Chapter 35: Murderous Intent Like Mountains of Corpses and Seas of Blood

Luo Xuan had already prepared the equipment for Zhou Yan’s match.

Although Zhou Yan didn’t know how much this kind of protective gear and weaponry cost, his knowledge from Earth told him that swordplay was a pastime for the wealthy. Even an ordinary set of fencing jackets and armor, along with specially designed, damage-reducing metal swords, would not come cheap. And besides…

Zhou Yan gazed at the white armor with red patterns in the cabinet before him, immediately sensing the quality of its materials and craftsmanship. The price was probably even steeper than the fencing gear he’d seen on Earth.

Sometimes Zhou Yan simply couldn’t understand why these two sisters seemed to treat him with such particular kindness. Was it out of pity because he was disabled—missing his left hand and right eye? But there were plenty of people with disabilities in the world, so why did they help only him?

Moreover, Zhou Yan could feel that what the sisters showed him went beyond mere sympathy; their kindness was too obvious, too much. There had to be some secret he didn’t know.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and silently began putting on the protective gear. Because of his disabled left hand, it took him a little longer. When he emerged from the changing room, he saw Luo Zhiming waiting impatiently.

Zhou Yan did not bother to explain. He simply took up the practice sword in his hand and walked over.

The so-called “practice sword” was a metal-forged training weapon, closely matching the weight and balance of a real sword but with a blunted tip, dulled edge, and a specially softened blade. The purpose of such a sword was to allow practitioners to experience the feel of a true weapon while ensuring that friendly matches didn’t result in serious injury.

Zhou Yan stood quietly opposite Luo Zhiming, gripping this sword that felt so much like the real thing, his expression unreadable. He seemed to sense a faint, illusory smell of blood in his nostrils. But with his face covered by a full mask, Zhou Yan’s silence drew no attention.

Luo Xuan explained the rules of the simulated duel to Zhou Yan and Luo Zhiming: they would use a point-based system, with different scores for strikes to the head, torso, or limbs.

As their preparations drew attention, the other youths who had been practicing nearby stopped what they were doing and gathered around, laughing and chatting. Normally, only Yan Yong and Luo Zhiming were skilled enough to spar, and people had long grown bored of watching those two face off day after day. But today, with a newcomer entering the ring, everyone was eager to see what would happen.

Luo Xuan glanced coolly at the gathering crowd but said nothing to disperse them. She finished explaining the rules, then looked at Luo Zhiming. “This is Zhou Yan’s first match. Go easy on him.”

“Alright, Instructor Luo, I know what to do,” Luo Zhiming replied, making a gesture as he lowered his mask, a relaxed smile on his lips.

Yet beneath the mask, Luo Zhiming’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips. He’d been under Yan Yong’s thumb for so long that he hadn’t tasted victory in ages. This Zhou Yan—so clearly favored by Luo Xuan—so what if he was good-looking? He was just a one-eyed, one-handed cripple, and yet still managed to win over the women. It was honestly—infuriating.

*

Soon, the nimble Luo Zhiming and the silent Zhou Yan stood at the center of the training hall. Luo Xuan, holding a long staff, took her place to serve as the temporary referee.

She spoke calmly: “Zhou Yan, this match is to help you get used to the pace of real combat. Even though your Li-Style block training is on par with these two, there’s a world of difference between solo practice and true combat. At first, you may feel lost or panic; that’s normal. Just focus on the experience.”

Zhou Yan nodded, gripping the practice sword tightly in his right hand. He glanced down at the weapon, and for a moment, it seemed as if he was holding his old, familiar sword—the Yelian Calamity Sword, with its black lotus guard, sharp and deadly. With that blade, he had slain more than six thousand monsters—monsters that looked human.

Across from him, Luo Zhiming raised his sword in the owl-stance. “Zhou Yan, I’ll do my best to hold back, but my strikes are always heavy. If you can’t take it, just say so.”

Luo Xuan frowned. “Luo Zhiming, since when have you ever had a ‘heavy hand’?”

Luo Zhiming chuckled. “Instructor Luo, I’m always sparring with Yan Yong, and he’s stronger than me. I rarely get the chance to show my own style.”

Luo Xuan gave him a cool look but said nothing more.

Elsewhere, Yan Yong withdrew his gaze, spat in disdain, and thought to himself that no one knew Luo Zhiming’s true nature better than he did—a bully who preyed on the weak and cowered before the strong. Still, if this fool could teach Zhou Yan a lesson, so be it. With a cold laugh, Yan Yong ignored the coming spectacle and resumed his practice with the Li-Style block, focusing on his air slashes. He was determined to master the Nanning Secret Sword, and then—what he dreamed of most—the Breath Technique!

…

Back in the arena, Zhou Yan heard Luo Zhiming’s veiled threats and Luo Xuan’s skepticism, but said nothing. He simply raised his sword in his right hand, mirroring the owl-stance.

His silence went unnoticed by most, but Luo Xuan, ever perceptive, watched with suspicion. She hesitated, considering whether to call off the match, but in the end, her curiosity won. She wanted to see if this “genius” Zhou Yan showed the same talent in real combat. After all, her father had once told her stories about prodigies who excelled in drills but collapsed under the pressure of a real fight. Without the ability to handle real combat, all that practice was meaningless.

Luo Xuan stepped aside, tapped her staff lightly, and called out: “Begin!”

“Whoosh!”

No sooner had Luo Xuan spoken than Luo Zhiming shot forward like an arrow. With his wooden sword leveled at his face, he launched off his back foot, surging forward like a red falcon swooping in for the kill—swift and fierce. The metal sword pointed straight at Zhou Yan’s chest, unleashing one of the three signature killing strikes from the Nanning Sword’s “Falcon Assault”—the Scarlet Thrust.

Opposite him, Zhou Yan remained motionless in the owl-stance, as immovable as a stake. Many beginners, inexperienced in real combat, simply froze in battle; to keep one’s eyes open and face an experienced opponent’s sudden attack was impressive enough—let alone reacting to a veteran like Luo Zhiming.

Let’s give you a big welcome! Luo Zhiming grinned beneath his mask.

In the next instant, his pupils contracted in shock.

Just as Zhou Yan was about to be struck, a terrifying aura erupted from him. His feet were rooted like an owl’s talons, and the moment Luo Zhiming’s sword tip neared his chest, Zhou Yan’s upper body twisted to the side, perfectly evading the thrust.

An instant later, as they crossed paths, Luo Zhiming felt his foot hooked sharply, his balance wrenched away. He crashed to the ground. He tried to roll and spring up, but Zhou Yan’s foot pinned him by the chest before he could move.

Staring up in terror, Luo Zhiming saw Zhou Yan raising his sword high in his right hand, looking down at him. Though the mask obscured Zhou Yan’s expression, the intense killing intent radiating from him made Luo Zhiming feel as if he were facing a demon.

It was as if he were drowning in a sea of blood, with Zhou Yan standing atop a mountain of corpses—ready to strike.

A mountain of corpses, a sea of blood!

“Ah!”

Luo Zhiming screamed.