However, the moment Ji Gengxin's sword thrust forward, Lin Feng was no longer there.
He had abruptly vanished. There was no residual image, no tell-tale rush of air. It was as if he had been erased from that spot.
Gasp!
Ji Gengxin sensed the danger a fraction of a second too late. He felt a presence materialize directly behind him. The air grew cold. It was a tactic Lin Feng had used against him countless times in their youth.
He's behind me!
Muscle memory, forged in a hundred past defeats, saved him. He didn't turn. He didn't look. He threw himself forward into a desperate, stumbling roll, not caring about grace, only survival.
A sharp gust of wind, carrying the force of a missed strike, passed through the space where his back had been.
Ji Gengxin tumbled, coming up onto his feet several meters away, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was panting, his robes disheveled, a fine layer of sweat coating his brow.
The two combatants were once again distanced, the ravaged stage between them. The brief, frantic exchange had lasted less than three seconds.
Lin Feng stood calmly, not even bothering to press the advantage. He looked at the visibly shaken Ji Gengxin, his gaze cool and analytical.
"I was wondering," Lin Feng began, his voice carrying clearly in the tense silence, "why the prestigious Sky Sword Sect would recruit someone of your... caliber."
He let the words hang in the air, letting the insult sink into every ear.
"And I find myself still wondering," he continued, his tone devoid of mockery, stating it as a simple fact. "You show no exceptional comprehension. Your foundation is unstable, likely forced by pills. Your sword intent is shallow, all flash and no substance."
His eyes then subtly shifted from Ji Gengxin, sweeping past him to rest briefly on the livid face of Jian Zihan before returning to his opponent.
"There is clearly nothing special about you. So, one must ask... what is the real reason?"
The implication was a poison dart aimed directly at the heart of the Ji Clan and the Sky Sword Sect elder. Lin Feng was publicly questioning the legitimacy of their alliance, hinting at a hidden, likely unsavory, motive.
He was giving voice to the very suspicion Rong Yanan had planted—that Jian Zihan was acting without the Sky Sword Sect's official sanction.
Jian Zihan's face turned a shade of gloomy purple. The casual, public dissection of his disciple and the veiled accusation against him were intolerable humiliations. He could feel the weight of the other clans' speculative gazes.
"Enough of this farce, Gengxin!" Jian Zihan's voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp. "Hurry up and end it! Use what I taught you! Do not disappoint the sect further!"
The command was a public lashing, stripping away any remaining dignity Ji Gengxin had.
Ji Gengxin's face, already pale from exertion, turned a deathly ashen grey. The pressure from his elder, the mocking gaze of his rival, and the stares of thousands felt like mountains crushing him. He wanted to scream, to rage, to flee.
But he couldn't. He had consumed that precious pill. He had the support of the Sky Sword Sect. He had to win. For his clan, for his future, for his very survival.
He closed his eyes.
He took a long, shuddering breath, forcing the panic, the shame, and the fury down into the deepest recesses of his mind. He visualized a still, frozen lake, its surface perfectly smooth.
He imagined his spiritual energy, previously raging and chaotic, settling into that lake, becoming calm, deep, and utterly motionless.
When he opened his eyes, the frantic light was gone. Replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness.
A strange phenomenon occurred. His previously blazing golden aura did not intensify. Instead, it vanished. Completely.
The overwhelming pressure that had radiated from him since the start of the fight simply... disappeared. The air around the stage grew still and heavy. The constant hum of the protective barrier seemed to fade into an eerie silence.
It was not that he was weak. It was the opposite. He had gathered all his power, every last wisp of his Peak Golden Core True Spiritual Energy, and compressed it inward.
He was a volcano on the verge of eruption, but for now, the cap was on. There was no light, no sound, only a terrifying potential that made the air itself feel thick and difficult to breathe.
The calm before the storm.
Everyone watching felt it. The elders straightened in their seats, their expressions turning grave. The juniors held their breath, a primal fear stirring in their hearts. This was different. This was not another flashy technique. This was the preparation for a single, all-or-nothing strike.
Lin Feng, for the first time, showed a flicker of genuine interest. His calm expression remained, but a subtle light gleamed in his eyes. He finally brought his hands up from his sides, settling into a more defined, ready stance.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. It was the deep, suffocating quiet of a world holding its breath.
Ji Gengxin was a statue of concentrated malice, all his being focused into the sword in his hand. The air around him warped, not with visible light, but with the sheer density of compressed power.
Then, it broke.
BOOM!
An aura of terrifying sharpness and pressure erupted from Ji Gengxin with the force of a shattered dam. It was no longer the brilliant gold of before, but a pale, deathly grey-white—the pure, unadulterated essence of killing sword intent. The protective barrier around the stage groaned under the strain, flickering violently.
"Sky Sword Forbidden Art: Soul-Severing Flash!"
Ji Gengxin's voice was a raw, guttural scream, torn from the depths of his soul. He became the sword. His body blurred, transforming into a single, thin line of incandescent grey light.
It was swift beyond reason, fierce beyond measure, and brutal in its singular purpose: to erase Lin Feng from existence. It shot across the stage like a bolt of lightning, carrying the force of a raging tsunami compressed into a needle's point…