The crowd hushed, the air heavy with anticipation, as the two women faced off in the center of the arena. The silence was electric, each spectator leaning in, afraid to blink and miss the first move. Princess Shan and Wuying stood locked in a taut standoff, their eyes sharp and calculating, each trying to unravel the other's intent before the storm broke.
"If you're not going to move, I'll start," Princess Shan said, her voice light but laced with danger. A small chuckle followed as she tightened her grip on the icy katana resting in her hand.
Xuefeng's attention snapped to her, his breath caught. She moved in a blur, disappearing from her spot as though swallowed by the air itself. A split second later, she reappeared, her Movement Spirit Art propelling her forward like a streak of frostbite on a cold morning. The blade of her katana glowed with an icy-blue light, a shimmering aura of power that seemed to transform her into something otherworldly—an ice goddess descending to mete out judgment.
The blade came down in a sharp arc.
Wuying's body froze—not in fear but in the physical sense—as the katana struck. The ice-blue Qi coursed through her, immobilizing her as the ground beneath her feet erupted into jagged, crystalline spikes. The crowd gasped as one, a collective intake of breath that sent a ripple through the silence. Even Xuefeng felt a sick lurch in his gut. His heart clenched, his mind teetering on the edge of panic.
But then something shifted.
Princess Shan's smile faltered, her battle instincts flaring like a candle in a sudden gust of wind. Without hesitation, she pivoted, just as two blood-red daggers whistled through the air where her head had been a heartbeat before.
The frozen body of Wuying hit the ground and shattered into glinting shards. It wasn't her. It was a Spirit Qi clone, a decoy left behind to bait an attack. The real Wuying materialized from the shadows, her daggers slicing cleanly through the strands of Princess Shan's hair. If Shan's reflexes had been even a fraction slower, the daggers would have found her throat.
The crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement reaching fever pitch.
"You've got some quick moves," Wuying said, her tone almost playful, though the glint in her eyes told a darker story. Her dress shimmered as it transformed, Black Spirit Armor crawling across her body like living shadow, wrapping her in a second skin of protection.
"You're not too bad yourself," Princess Shan replied, her icy aura intensifying. Another layer of frost gathered around her, encasing her form in a translucent shell. Her Ice Blue Spirit Qi pulsed, a shield and a weapon all at once.
This time, Wuying made the first move. She darted forward, her daggers flashing in the low light, slashing in twin arcs aimed to overwhelm Shan's defenses. Shan retreated, her katana weaving an intricate web of parries, each deflection ringing out like a bell tolling in the tense air.
The fight became a blur of motion—daggers striking, the katana countering, each woman testing the other. Wuying's relentless assault finally broke through, one dagger carving a shallow cut across Shan's side. The ice armor shattered in a spray of shards, but before Wuying could press the advantage, Shan stomped the ground. A jagged block of ice erupted upward, slamming into Wuying's chest and sending her flying.
Wuying twisted mid-air, landing gracefully ten meters away, her eyes locked on Shan. The ice armor had already reformed, wrapping Shan in its protective embrace once more. Wuying narrowed her gaze, assessing. The armor regenerated too quickly, the Ice Blue Qi repairing it almost instantly. Unless she could break it in a single devastating blow, the fight would drag on.
Her lips curled into a grim smile. It's time.
She slashed her palms without hesitation, blood pooling in her hands before dripping onto the daggers. The weapons drank deeply, the blades darkening into a sinister crimson glow. Rank 4 Blood Daggers—a Spirit Art meant to feed on an enemy's blood, but her own would suffice.
Wuying surged forward, a shadowy double materializing at her side, mirroring her movements perfectly. Shan's eyes narrowed, her katana raised. She summoned an ice wall, blocking one Wuying while releasing a volley of ice bolts at the other. One figure crumbled under the assault, vanishing like smoke, but the real Wuying was already upon the wall.
Her daggers crossed in a furious X, cutting through the icy barrier like paper. She stepped through the opening just as Shan's katana descended from above. Wuying crossed her daggers to block, but the force drove her back through the gap in the wall. The air cracked with the sound of impact as Shan followed with a knee strike, an ice spike sprouting from it and slamming into Wuying's Spirit Armor. The blow sent her skidding across the ground.
Shards of ice rained down, raising a cloud of dust and mist that cloaked the battlefield. Shan stepped back, her instincts on high alert. She scanned the fog, her Spirit Awareness probing the haze, but there was nothing—no movement, no sound.
And yet, the feeling of being hunted lingered.
The crowd held its breath, their anticipation palpable as they leaned forward, eager to see who would emerge from the swirling mist.
Shan tightened her grip on the katana, her smile fading into a thin line of concentration. Somewhere in the fog, she knew Wuying was waiting, her next move coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
The same trick again? Princess Shan smirked, sensing the faint ripple of movement behind her.
With a flicker of icy intent, her back transformed into a glistening shield just as Wuying's Blood Daggers slashed in a wide horizontal arc. The sound was visceral—steel against frost, an impact that sent shards of ice scattering like shattered glass.
But this time, the ice wasn't enough.
"Aghhh!" Princess Shan gasped, a raw edge of pain slicing through her composure. A thin line of blood appeared on her back, the crimson stark against her pale skin.
She spun, katana raised to retaliate, but Wuying was already gone, her lithe form retreating into the shadows.
Across the arena, Wuying's face was ghostly pale, her breaths shallow. The Blood Daggers Spirit Art exacted a price—her own lifeblood. Though striking Shan had restored a fragment of her strength, it was a drop in the ocean compared to what she had lost. Her resolve, however, remained unshaken, the daggers gleaming darkly in her trembling hands.
The Shadow Guard members hidden in the crowd exchanged furtive glances, their excitement barely contained. Their leader had drawn first blood, a feat none of them could have imagined. But Xuefeng's expression told a different story. He wasn't impressed. He was worried.
You can stop this fight, Xuefeng, Ling's voice echoed in his mind, calm but insistent. Wuying is pushing herself too far. She's not yet proficient with the Blood Daggers. If this continues, she'll harm herself before the fight is over.
Xuefeng clenched his fists, watching as Princess Shan's fury boiled over. She touched the wound on her back, her fingers coming away slick with blood. Her eyes narrowed, her lips tightening into a thin line. This was a first for her. Princess Shan—flawless, untouchable—had been injured. And by Wuying, no less.
A low growl rumbled in her throat. With a sharp motion, she froze the wound, the frost crackling as it sealed the cut, and swallowed a gleaming healing pill. Even so, her gaze never left Wuying. She was already preparing her ultimate art, her icy aura expanding like a storm gathering strength.
But then, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Stop! That's enough!" Xuefeng's roar reverberated through the arena, commanding and unyielding.
The two women froze, their eyes locking for a moment with unspoken conflict. Slowly, grudgingly, they lowered their weapons. The crowd groaned in collective disappointment, but the energy in the air was still charged, as though the fight hadn't truly ended.
Even so, the spectators couldn't deny what they had witnessed. Wuying's strength was no longer a secret. The Young Master's maid had proven herself to be more than a shadow—she was a force to be reckoned with.
As Wuying and Princess Shan approached Xuefeng, he stepped forward to inspect the damage. His fingers brushed lightly over Shan's back, tracing the faint outline of the wound. Though the pill was working quickly, the injury was fresh, and he knew the pain hadn't disappeared.
Then his gaze turned to Wuying. Her pale face and trembling frame told him all he needed to know. He sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
"Wasn't this supposed to be a spar?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger. "Why are you both injured?" His tone carried more disappointment than rage, but it was enough to make both women lower their heads, guilt shadowing their features.
The murmurs of the crowd were growing louder, a restless wave of speculation and awe. Xuefeng turned to face them, his expression hardening.
"The party's over. Disperse!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed both women by the hand and pulled them through the crowd. The onlookers parted reluctantly, their excitement tempered by the Young Master's uncharacteristic authority.
"Since when was the Young Master so cool?" someone muttered as Xuefeng disappeared with the two women in tow.
Despite his outward frustration, Xuefeng couldn't ignore the clarity the fight had brought him. Watching the brutal exchange, he had learned more about cultivation than he had in hours of study. Strength alone wasn't enough—strategy, precision, and control were just as critical. Even a higher stage meant nothing if carelessness crept in.
I have so much to learn, he thought, his determination hardening like steel tempered in fire.