting Swordsmanship, the outcome would have been uncertain.

His gaze swept over the Netherworld Pavilion’s camp, waiting for the next opponent to appear.

The leading Elder of the Netherworld Pavilion had an expression so dark it looked like water could drip from it.

His side had lost three members in a row, while the Qingxuan Sect had only lost one.

The situation was now extremely disadvantageous.

’Trash! A bunch of useless trash!’

The Elder cursed inwardly, his sinister gaze sweeping over the disciples behind him before finally settling on a burly youth.

This youth was over eight chi tall, with broad shoulders and a thick back. His muscles bulged against his black Disciple’s Robe, exuding a sense of explosive power.

He had coarse features, and a hideous scar ran diagonally from his left brow bone to his cheek, adding to his ferocious aura.

The most eye-catching thing about him was the weapon standing beside him—not a sword or saber, but a giant Warhammer. It was half a man’s height, pitch-black, with a head the size of a bucket.

Faint, dark-red patterns were visible on the hammer’s body, like dried bloodstains, and it emanated a forbiddingly heavy aura.

This was Huo Man, ranked second among the Netherworld Pavilion’s new Entry Level disciples! He was known for his strength and possessed a Mid-Stage Eighth Grade Cultivation!

"Huo Man!"

The Netherworld Pavilion Elder’s voice was hoarse, laced with an unquestionable tone of command.

"It’s your turn. Do not disappoint me!"

The burly youth named Huo Man slowly opened his eyes, revealing a pair of beast-like orbs filled with a violent, bloodthirsty light.

He grinned, revealing two rows of stark white teeth, which, combined with the scar on his face, made him look even more ferocious.

"Don’t worry, Elder. My strength is nothing like those three pieces of trash."

His voice was low and gravelly, like sandpaper rubbing together.

With that, he reached out with a hand as large as a cattail fan and easily gripped the handle of the giant Warhammer. With a seemingly casual lift, the heavy weapon was off the ground.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Huo Man walked toward the arena stage one step at a time. His footfalls were incredibly heavy, and with each one, it seemed as if the stage itself trembled slightly.

He dragged the absurdly large Warhammer behind him, creating a cringe-inducing screech as it scraped against the ground. In its wake, a shallow groove was carved into the hard surface of the arena floor!

He stepped onto the stage like a moving hill, his oppressive presence far surpassing that of Mo Yuan and You Ling before him.

His gaze fell upon Fang Han as if sizing up a lamb for the slaughter. He grinned menacingly.

"Kid, I’m nothing like those three pieces of trash. That flimsy little sword of yours won’t be able to block my Warhammer!"