The attack was so fast, so absolute, that most in the audience didn't even see Ji Gengxin's move. They only felt the soul-chilling intent and saw the line of death streaking towards its target.
This was no longer a duel. It was an execution.
And Lin Feng… did not dodge.
For the first time in the entire battle, he stood his ground. As the killing flash shot towards him, his own aura finally erupted.
It was not a massive, domineering pressure. It was a deep, profound, and ancient power that seemed to solidify the very space around him.
Buzz—
A faint, silvery-white light enveloped his body, and within his dantian, a miniature version of himself—a Nascent Soul—opened its eyes, supplying him with power that transcended the mortal realm.
He drew back his right fist. There was no technique name, no battle cry. Just simple, unadorned power. His fist, now gleaming with that silvery light, shot forward to meet the oncoming sword flash.
Gasps of horror and disbelief erupted from the crowd.
"He's mad! He's using his bare hand!"
"Is he trying to die? That's a forbidden sword art!"
"His arm will be pulverized!"
Even Lin Canghai and Lin Wanrou shot to their feet, their faces etched with alarm. Only Lin Zhen and Rong Yanan remained seated, the former with a knowing glint in his eyes, the latter with a faint, approving smile.
Jian Zihan, however, frowned deeply. His sharp eyes saw past the surface. That silvery light was not the energy of the Golden Core Realm. It was purer, denser, more… alive. The truth dawned on him with the force of a physical blow, turning his face a shade of ashen gloom.
Nascent Soul Realm! The boy wasn't at the Peak Golden Core at all! He had been hiding his true cultivation all along!
In that split second, there was no time for warnings, no time for intervention.
CRACK-BOOM!
The collision was not a clang of metal, but a cataclysmic explosion of pure energy. The point of impact became a miniature sun, blinding everyone who looked directly at it.
A shockwave of visible force radiated outwards, slamming into the barrier with enough force to shatter it completely. The remaining stone tiles on the stage were pulverized into fine dust, which was then blasted away, leaving a perfectly smooth, circular crater.
The sound was deafening, a roar that temporarily stole hearing from those closest.
As the blinding light and billowing dust began to clear, all eyes strained to see the outcome.
They saw Lin Feng, standing firm at the center of the crater. His right sleeve had been completely torn away, shredded by the violent sword intent. His arm, from fist to shoulder, was crisscrossed with dozens of fine, bleeding cuts, as if he had thrust it into a nest of invisible blades. The skin was lacerated, but the bones and tendons beneath were clearly intact and unbroken.
He was wounded, but he stood unbent. His expression was unchanged, his breathing even. He looked down at his bleeding arm as if it were a minor inconvenience.
A dozen meters away, lying in a broken heap at the edge of the destroyed stage, was Ji Gengxin.
His spiritual sword lay beside him, its light extinguished, a hairline crack running down its center. His robes were in tatters, his body covered in bruises and lacerations from the backlash of his own shattered technique.
He tried to push himself up, but only managed to cough up a mouthful of blood before collapsing back onto the stone, unconscious. The mighty Peak Golden Core expert, the pride of the Ji Clan, had been defeated by a single punch.
The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than any that had come before.
Lin Feng slowly lowered his bleeding arm. He ignored the stinging pain, his gaze sweeping over the stunned, ashen-faced members of the Ji Clan. It passed over the unconscious form of Ji Gengxin, over the horrified Patriarch Ji Shan, and finally came to rest, with the weight of a mountain, on Jian Zihan.
The Sky Sword Sect elder's face was a mask of frozen fury and bitter understanding.
Lin Feng's voice cut through the silence, calm, clear, and dripping with icy contempt.
"Is this," he asked, his words aimed directly at Jian Zihan, "your so-called trump card?"
He paused, letting the humiliation sink in, letting every clan present absorb the sheer scale of the Ji Clan's defeat and the Sky Sword Sect's miscalculation.
"I thought the Ji Clan had come prepared this time," Lin Feng continued, his tone shifting to one of mock disappointment. "Backed by a great sect, armed with forbidden techniques. I expected a real challenge."
He shook his head slightly, a gesture of profound disdain.
"It seems I overestimated you."
The silence in the avenue was profound, broken only by the faint, pained wheezing of the unconscious Ji Gengxin. Lin Feng's words hung in the air, a verdict of absolute failure for the Ji Clan and their powerful backer.
Then, a sharp, clear crack shattered the stillness.
All eyes snapped to the source. Jian Zihan, his face a contorted mask of venomous rage, was staring at Lin Feng.
The pristine white jade fan in his hand had been crushed into a fine, powdery dust that sifted through his fingers. The casual destruction of such a treasure spoke volumes of the fury boiling within him.
"Do not be arrogant, little beast," Jian Zihan's voice was low, but it carried a chilling, murderous intent that swept across the entire avenue like a winter gale. "I admit, your talent is… passable. Reaching the Nascent Soul Realm at your age is indeed rare in this backwater."
He paused, his lips curling into a sneer as he looked down his nose at Lin Feng, as if he were an interesting insect.
"But compared to the true prodigies of my Sky Sword Sect, you are nothing. A frog at the bottom of a well, boasting about the size of its puddle. Our core disciples, those nurtured by the sect since childhood, would crush you like the ant you are."
He was trying to salvage some face, to reassert the Sky Sword Sect's unassailable position by diminishing Lin Feng's achievement…