The arena buzzed with anticipation as the crowd settled into a hush, their eyes fixed on the two figures standing at opposite ends. The atmosphere was charged, though not as electric as during Wu Li's recent match; this was different. Wu Zheng, known for his extraordinary potential, was about to embark on his first official duel since becoming a cultivator.
Wu rui remained calm, his expression reflecting a quiet interest in the contest ahead in the arena, Wu Zheng stood with a composed demeanor, though a hint of deliberate nervousness flickered in his eyes, hinting at the strength he was suppressing. Wu Ping, on the other side of the arena, wore a determined look, his gaze steady and fierce.
With a resounding gong echoing through the arena, the duel commenced.
As the two fighters closed the distance, they clashed with a forceful strike that reverberated through the air. Metal met metal with a sharp clang, and the sound echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the gasps of the onlookers. Both fighters showcased their respective styles, Wu Zheng utilizing the Swift Sword Technique, his movements fluid and precise. Wu Ping countered with a lower-ranked swordplay technique, demonstrating his versatility and hard-earned skills.
Each strike was measured, calculated, as they maneuvered around each other. The crowd watched intently, some standing on their toes, eager to catch every nuance of the fight. The tension was thick enough to cut with a sword as both fighters exchanged blows, their respective techniques dancing in the moonlight.
A sudden whoosh filled the air as Wu Zheng slashed towards Wu Ping, the edge of his sword grazing the latter's arm, drawing a thin line of crimson. Wu Ping gritted his teeth, determination flashing in his eyes as he retaliated with a swift counter, landing a sharp jab to Wu Zheng's side. The impact knocked the breath out of Wu Zheng, but he pushed through the pain, focused on the fight.
Wu Ping's tactical mind was at work; he attempted to outmaneuver Wu Zheng, trying different approaches with calculated strikes. How can I force him to reveal his true strength? he thought, sweat trickling down his brow as he pushed through his fatigue. The duel was not just about strength; it was a battle of wits.
On the other side, Wu Zheng maintained his calm façade. Inside, however, a storm of thoughts brewed. He had already analyzed Wu Ping's fighting style, identifying several flaws. But revealing them would only undermine the purpose of this fight, he reasoned. Instead, he matched Wu Ping blow for blow, feigning struggle while carefully preserving his true capabilities.
The clash intensified as the crowd erupted into cheers and gasps. Wu Ping launched into an offensive, employing his Earth Rank technique that emphasized defense, a shimmering barrier forming momentarily around him. Wu Zheng responded with the first part of the Song of Inferno, igniting his sword with a flicker of flame, illuminating his face in a warm glow. The light cast shadows, heightening the dramatic atmosphere as the two continued their clash.
As they exchanged blows, the audience felt the weight of every strike. Wu Ping was fueled by his determination to prove himself, to show the world his resolve and hard work. Yet, with every clash, he felt the sting of exhaustion creeping in. I can't lose here, he thought, recalling the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, and the moments of doubt. Wu Rui believed in me. I must not fail him.
A sharp thud rang out as Wu Zheng landed a kick against Wu Ping's knee, causing him to stumble slightly. Wu Zheng seized the moment, his sword aimed at Wu Ping's shoulder, narrowly missing but leaving a small cut on his neck. The crowd gasped, sensing the growing intensity of the battle.
The final clash approached, tension hanging like a taut string ready to snap. Both fighters faced each other, breaths heavy with exertion. The atmosphere grew thick with anticipation, as even the elders watching from the sidelines leaned forward, their expressions a mix of admiration and apprehension. They had seen Wu Zheng's potential that's why they felt a flicker of disappointment; it was clear he possessed talent, yet it fell short of the extraordinary heights they had expected.
The arena fell silent as Wu Zheng and Wu Ping prepared for their concluding moves. In that moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. Wu Zheng gripped his sword tightly, focusing all his energy into his next attack. He could feel the heat of his spirit qi surging within him, begging to be unleashed fully.
With a roar, they surged forward, launching their best offensive techniques. Wu Zheng's sword ignited in flames, a beautiful yet deadly arc as he swung, while Wu Ping channeled his strength into a powerful thrust, his body moving with every ounce of training he had undergone. The impact of their techniques met with a resounding boom, a shockwave radiating through the arena that sent ripples through the crowd.
Gasps filled the air, spectators mesmerized by the display of power and skill. But as the dust settled, it became clear that Wu Zheng had emerged victorious, standing tall while Wu Ping stumbled, breathless and defeated.
As Wu Ping's knees hit the ground, tears welled in his eyes. Memories flooded his mind—a montage of training with Wu Rui, moments of doubt, and the burning desire to rise above his low potential. He had given it his all, yet it wasn't enough. A single tear escaped, glistening in the moonlight.
Wu Zheng glanced at his fallen opponent. After a moment, he turned and walked away, leaving the arena behind. The night wind rustled the lanterns, casting flickering shadows as he exited, his figure illuminated against the dim moonlight. The crowd's gaze followed him, awe filling their expressions as they witnessed the aftermath of a duel that had tested both combatants in ways beyond mere strength.