"Defeated!"
"He lost—even with a divine weapon and Senior Brother Wan Luo's Gate of Rebirth to aid him. What an unjust loss for Senior Brother Ye Nantian."
"Unjust? Hardly. Fang Han's a Divine Ability expert now."
"Do you think he'll claim the Eight Desolate Divine Sword?"
"He can't, right? By sect rules, even in defeat, one's artifact can't be taken."
"Rules mean little to Fang Han. Before he even reached the Divine Ability realm, he dared to defy Senior Brother Hua Tiandu. Now that he's ascended, what do you think he'll do? Wouldn't surprise me if he really kept the sword."
"True enough. I saw Senior Brother Cang practice on Wan Luo Peak once—he could grasp a running horse from midair with his mana. Yet even he wasn't as terrifying as Fang Han. And that was a man who broke into the Divine Ability realm five years ago!"
"Then this Fang Han... he's truly a monster."
The crowd's whispers filled the arena.
Ye Nantian's defeat—his bones shattered, his blood raining down from the stage, his cultivation abolished—shocked every disciple, inner and outer alike. Everyone had known Fang Han was powerful, but none had realized how powerful: his mana flowed without hesitation, flawless, as if refined over decades.
Now, to them, Fang Han had become both a mystery and a terror.
"The Eight Tones of the Heavenly Dragon? That's an ancient dragon incantation. Few living souls can use it. How did he learn it?" murmured one elder.
"Perhaps Fang Qingxue taught him," another speculated.
Jia Lan, having regained her composure, brushed her wrist. The starlit bracelet of galaxies reappeared, and the Heavenly Wood Needle dropped neatly into her palm. "Ling Xiao, I'll be keeping this."
Ling Xiao's face twitched. Losing such a treasure pained him deeply—it was forged from the heartwood of a ten-thousand-year tree, its green essence capable of healing meridians, refining elixirs, nurturing spirit herbs, even exorcising demons. But he could not protest.
Meanwhile, Fang Han turned toward the fallen Ye Nantian, his tone calm yet cutting. "Ye Nantian, I told you you'd regret this. Your cultivation's gone now. You've lost your pride, your power, your future. If you hadn't provoked me, I would have spared your dignity. But now... this is the price of arrogance."
Though every bone in Ye Nantian's body was shattered, his mind clung to consciousness. His glare burned with venom, his hatred so thick it was almost palpable.
Fang Han ignored him, stepping toward the fallen Eight Desolate Divine Sword. There was no way he'd let the weapon return to Ye Nantian—it would be madness to leave such power in the hands of an enemy. Rules or not, he intended to keep it.
As for the Gate of Rebirth, he thought twice. It belonged to Wan Luo Peak—offending one of the sect's pillars might bring more trouble than the reward was worth.
Just as his hand reached for the sword, a gust of mana erupted from the Gate of Rebirth. The sword lifted from the ground and was sucked into the portal—followed swiftly by Ye Nantian's broken body.
"What—?" Fang Han paused, sensing danger, and held back. The disciples fell silent, watching the floating gate rise into the air. A deep voice echoed from within:
"A disciple advancing to the Divine Ability realm gladdens our Feather Transformation Gate. But there's no need for brothers to kill one another. Ye Nantian will come with me. Let this matter end here. Fang Han, as a Divine Ability cultivator, you must show greater magnanimity."
"It's Senior Brother Wan Luo!"
"Yes, it's his voice!"
The long-time disciples stirred. The speaker was indeed Nan Wanluo himself.
"Hmph." Fang Han's eyes cooled. Magnanimity? Ye Nantian would never forgive him. Only one of them could live long enough to see this through. Still, his voice turned calm and courteous: "Naturally. I won't trouble him further."
"Good."
With that final word, the Gate of Rebirth shrank into a sphere of light and vanished skyward—returning to Wan Luo Peak.
"Fang Han, victorious!"
The officiating elder finally stepped onto the platform to declare the outcome. Fang Han showed no sign of joy. He simply walked down the steps—not back to his place, but toward Fang Qingwei. The disciples standing before her quickly moved aside, unwilling to draw the attention of a Divine Ability expert.
"Fang Han! What do you think you're doing?"
Fang Qingwei's eyes sharpened, her tone cold. "You wouldn't dare harm me! When my sister leaves seclusion, I'll tell her everything—you'll have to answer to her then!"
"Is that so?" Fang Han's hand flicked subtly, and an invisible wave of mana wrapped around her, lifting her lightly off the ground and setting her down beside him. His voice was steady but low: "I won't harm you. I'm just reminding you—any man who dares approach you will meet the same fate as Ye Nantian. His cultivation is gone. Take that as a warning."
With that, Fang Han sat cross-legged and closed his eyes, ignoring the mix of awe, fear, and resentment that filled the air.
Fang Qingwei clenched her teeth, backing slowly away before slipping into the crowd and vanishing from the arena. Fang Han didn't bother to stop her.
A thunderous boom erupted from another stage. The Demonblade of Sound cut a rival's flying sword clean in two. Its wielder, pale-faced, immediately conceded defeat.
Princess Hongyi returned victorious and seated herself beside Fang Han. "Your Demonblade's power is incredible! I might just make the top ten of the Mountains and Rivers Ranking this time."
"Be cautious," Fang Han replied. "Don't get entangled with the strong."
The tournament continued into the night, with one dazzling display of power after another. But no matter how impressive any disciple appeared, their feats all paled beside Fang Han's ascension.
By the time the final rounds approached, most had already conceded whenever his name was drawn.
Princess Hongyi did indeed fight her way into the top ten.
Then came the next announcement from the elders—
"Fang Han! Long Xuan!"