Lv Xuan sat calmly below, his expression composed as he watched the two figures clashing above.
Yet despite his calm exterior, his mind was anything but tranquil.
To be fair, he didn’t believe Chu Xingchen stood much of a chance against Li Moze in a battle of equal cultivation levels. Li Moze had clawed his way through blood and storms to reach where he was.
At present, both Lv Xuan and Li Moze appeared amicable, but anyone who had survived long enough to become a sect leader had undoubtedly faced life-and-death trials.
Those who endured were the elite, and those who rose above the elite were the pinnacle of combat cultivators.
Lv Xuan was one. So was Li Moze.
Combat experience and instinct were things honed through countless battles, tempered in the crucible of life-and-death struggles.
Sometimes, the gap in cultivation mattered less than these battle-hardened instincts.
The core of overcoming a stronger opponent lay in possessing instincts far beyond the ordinary.
In Lv Xuan’s eyes, Chu Xingchen fell short of Li Moze in both cultivation and combat instincts.
But seeing Chu Xingchen’s confident demeanor, coupled with Bai Xuanling’s instigations, Lv Xuan could only grit his teeth and place his faith in the younger man for now.
At least the situation didn’t look too dire—Li Moze didn’t seem to hold an overwhelming advantage. That was enough.
For Lv Xuan, victory wasn’t necessary. He just didn’t want Chu Xingchen to lose too embarrassingly.
Of course, an unexpected surprise would be welcome, though he doubted such a thing was possible.
Then, in the next moment, Lv Xuan’s eyes narrowed sharply, his body tensing to intervene if needed.
Li Moze had no shame—using a major divine ability against a junior?
Had it even been a few exchanges?
But then, Lv Xuan froze.
Li Moze’s spiritual energy surged violently, an overwhelming pressure manifesting out of thin air. Daoist resonance shimmered behind him as he raised his sword, his movements deceptively slow—clear enough for anyone to follow.
Yet when Lv Xuan glanced toward Chu Xingchen, the young man’s figure seemed frozen in place.
The terrifying energy condensed, compressed to its peak, then dissipated like rain merging into a river.
Li Moze’s sword vanished almost imperceptibly, only reappearing after the slash had already been unleashed.
A moment later, the strike materialized.
It was as if it had traversed space itself—a blinding white light swallowing the sky, its residual force alone enough to tear through the heavens.
Lv Xuan was certain Chu Xingchen couldn’t withstand this. This was a move Li Moze would only resort to if he had abandoned all dignity.
Devious, ruthless, and devastatingly powerful.
Yet Lv Xuan didn’t move to shield Chu Xingchen. The reason was simple.
Li Moze had inexplicably unleashed his attack into empty air, his solemn expression relaxing as he poured his strength into striking nothing.
The attack’s range was vast, but… it had missed by a ludicrous margin.
Lv Xuan was baffled. Was this Li Moze’s way of conceding the match?
Since when was Li Moze so honorable?
Had Lv Xuan misjudged him, projecting his own integrity onto a man with none?
He reflected inwardly—if a junior dared challenge him like this, he’d make sure to teach them a bloody lesson without needing Bai Xuanling’s taunts. Otherwise, he’d curse himself for being spineless.
But then, Li Moze’s expression hardened again. His figure flickered forward, his sword slashing fiercely through empty air.
Awe-inspiring sword energy shredded the clouds, its residual force scattering wildly in all directions. The motion was undeniably impressive.
But it hadn’t hit anyone.
Realization dawned on Lv Xuan—Chu Xingchen knew illusion arts?
And without a doubt, his illusions were of an extraordinarily high level. While Li Moze’s oversight played a part, deceiving a cultivator of his caliber, even briefly, was no small feat.
An illusion at the level of a divine ability?
Such techniques were exceedingly rare in this world, requiring prodigious talent to master.
Chu Xingchen truly had a knack for delivering surprises.
However…
Illusions weren’t so effective against top-tier combat cultivators.
For someone like Li Moze, breaking free likely required only the slightest trigger—an odd shift in position, a sudden surge of malice, or an unnatural flow of spiritual energy.
A warrior’s instincts in life-or-death battles amplified every anomaly.
And against a cultivator of this level, the window of opportunity would be fleeting.
Chu Xingchen retreated slightly, suppressing his spiritual fluctuations and the urge to immediately stab Li Moze twice.
The White Azure Art had worked well so far, but Chu Xingchen knew this might be his only chance to catch Li Moze off guard.
He didn’t expect Li Moze to be like Daoist Yuyang, falling for the same trick twice.
After all, this man only grew more cunning with age.
Chu Xingchen’s task was to seize this moment, synchronizing with the distorted spiritual energy within the illusion.
This time, it was real.
Divine Art—Three Thousand Weak Waters!
Li Moze stared intently at Chu Xingchen, who wore a faint smile. He never imagined the Tianyan Sect could produce such a disciple.
The young man’s movements were swift and elusive, nearly impossible to pin down.
With a mere gesture, thousands of swords materialized, their power terrifying and their formations making it difficult to close the distance.
His techniques were varied and unpredictable—a truly troublesome opponent.
In a one-on-one duel, even Xu Jin might struggle against this resourceful youth.
Yet… Li Moze felt an inexplicable unease. His gaze traced Chu Xingchen’s graceful, drifting figure and the endless stream of swords materializing behind him.
His wariness deepened. This kid surely had another trick up his sleeve—no one would challenge him without some hidden card.
Though Li Moze was confident in his victory, the thought of losing crossed his mind.
He steeled himself, darting forward as countless chains of pure white spiritual energy descended from the sky, sealing Chu Xingchen’s escape routes.
As the chains closed in, Chu Xingchen’s expression turned grave. He twisted midair and charged toward Li Moze, the surging river of swords following closely behind.
Was this a desperate final strike?
Li Moze frowned slightly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pivoting away from the oncoming Chu Xingchen. His sword gleamed coldly as he slashed forward with full force.
In the next instant, the world before him shattered like glass, the illusion collapsing. The Chu Xingchen behind him and the torrent of swords vanished from his perception.
And in front of him—
Chu Xingchen stood, holding a simple sword formed of flowing water. His presence was devoid of any discernible power or spiritual fluctuation, his gaze serene.
The watery blade shot forth.
Li Moze sensed the near-primal force within it. He had no choice but to pour all his remaining spiritual energy into his own treasured sword.
The two blades clashed in absolute silence, the collision tearing through sound itself.
Chu Xingchen's flowing water sword finally revealed its formidable edge.
Compressed to the extreme, spiritual energy and the essence of divine techniques transformed into a force capable of annihilating all in its path.
Water would drown everything.