Journey of True Cultivation

Not Holding Back any Longer

"Haha, Brother Hao, it seems another member of your group has fallen! Looks like our group will be the victor today!" Jianhai said, swinging his wooden sword once again at Zhenhao. A wide smile stretched across his face as he taunted, but to his surprise, Zhenhao laughed too.

"What's so funny? Have you already accepted defeat? Well, that's true adaptation!" Jianhai sneered.

But Zhenhao just shook his head, his smile widening to match Jianhai's. But unlike Jianhai's, Zhenhao's eyes gleamed with genuine amusement.

Annoyed by the look in his opponent's eyes, Jianhai's lips twitched with irritation. He lashed out again, but like before, Zhenhao met his strike with ease.

Their swords locked, and for a moment, they stood still, eye to eye.

Then Zhenhao spoke, his grin still in place, but now paired with a glint of sharp confidence.

"Do you really think that's all there is to it? How naive, Brother Hai." His grip on his sword tightened, and he shoved Jianhai back a step, catching him off guard.

"You think we didn't anticipate this situation? Heh... you underestimate us. Yes, you've beaten us in most group spars, especially with Haodao not even participating, but did you really think we'd just give up?"

His voice grew firmer, his gaze alight with conviction. Then, with another forceful swing, he shouted, "Ha! Naive! Today, we will win this spar, even with Haodao on your side!"

For a moment, Jianhai froze, stunned by the unwavering confidence radiating from Zhenhao. He had never seen this side of him before. But as the sword came down, Jianhai snapped out of it just in time.

The Sword struck his left shoulder, lightly, nowhere serious enough to be disqualified.

Jianhai stepped back, trying to regain his footing, but Zhenhao was relentless, slashing and swinging his sword without mercy, staying on him like a shadow.

Sweat dripped from their foreheads, soaking into their robes, which clung to their bodies. Both were visibly exhausted. Yet, despite their fatigue, their eyes told a different story.

Zhenhao's gaze burned with fierce confidence, while Jianhai's eyes held the resolve of a man who believed everything would go according to plan.

Their movements slowed, each swing, step, and block growing heavier with effort. Their breathing deepened, turning ragged. Jianhai had the advantage here.

His cultivation technique emphasized breath control and endurance. Zhenhao's technique, though also focused on stamina, leaned more toward maintaining a constant speed, because of that, while Zhenhao was faster, he was also quicker to tire.

Now, his speed had dulled just enough that Jianhai could keep up.

Locked in combat, they had entered a world of their own, where nothing else existed. Only a thought rang in their minds.

"Endure the fight!" "Defeat him!" But then, a voice cut through their private battlefield, loud and clear.

"Anbo and Sanye, out!"

"What?" Jianhai exclaimed, stunned.

His head jerked toward the source of the voice. His eyes

He could feel the ache in his limbs, the weight of fatigue dragging at every step, but none of it mattered. His breath steadied, his grip tightened, he would not falter.

"For the Young Talent Tournament," Zhenhao whispered.

Then he raised his sword.