Martial Dao: I Can Enhance My Talents

In a corner of the training grounds, the air seemed to freeze.

Fang Tao’s eyes were locked on Fang Han’s form, who was swinging his sword several yards away. His pupils dilated slightly from utter shock.

Fang Han’s sword was no longer stiff and mechanical like before; it was as if it had come alive.

The Fine Iron Longsword in his hand, every thrust, swipe, flick, and lift possessed an indescribable harmony and Spiritual Energy.

The sound of the blade cutting through the air was light and swift, as if a gentle breeze were truly swirling around him.

’This power generation, these transitions...’

It felt as if a cold hand had gripped Fang Tao’s heart, then plunged it into an abyss.

’Minor Achievement! He actually... achieved Minor Achievement in his Swordsmanship?!’

An immense sense of absurdity and an even stronger bitterness instantly overwhelmed Fang Tao.

On the day of the Martial Arts Stele test, he had seen his rank fall below Fang Han, who had only broken through to the Refined Flesh realm at the last second. The strange looks from the others had filled him with intense indignation and shame.

For the past few days, he had been training like a madman, practicing his forms even while eating and recalling power-generation techniques before sleep.

He had been holding it all in, singularly focused on surpassing Fang Han once again.

But the fluid, seamless Swordsmanship of the Minor Achievement Realm before him was like a basin of ice water, completely extinguishing the unrealistic flame in his heart, leaving behind nothing but cold ash.

Not only had the gap failed to shrink, but it had... grown even wider!

So wide that he felt suffocated, felt despair.

Fang Han had not only surpassed him in his Martial Arts Realm but now in his Martial Technique as well. ’How am I supposed to catch up?’

"How is this... possible?"

Fang Tao whispered, utterly crestfallen. He was gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his hand trembling so much he could barely hold the hilt.

The indignation of being surpassed now transformed into a deeper powerlessness, gnawing at his confidence like a venomous snake.

He had a premonition that he would likely never surpass Fang Han again in his entire life.

"Whoa... is that Fang Han’s sword?"

"His power generation is so smooth, and his force is fully expressed! That’s definitely the mark of Minor Achievement in Swordsmanship!"

"With Swordsmanship like this, no wonder he ranked fifty-ninth on the Martial Arts Stele and pushed down Fang Tao and the others!"

Several other disciples from the same batch who had entered the Inner Hall also noticed Fang Han’s transformation, their discussions filled with unconcealed astonishment.

Gaze after gaze landed on Fang Han, filled with scrutiny and disbelief.

This side-branch disciple, who had barely squeezed into the Inner Hall at the very end, seemed to be growing at a speed none of them had anticipated, making them feel a sense of threat.

Only Fang Lin, with his arms crossed, glanced distantly in the direction of Fang Han’s practice, a corner of his mouth twitching in a sneer of undisguised contempt.

He immediately looked away, returning his focus to his own fist forms.

His Fist Technique had long since entered the Minor Achievement Realm, and he was not far from reaching Mastery.

In his eyes, Fang Han’s newly-achieved Minor Achievement in Swordsmanship was merely passable.

’Threaten me? Catch up to me? That’s just wishful thinking.’

He let out a nearly inaudible, cold snort—a sound of dismissive indifference.

Sweat soaked through Fang Han’s training clothes, clinging to his skin. Every swing of his sword pulled at his sore, aching muscles. Two hours of high-intensity Swordsmanship practice had drained every ounce of his strength. Continuing his Cultivation might injure his body, so he slowly sheathed his sword, letting the tip rest on the ground. His chest heaved as he let out a long, turbid breath.

Just as he was about to drag his exhausted body aside to rest, a series of deliberately loud, excited shouts suddenly erupted from the other end of the training grounds.

"Quick, over to the sparring stages! There’s a good show to watch!"

"Who’s fighting who?"

"It’s the eleventh-ranked Fang Lie versus the tenth-ranked Fang Mei!"

"The eleventh-ranked Fang Lie is actually challenging the tenth-ranked Fang Mei? Interesting!"

"Let’s go, let’s go! Let’s go watch!"

The news was like a boulder dropped into a calm lake, instantly creating massive ripples.

The disciples who had been busy with their own Cultivation, whether they were Inner Hall veterans or newcomers, were all drawn in by this challenge involving a "top-ten Level" disciple.

Many immediately stopped their training, faces alight with excitement and curiosity, and swarmed toward the eastern side of the training grounds. There, a sparring stage had been built from hard bluestone, presided over and guarded by a dedicated Tutor.

Fang Han’s interest was also piqued.

’A battle between top-ten level disciples? That’s a rare sight, even in the Inner Hall.’

This was a perfect opportunity for him to understand the power level of the top-level disciples.

Without the slightest hesitation, he followed the crowd and walked briskly toward the sparring stage, figuring it would be a good way to walk off his fatigue.

A large crowd had already gathered around the sparring stage, buzzing with discussion.

"I heard Senior Brother Fang Lie initiated the challenge. They say he’s not convinced he should be ranked below Fang Mei and wants to beat her to take over the tenth-place monthly reward!"

"The Martial Arts Stele only measures Power of Attack. Real combat has a lot to do with fighting techniques and experience. Fang Lie’s actual strength might not necessarily be weaker than Fang Mei’s!"

"Senior Sister Fang Mei’s ’Cold Frost Palm’ is nothing to scoff at, either. This is going to be a good show!"

Squeezed into the crowd, Fang Han perked up his ears, catching snippets of conversation. He quickly pieced together the reason for the challenge.

It turned out that the eleventh-ranked Fang Lie was unconvinced by the Martial Arts Stele’s ranking. Believing his overall strength was no less than the tenth-ranked Fang Mei’s, he had brazenly issued a challenge.

His target was the extra monthly resources that all Inner Hall Disciples coveted—a prize reserved only for the top ten.

In the center of the sparring stage, the two combatants had already taken their positions.

On the left stood Fang Lie. His build was lean and powerful like a cheetah’s, his tight-fitting martial arts garb outlining his fluid muscle lines. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, radiating an unconcealed battle intent and a razor-sharp edge.

He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. A heavy, focused momentum belonging to the Muscle Refining Realm slowly rose from him as his blazing gaze locked onto his opponent.

On the right was Fang Mei. She wore simple white training clothes, her face was comely, and she possessed a temperament as graceful as a plum blossom.

She stood perfectly straight, her eyes as calm as still water, as if this were not a challenge for honor and resources but merely an ordinary spar.

Having also reached the Muscle Refining Realm, she faintly exuded an almost imperceptible chill, a stark contrast to Fang Lie’s fiery battle intent.

"The spar begins! No lethal blows!"

A stern-faced Inner Hall Tutor standing at the edge of the stage announced in a deep voice.

"Hah!"

Before the Tutor’s voice had even faded, Fang Lie moved!

He stomped hard on the bluestone stage, his body shooting forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. He was so fast that he left a blurry afterimage in his wake.

His goal was crystal clear: to seize the initiative and overwhelm Fang Mei with a stormy offense.

"Tiger Roar Fist - Stone Splitting!"

The wind from his fist howled, carrying an incomparably fierce momentum. It tore through the air with a dull, explosive boom as it shot straight for Fang Mei’s center.