The So-Called Prodigy Is Nothing More Than This

The Prodigy Sword Arena sat at the very heart of the Burial Abyss of Heaven.

It was a vast, open plain, and at its center stood an enormous stone platform. The platform rose a hundred zhang into the air, hewn from some nameless black rock, its surface densely carved with runes that breathed an ancient, mysterious aura. Every single mark bore the weight of ages long past.

Around the platform, thousands of cultivators had gathered. Some sat cross-legged in meditation, others clustered in small groups murmuring among themselves, while still more craned their necks to watch the evenly matched battle raging atop the stage. The air thrummed with interwoven auras—waves of heat and waves of cold surging back and forth, tearing the entire plain apart with two diametrically opposed forces.

On the platform at that moment, two prodigies were locked in fierce combat.

One was a burly youth clad in fiery red battle armor, his body wreathed in towering flames. Every punch he threw roused the fire of heaven and earth, and wherever his fists passed, the very air warped into twisted, shimmering ripples of heat.

The other was a handsome young man wielding a pale blue sword, frigid cold radiating from his form. Each arc of his blade left trails of fine ice crystals that refracted the sun into a kaleidoscope of seven-colored light.

Fire against ice, each pushing the other to the limit, equally matched, locked in a stalemate that drew gasp after gasp from the crowd below.

"It's Yan Lie, the Saint of the Blazing Sun Holy Land, and Gu Hanzhou, the Young Master of the Ice Soul Sect!"

"Both of them rank in the top twenty of the Abyssal Prodigy List—who knew they'd run into each other here!"

"Today's battle will decide who's superior once and for all!"

The onlookers buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Duels like this came once in a century, and every man present held his breath, terrified of missing a single detail.

Yet just as the two combatants reached the white-hot peak of their clash, a single, utterly flat voice cut through from beyond the crowd.

"Is that all?"

The voice was not loud—casual, even dismissive—yet it pierced through all the noise with strange clarity, landing distinctly in every ear present.

The crowd went quiet for a heartbeat. Then every head turned toward the source.

A young man in white robes with silver hair was walking slowly toward the arena, a little girl in tow. He moved at a leisurely pace, but his steps were sure and steady. On his youthful face hung a faint, ambiguous smile, and in his eyes lay an unabashed, languid contempt.

Not the deliberate arrogance of someone trying to prove a point—but a relaxation that seeped from the marrow of his bones. Like a man standing atop a mountain peak, gazing down at the bustling ants at its base.

"What did you say?" Yan Lie roared from the platform.

He was the Saint of the Blazing Sun Holy Land. His cultivation had been honed through years of grueling effort. Who had ever dared to belittle him like this? The fury threatened to consume every shred of his reason.

"I said," Ye Xuan replied evenly, "that with strength like that, you dare call yourselves prodigies?" There was no heat of provocation in his tone—only an irritating, man-and-mountain calm.

At those words, the entire venue erupted.

"Who is this man? How dare he be so arrogant!"

"Does he have no idea who Yan Lie and Gu Hanzhou are? Both of them are late-stage Void Refinement masters!"

"He's courting death! Utterly courting death!"

One after another, the crowd shook their heads, certain the white-robed youth was either a reckless fool or a madman who had grown tired of living.

But amid the uproar, a handful of well-informed cultivators who recognized the young man's attire went pale in an instant.

"White robes... could he be...?"

"The White-Clad God of Slaughter!"

"Heavens, it's the White-Clad God of Slaughter—the one who slew a Soul Fusion expert with a single sword strike!"

The moment that name was spoken, the entire arena sank into a dead, suffocating silence.

Those who had been shouting "courting death" swallowed their words mid-sentence, all at once. Every pair of eyes turned to Ye Xuan, staring as if at a monster—shock, reverence, and a bone-deep terror creeping through each gaze.

The dire reputation of the White-Clad God of Slaughter had already spread through the entire Burial Abyss of Heaven over the past few days.

It was said that this man needed only one move to slay anyone who stood in his path. Behind him, he left only corpses too swift to even scream.

More horrifying still—he not only killed, he looted. Every prodigy unfortunate enough to cross his path was stripped of all their belongings, not even a storage ring left behind.

The name White-Clad God of Slaughter had become the shadow lurking in the hearts of every prodigy within the Burial Abyss of Heaven.

Yan Lie and Gu Hanzhou upon the platform both darkened at the name.

But Yan Lie, born as a Saint, carried a fierce pride in his heart. After a brief second, he let out a cold snort and leaped down from the platform, charging straight at Ye Xuan.

"Hmph! White-Clad God of Slaughter? Nothing but hearsay and exaggeration! Let me see what you're really made of!"

"Blazing Sun Fist That Burns the Heavens!"

Yan Lie threw a punch, and in an instant, endless flames condensed into a colossal fist imprint, carrying a devastating, all-consuming heat, backed by the momentum of ten thousand mountains, hurtling toward Ye Xuan.

This was the supreme art of the Blazing Sun Holy Land. Witnesses had once seen Yan Lie reduce an entire mountain peak to ash with this very blow. The sheer ferocity of it made hearts quail.

Ye Xuan did not even lift his eyelids.

He simply raised a hand, curled a finger, and flicked.

Ting.

A gray sliver of sword energy shot out from his fingertip—silent, weightless, yet faster than lightning. It pierced through the enormous flame fist in an instant.

Boom.

The fist exploded mid-air, scattering into a rain of fire that ignited the surrounding grass and brush. But the gray sword energy never lost its momentum, flying straight toward the center of Yan Lie's brow, so fast that even a blink could not catch it.

"No good!" Yan Lie's face twisted in alarm. He furiously channeled his internal energy, condensing a shield of flames in front of him, covering every inch of his body in a wall of fire.

But then—

Shhk.

The sword energy passed through the shield as if it were tissue paper, not slowing in the slightest.

Pfft.

Yan Lie's shoulder was pierced through. Blood sprayed into the air. A ragged scream tore from his throat as he hurtled backward and slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Total silence.

Everyone stood frozen, their minds blank.

The Saint of the Blazing Sun Holy Land. Ranked eighteenth on the Abyssal Prodigy List. Defeated in one move?

And with nothing more than a casual flick of the finger?

The disbelief washed over the onlookers like a tidal wave, crushing the breath from their lungs.

Ye Xuan withdrew his hand, staring calmly at Yan Lie sprawled in the dirt. The corner of his mouth curled upward—a faint, careless smirk.

"With strength like that, you dare to bark in front of me?"

His tone was quiet, swept clean of any heat, as if he were remarking on some trivial, worthless thing.

But the arrogance and certainty that radiated from his bones pressed down upon every present like an invisible mountain.

Such was the arrogance of youth.

Not the blind recklessness of ignorance—but the natural, born confidence built upon absolute, undeniable power.

Yan Lie struggled to rise, but the wound on his shoulder gave him no purchase. He could only glare at Ye Xuan, his eyes burning with unwilling frustration and rage.

"You... who are you, really?"

"Me?" Ye Xuan smiled faintly. "Just a wandering cultivator passing through."

"Impossible! No wandering cultivator could have that kind of power!" Yan Lie gnashed his teeth.

"Believe it or not, that's up to you." Ye Xuan shrugged, then shifted his gaze to Gu Hanzhou, who still hadn't moved on the stage, a hint of lazy provocation in his eyes. "What about you? Want to give it a try too?"

Gu Hanzhou's face darkened, his fingers tightening around his sword.

He could clearly feel the unfathomable danger radiating from the white-clad youth before him. But he was Gu Hanzhou, the Young Master of the Ice Soul Sect. With a thousand pairs of eyes watching, he had no room to retreat.

"Fine! Let me see just how deep your strength really goes!"

Gu Hanzhou took a deep breath. The chill around him surged violently, and in the biting frost, his entire form seemed to turn into a crystalline ice sculpture, radiating a bone-piercing killing intent.

"Ice Soul Sword Art!"

He swung his sword, and countless ice-blue sword qi converged from every direction, densely packed—tens of thousands of them in total.

The sword qi spiraled and interwove in the air, eventually coalescing into a colossal ice dragon. Its roar shook the heavens as it charged toward Ye Xuan, carrying with it a bone-freezing cold that could seal the world itself.

This was the ultimate technique passed down with the full might of the Ice Soul Sect. Gu Hanzhou had never used it in front of anyone before—today was the first time, and it was the last card he had left.

Yet Ye Xuan still stood in place, unmoving.

He simply stood there, his gaze as calm as an unfathomable deep pool, watching the sky-obscuring ice dragon. There wasn't even a trace of gravity in his expression.

Just as the ice dragon was about to slam into him, he uttered a single word, soft and light.

"Break."

A gray sword qi shot out from between his brows—as thin as a strand of hair, yet as sharp as if it could split heaven and earth apart.

Crack!

The ice dragon shattered inch by inch from head to tail mid-air, bursting into countless shards of ice that scattered in a flurry, refracting starlight in the sunlight—a beauty that chilled the heart. But that sword qi didn't slow at all. It pierced through the shattered ice and shot straight for Gu Hanzhou.

Gu Hanzhou's pupils shrank to pinpricks. He frantically squeezed every last drop of spiritual power from his body, condensing a thick shield of frozen ice in front of him.

But then—

"Shhk."

The sword qi pierced through the ice, punching clean through his chest.

"Pwah!"

Gu Hanzhou spat out a mouthful of blood, frozen mid-air, his eyes filled with an unshakeable shock and unwillingness. His proudest, strongest strike had been broken with effortless ease. The feeling of helplessness choked him more than death itself.

"Thud."

His body plummeted from the sky, slamming hard onto the stone stage, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Once again, the entire arena plunged into deathly silence.

Two great prodigies, both ranked in the top twenty of the Abyssal God Rankings, had fallen one after another before the same person. And that person hadn't moved even half a step the entire time.

Was this even human?

Ye Xuan withdrew his gaze and slowly swept his eyes over everyone present, a playful smile curling at the corner of his mouth—the kind of smile that carried a youth's unrestrained arrogance.

"Anyone else want to try?"

The words weren't loud, but they dropped like a stone into still water, ripples spreading long and far.

No one dared to answer. No one even dared to meet his eyes. Those prodigies who usually walked with their heads held high, looking down on everyone around them, now stood as still as statues, barely daring to breathe, terrified that this youth's gaze might linger on them for even a moment longer.

Seeing no one respond, Ye Xuan turned around and let his gaze fall upon the enormous stone stele beside the stage.

The Abyssal God Rankings.

Names upon names covered the entire face of the stele. At the very top was the name of a mysterious swordsman called "Sword Nameless"—a man said to have unfathomable strength.

Below him was Luo Qinghan, the Saintess of the Jade Pool Holy Land; then Xiao Yuntian, the Saint of the Grand Xuan Heavenly Sect...

One illustrious name after another, like the brightest stars in this abyss, drawing the reverence of countless cultivators.

Ye Xuan looked at these names, a glint of amusement passing through his eyes, and then he curved his lips slightly.

He raised his hand, and a sword qi gathered at his fingertip.

Boom!

The stele that had borne the glory and dreams of countless prodigies shattered into pieces under the force of that sword qi, reduced to rubble and dust strewn across the ground.

In the silence that followed the falling debris, Ye Xuan's voice came unhurriedly, each word landing with weight.

"As of today, this ranking is void." He lifted his gaze, sweeping across the heavens and earth around him, his smile never fading. "Because I'm here."

Those eight words, carrying no deliberate embellishment, possessed a weight that made the heart tremble, echoing over Sword Discussion Platform long after they were spoken.