Sword Heart

No matter how strong the Ten Great Chosen were, could they be stronger than thirty-seven Holy Sons and Holy Maidens? These weren't the flashy but useless goods from the past, and the top-tier figures among them were existences that could walk sideways among the younger generation of the Middle State.

In Wang Hao's camp, Wei Zhongxian held a stack of jade slips, his hands trembling.

"Your Majesty, as of now, the total amount of bets placed on the Middle State faction... has exceeded one hundred and twenty million spirit stones."

Even though Wang Hao was mentally prepared, he couldn't help but gasp.

One hundred and twenty million spirit stones.

This was already equivalent to ten years of spirit stone production for a medium-sized Holy Land.

"What about our own people?" Wang Hao asked.

Wei Zhongxian whispered, "According to your instructions, our people have placed bets in scattered batches. The total amount is about eight million spirit stones, all betting on the Middle State to win."

Wang Hao nodded in satisfaction.

"In addition, the several anonymous accounts under your personal name have bought another thirty million spirit stones, also betting on the Middle State to win."

The New Emperor Sword spoke faintly, "Tyrant, you are betting on your opponents to win. Isn't this funding the enemy?"

Wang Hao said as a matter of course, "I bet on the Middle State to win, so if the Middle State wins, I make money. If I personally take the field and defeat the Middle State, the bets I placed on myself will also make money. Either way, I earn a profit, so why not do it?"

The New Emperor Sword was silent for a good while before squeezing out a sentence: "Your shamelessness has exceeded the scope of my understanding."

Wang Hao cupped his hands. "Thank you for the compliment."

On the arena, Chen Tianlan loudly announced the new rules.

"For the third round of the arena, both sides will field ten people. There will be ten one-on-one matches, and the side with the most victories will be the winner. If it is a five-to-five tie, an additional tiebreaker match will be held."

"The battle order will be negotiated by both sides themselves."

As soon as his voice fell, a figure from the direction of the Middle State stood in mid-air.

He wore a moon-white robe, and an ancient, completely transparent sword hung at his waist. The sword qi around his body was condensed but unreleased, yet it caused the spiritual energy of the entire arena to stagnate. His face was very young, no more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, but his eyes held a sharpness that far exceeded his age.

The Holy Son of the Heavenly Palace, Jiang Taixuan.

He didn't speak; just standing there was enough to make the tens of thousands of cultivators in the spectator stands fall silent at the same time.

That was the aura of a true Chosen.

No words were needed, no actions were needed. Just a simple appearance was enough to make everyone hold their breath.

Wang Hao narrowed his eyes.

Third level of the Skysoaring Realm. His sword qi was so restrained that it was almost imperceptible; this was a sign of returning to the natural state in the Dao of the Sword. This person's sword was at least two levels higher than Ye Guyun's.

After Jiang Taixuan, a second figure leaped onto the arena.

The Holy Son of the Starfall Holy Land, Li Xinghe.

He was bare-chested, his bronze skin covered with star patterns. With every step he took, a footprint an inch deep appeared on the arena. That black stone arena was built from Kunlun White Rock mixed with Black Iron; an ordinary Astral Qi Realm cultivator might not be able to leave a mark with a full-force strike, yet he stepped on it as easily as treading in mud.

Second level of the Skysoaring Realm. He was taking the path of fleshly sanctification, similar to Wanyan Gu, but comparing Wanyan Gu to him was like comparing a hound to a fierce tiger.

A third figure floated over.

The Holy Maiden of the Falling Cloud Holy Land, Su Wanqing.

She wore a green dress, her face covered by a light veil, and she did not release any aura. But when she landed on the arena, everyone felt their hearts tighten, as if something had gently plucked at them.

Cultivators who practiced the Dao of Karma were the most bizarre. Their martial skills might not have the strongest lethal power, but they were definitely the most troublesome to deal with.

A fourth.

A fifth.

A sixth...

From the direction of the Middle State, Holy Sons and Holy Maidens filed onto the stage.

With each additional person, the cheers from the spectator stands grew louder. By the time the thirtieth Holy Son took the stage, the sound waves in the Reception City almost threatened to collapse the city walls.

Thirty-seven Holy Sons and Holy Maidens stood together on one side of the arena.

That imposing manner was like thirty-seven volcanoes about to erupt.

In contrast, from the direction of the Great Zhou, only ten figures slowly walked onto the stage.

Xiao Chen, Ye Guyun, and Lu Chenzhou walked at the very front; Rong Xiaotian, Wanyan Gu, and Su Lie were in the middle; Lin Tiechuan, Gu Han, Zhao Feng, and Bai Zhantang brought up the rear.

Ten people against thirty-seven.

A massive disparity in numbers.

A massive disparity in momentum as well.

The cultivators of the Middle State let out sneers that had been suppressed for ten days.

"Is this it? The Eastern Wasteland only has this little bit of foundation?"

"They dare to come with only ten people? Aren't they embarrassed!"

"Today, watch how the Chosen of our Middle State crush them!"

Jiang Taixuan raised his hand, and the clamor abruptly stopped.

He looked at Xiao Chen and said indifferently, "I heard that you also possess an unusual flame, and ten days ago, you fought Mu Changliu to a draw. Do you dare to fight me today?"

Just as Xiao Chen was about to speak, Ye Guyun stepped forward first.

Holding his sword, he looked directly at Jiang Taixuan, his voice as cold as the thousand-year ice at the peak of the Kunlun Mountains.

"He is mine."

Jiang Taixuan raised an eyebrow slightly. "Who are you?"

"From the Great Zhou, Ye Guyun."

Jiang Taixuan glanced at him and suddenly shook his head. "You are not my match. Your sword intent has not yet taken shape. If you cross swords with me, you will definitely lose within three strikes."

Ye Guyun did not argue; he simply grasped the hilt of his sword.

His fingers were long and steady. The moment he grasped the hilt, his entire being suddenly changed. He was no longer that taciturn swordsman, but a sword about to drink blood.

"Three strikes," Ye Guyun said. "If you defeat me in three strikes, I will never use a sword again in this life."

As soon as these words came out, the entire crowd was in an uproar.

Even Wang Hao raised his eyebrows slightly.

Jiang Taixuan stared at Ye Guyun for three breaths and suddenly smiled.

"Interesting. Fine, I will give you this opportunity."

The two men stepped forward at the same time, and the spiritual energy in the center of the arena was instantly torn in half.

The battle was on the verge of breaking out.

Meanwhile, Wang Hao sat in the spectator stands, his fingers gently tapping the armrest of the dragon throne, a faint smile hanging on his lips.

He looked down at a jade pendant in his sleeve, which had a number carved on it.

That was the sum of spirit stones he had just bet using his anonymous account.

Fifty million.

Betting on the Middle State to win completely today.

"Fight," he said silently in his heart. "The more beautifully you fight, the better. For every match you win, I earn more money."

Wei Zhongxian leaned over and reported in a low voice, "Your Majesty, Elder Xuanxiao of the Kunlun Law Enforcement Hall sent someone to ask. He said that today's arena matches are of an extremely high standard, and asked if you would like to personally observe the ceremony and give a speech."

Wang Hao thought for a moment and stood up.

He walked to the edge of the spectator stands, looking down at the tens of thousands of cultivators filling the arena. Channeling his astral qi, his voice rolled across the sky like thunder.

"Fellow Daoists of the Middle State!"

Everyone looked up at the same time.

Wang Hao was all smiles. He opened his arms, his imperial robes fluttering loudly in the wind.

"Welcome, and thank you for bringing me your money!"

The entire venue fell into a dead silence for three breaths.

And then—

"What did he say?!"

"Bringing money? Is he crazy?!"

"Arrogant! Too arrogant!"

Even Jiang Taixuan's sword intent fluctuated slightly.

Ye Guyun seized the opportunity to step forward half a pace, seizing the initiative.

Wang Hao sat back down on the dragon throne with a chuckle and said to Wei Zhongxian, "See that? Just one sentence helped Ye Guyun seize the initiative. This mouth of mine is more effective than a Heaven-tier divine weapon."

Wei Zhongxian was expressionless.

He was already used to it.

The New Emperor Sword spoke faintly, "Tyrant, have you ever thought that you will be beaten to death acting like this?"

Wang Hao thought about it seriously.

"I might. But not today."

He looked toward the arena; Ye Guyun had already drawn his sword.

The light of that sword illuminated the entire Kunlun Reception City.

And an even greater storm was just beginning.

Sword qi soared into the sky.

The moment Ye Guyun drew his sword, the clouds hundreds of feet above the arena were torn open by an invisible sword qi. Sunlight poured down through the rift, illuminating his blade and reflecting a blinding, cold gleam.

His sword had no name.

But everyone saw the trajectory of that strike.

Fast.

So fast that ninety percent of the cultivators in the spectator stands only saw a blur. The tip of the sword was already three inches from Jiang Taixuan's throat.

Jiang Taixuan did not retreat.

He did not even draw his sword.

He merely extended two fingers and lightly pinched.

Ding.

A crisp sound of clashing metal echoed throughout the arena.

Ye Guyun's sword was caught between his two fingers.

The sword tip was less than an inch from his throat, yet it could not advance another fraction. The sword qi on the blade hissed madly, struggling desperately like a trapped beast, but those two fingers remained unmoving.

Ye Guyun's pupils shrank abruptly.

He did not hesitate. Instantly abandoning his sword to change his move, his left hand formed a sword-finger and thrust straight at Jiang Taixuan's glabella. This variation was suffocatingly fast; before the spectating cultivators could even recover from the previous strike, the second blow had already arrived.

Jiang Taixuan smiled faintly.

He released his grip on the blade and met the attack with his own sword-finger.

Two fingers against two fingers.

Boom!

Sword qi exploded. Ye Guyun was sent flying backward, flipping three times in midair before barely landing. His heels plowed two deep trenches into the black stone arena floor. He looked up, a trace of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained as cold as ice.

One sword, one finger.

Two moves.

From beginning to end, Jiang Taixuan had not moved a single step, had not drawn his sword, and had not even changed the rhythm of his breathing.

This was the gap between the third level of the Skysoaring Realm and the first level.

It was not a difference in quantity, but a chasm in quality.

Ye Guyun stood up straight, picked up his sword from the ground, and slowly sheathed it. His movements were incredibly steady, as if completing some sort of ritual.

"The third sword," he said. "I have one more strike."

Jiang Taixuan nodded. "Please."

Ye Guyun closed his eyes.

The spiritual energy on the arena suddenly fell quiet. The wind stopped, the dust settled, and even the faint tolling of bells from the distant Kunlun Mountains faded away. All sound was swallowed by an invisible force.

Then, Ye Guyun opened his eyes.

In that instant, he entirely transformed into a sword. There was no sword qi, no sword intent, not even a sword stance. He simply stood there, yet every sword cultivator within a hundred-foot radius felt a simultaneous tremor in their hearts. The swords at their waists were trembling, fearing, paying homage to a certain existence.

Wang Wudi abruptly stood up from his seat.

He stared fixedly at Ye Guyun, his lips moving as he squeezed out two words.

"Sword Heart."

Sword Heart. Not a fledgling sword intent, not the rudiments of sword intent, but a Sword Heart. The three realms of the Sword Dao—Sword Intent, Sword Heart, and Sword Dao. Among the younger generation of the Central State, no more than five people had touched the threshold of the Sword Heart. Yet Ye Guyun, this swordsman who had walked out from the barren lands of the Eastern Wasteland, had touched the threshold of the Sword Heart at merely the first level of the Skysoaring Realm.

This was no longer just a genius.

This was a monster.

Jiang Taixuan's expression finally changed.

He put away all his contempt and slowly drew the ancient sword at his waist. As the blade left its sheath, countless dense patterns surfaced on its body, like the rings of an ancient tree, with each line exuding an ancient and desolate aura.

One of the supreme divine weapons of the Heavenly Palace Holy Land, a high-tier Heaven-rank artifact, the Cangwu Sword.

"You have the qualifications to make me draw my sword," Jiang Taixuan said, a trace of respect entering his tone. "Declare the name of your sword."

Ye Guyun looked at the sword in his hand and fell silent for a moment.

"It has no name. It's just something I picked up from the Sword Tomb when I was seven."

As his words fell, he struck.

The third sword.

This strike possessed no flashiness; there was no rampant sword qi, nor any spectacular phenomena. It was merely an unremarkable, straightforward thrust.

But Jiang Taixuan's face turned incredibly solemn.

He similarly thrust out his sword.

The Cangwu Sword met the nameless sword.

The tips of the two swords collided with absolute precision.

Tip against tip, without a hair's breadth of deviation.

Then, Ye Guyun was sent flying backward. The sword in his hand let out a mournful wail as a fine crack appeared on its blade, extending all the way from the tip to the hilt. His entire body crashed into the protective array formations at the edge of the arena, causing the formations to flicker violently, nearly shattering.

Meanwhile, Jiang Taixuan took three steps back.

After those three steps, he looked down at his Cangwu Sword. There, on the tip of the blade, was a chip the size of a grain of rice.

Tens of thousands of cultivators were dead silent.

Jiang Taixuan had taken three steps back. An existence ranked in the top three of the Central State's younger generation had been forced back three steps by a nameless swordsman from the Eastern Wasteland.

Even though Ye Guyun had lost, and lost thoroughly.

But everyone knew that the true loser of this battle was not Ye Guyun.

A sword cultivator at the first level of the Skysoaring Realm had forced a third-level Skysoaring Realm expert to draw his sword, and had even damaged the opponent's blade. If this had been an opponent of equal cultivation, what would the result have been?

No one dared to imagine.