As the sands were washed away to reveal the gold, the magical storms raging over the twelve dueling platforms grew increasingly turbulent, and true powerhouses began to take the stage. Both on and off the platforms, many concealed their faces and heads, clearly reluctant to reveal their true identities, but once they stepped into the ring, their prowess was unmistakably formidable.
Watching on, the cultivators of the Sword Palace fell gradually silent, their expressions turning solemn.
Just then, the eight massive spectator stands suddenly shifted back once more, and one of the dueling platforms in the arena expanded to twice its size accordingly, its storm of magical power soaring straight into the heavens!
Upon this automatically expanded platform stood a hundred-foot ancient giant holding an axe in one hand and a shield in the other, locked in fierce combat. Opposing him was a golem that appeared to be crafted entirely of steel.
The golem possessed mechanical wings on its back. One hand was transformed into a thick cannon barrel boasting boundless destructive power, while the other was a rotary autocannon firing ferocious barrages with no blind spots. Perched on each of its shoulders was a beehive launcher, continuously spewing flaming swarms that detonated upon striking the giant.
This steel puppet was virtually a mobile artillery battery. Soon, flames erupted from its feet, lifting it into the air, where it rained down torrents of fire upon the ancient giant from above. The ancient giant could only hunker behind his tower shield, blasted so mercilessly that he had no chance to strike back!
After an incense stick's worth of relentless bombardment, the ancient giant could finally hold out no longer. His tower shield shattered, and a subsequent cannon shot blasted him right out of the ring, losing the match.
The standard of this battle was exceptionally high; even the Scenery Command cultivators among the spectators looked on with grave expressions.
This manner of firepower was one of a kind, clearly the work of a cultivator nurtured by Qingming itself. Yet how many years had it been since Qingming was founded? Had even a cultivator raised entirely from scratch by them grown so ferocious? Just how many more such cultivators were there, and how much of Qingming's true strength remained concealed?
Having won the round, the steel puppet was overjoyed. Aiming its massive cannon at the sky, it fired a blast that blossomed into magnificent fireworks blanketing the entire arena, adding a touch of splendor to the grand assembly. Then, before tens of thousands of spectators, it cycled through several forms in succession, each varying slightly in color, appearance, and detail—white, red, black, and silver.
Finally, the steel puppet struck a pose. Its faceplate popped open, revealing a handsome, dashing young face.
It was Xu Wenwu's face, yet not quite. The eyes were larger than before, the face smaller, the nose more prominent and sharp, and the skin smooth and snowy white—the very image of a boy in the flower of youth.
Seeing the steel puppet's savage firepower and that his strength was clearly a cut above the other platforms, many cultivators wisely chose different arenas, leaving the steel puppet stranded alone.
Just as the cultivators thought themselves clever, two cultivators suddenly took the stage one after the other specifically to challenge the steel puppet. Their dharma idols were utterly mediocre, laughably inept; the moment they stepped up, the steel puppet kicked them off the platform, one after the other.
The crowd had been mocking the two fools for overestimating themselves, but when the steel puppet vanished and a cultivator wrapped entirely in robes—not revealing a shred of his true appearance—flew off the dueling platform, the onlookers finally realized: this fellow had won three matches in a row!
That worked too?!
In an instant, a whole new world opened before the crowd's eyes. Cultivators immediately began colluding in private and floating prices everywhere, preparing to sell off their two chances for a handsome sum. Still, most people wanted to genuinely fight for renown.
Spurred, perhaps, by the steel puppet, the pace of battles across the dueling platforms accelerated noticeably. A host of bizarre, ferocious dharma idols began to emerge, signaling the start of the tournament's second half.
Upon one dueling platform, a boundless sea of blood suddenly materialized. Amidst the sea lay an isolated isle, upon which sat a black-robed cultivator. The sea of blood was utterly calm, without so much as a single ripple, exceptionally eerie.
A cultivator who refused to believe in such malice stepped up to challenge him. Yet the moment he flew within range of the blood sea, he suddenly lost his ability to levitate and plunged into the waters, sinking straight to the bottom. Moments later, he floated back to the surface, already unconscious. With a wave of the cultivator's hand on the lonely island, the comatose challenger was swept out of the dueling platform.
Upon examination, Qingming's staff cultivators found that the unconscious man had merely suffered severe loss of vitality and clouded consciousness, with no danger to his life, so they did not intervene.
In the blink of an eye, three cultivators challenged him in succession—one adept at flight, one skilled in sword-kinesis, and one whose dharma idol was a deep-sea demon python. Yet every single one sank straight to the bottom upon touching the blood sea, without exception.
Having secured three consecutive victories, the cultivator showed no inclination to step down, continuing to wait for others to challenge him. The crowd wasn't stupid. Seeing three fairly capable cultivators succumb without even probing the depths of the blood sea, who would be willing to throw away their life?
Thus, cultivators scattered to look for opportunities at the other platforms, only to see a cluster of colossal, plantain-like celestial flora suddenly appear on an adjacent stage, casually whipping its leaves to send the platform's original occupant flying.
This plantain had no discernible trunk; it looked more like a giant grass several tens of feet tall, glossy and thick, with blackened leaf margins that seemed scorched by fire.
Compared to the sea of blood, the giant grass seemed a bit easier to push around. Immediately, a saber cultivator leaped onto the platform, his dharma idol a violent ape wielding a massive cleaver!
The violent ape had just charged up to the giant grass, intending to sever it at the roots, when a black flower suddenly bloomed from between the blades. Out of the flower reached a slender, glossy black, delicate hand. Grabbing the ape by the scalp, it hoisted the beast and violently slammed it repeatedly against the platform. Amid muffled thuds like shattering stone monuments, the entire dueling platform trembled!
In the blink of an eye, the violent ape vanished, and the challenging cultivator was left unconscious.
The spectators below shivered on the spot. Who could have imagined that even a stalk of grass was so violent and exceedingly treacherous, harboring a grass spirit within? Encountering it for the first time, one was bound to suffer a massive setback.
Unable to provoke the scorched-edged, black-flowered giant grass either, the crowd turned their eyes toward an unremarkable-looking cultivator. But as soon as someone took the stage to challenge him, that cultivator unleashed dozens of flying swords in one breath, piercing his opponent through.
This sword cultivator named Han Li was no pushover either...
Moving over another platform, a faint cloud of black mist drifted above. What kind of thing was that? Perplexed, many cultivators stepped up to test it, only to vanish into the black mist the moment they entered, before being flung back out a breath later, dead to the world.
Some with powerful divine senses attempted to peer through the black mist, but their divine sense vanished like a stone cast into the ocean, never to return.
Having suffered a silent loss, they backed away in horror, daring not go near the black mist again.
Just like that, the dueling platforms were soon filled entirely with formidable combatants, each match a grueling brawl. Buying victories no longer made any sense; no matter how many wins one purchased, one still had to unseat a platform master and hold it until the very end to earn the right to challenge a celestial idol candidate.
Many cultivators who had hoarded their chances, waiting for better offers, were seized with regret, but it was already too late.
At this point, a black-clad cultivator took a platform. His dharma idol was a glare-eyed Vajra, but its four arms each wielded a different sword. The Vajra clashed head-on against his opponent's thunder sword; the lightning discharging from the blade did limited damage to the Vajra's dharma body, while the thunder sword itself was fragile and could hardly endure the four-sword slashing onslaught. In the end, Lei Ling suffered defeat.
Among the watching cultivators, cold glints flashed in many eyes: Was this the Buddhist Sword?
At the same time, another platform drew everyone's attention. Upon it, a female cultivator's movement art was unpredictable and unimaginably fast, even capable of briefly shuttling through the void. Her opponent, however, fought with sweeping strikes, unleashing sheets of chilling frost with every wave of the hand. The woman grew progressively slower until she had no choice but to admit defeat and withdraw.
Watching the retreating back of that female cultivator, Li Zhi of Yanzhou felt she looked oddly familiar, as if he had seen her somewhere before.
Upon the platform for the twelve celestial idol candidates, Star Lord Shaoyang suddenly opened his eyes and looked toward the dueling platforms, his expression uncharacteristically grave.
The dueling platforms had reached the final stages. Many of the ferocious, bizarre dharma idols had been knocked out, replaced by several rather ordinary-looking cultivators. Among them was an exceptionally ugly male cultivator whom no one could ever forget once seen.
This man was truly strange. His dharma idol was utterly plain—just an ugly cultivator clutching a cleaver—yet somehow he always managed to secure victory. During combat, he mumbled incoherently, repeatedly taunting, 'Chop me! Come on, chop me!' His opponents would inevitably be provoked by this childish taunt, making inexplicable mistakes one after another before going down in defeat.
There was also a female cultivator whose dharma idol was a cotton-clad young maiden with a modest grasp of martial arts, yet she remained undefeated.
Within the Flourishing of the Many Realms, on a floating island in the fourth grotto-heaven, Wei Yuan humbly consulted Xihe: 'The enemy is vicious. Is there a way to guarantee victory?'
Xihe shot him a sidelong glare and said testily, 'Is this amusing to you?'
Wei Yuan said with utmost modesty, 'I wish to display some might to make the enemy wary. If they plot anything next time, let them come for me, not for my master.'
Xihe asked, 'You wish to vie for the sword dao?'
'Yes.'
Xihe rolled her eyes. 'What is there to vie for in that thing? It surfaced quietly once in the past, seeking me out of its own accord to inherit it, but I ignored it.'
Wei Yuan was deeply impressed, feeling that Fourth Generation Elder Sister's poise was truly unrivaled under heaven—though it was rather difficult to figure out an angle from which to emulate her.
Xihe looked at Wei Yuan, sighed, and said, 'Never mind. I shall pass on a method to you, named: One Sword Breaks Ten Thousand Arts.'
This method held great profundity within simplicity; Xihe explained it in just a few sentences. Wei Yuan contemplated it for a moment, then asked, 'Where is the sword?'
'All things in creation may serve as a sword.'
Wei Yuan pondered a moment longer, then finally nodded, thanked her, and took his leave.
Moments later, hearty laughter suddenly rang across the dueling grounds. A jade-faced cultivator leaped onto the platform, facing the cultivator suspected of wielding the Buddhist Sword, and proclaimed aloud, 'I, the Sword Saint of the West, Li Ye, have come specifically to test your mettle!'
Below the stage, a Qingming staff member murmured in confusion, 'Li Ye? I thought he had a beard!'
Another staff member quickly tugged at his sleeve and whispered, 'Mind your own business. Maybe he just shaved it off!'
On the stage, the monk lifted his cowl to reveal a shaven head and bowed with palms together. 'Benefactor acts against right principle and violates the Heavenly Dao. Incompetent though this humble monk may be, today I shall subjugate the demon!'
Li Ye gave a cold laugh. 'From what I see, your Buddhist teachings are mediocre, Master, and your fists and feet aren't much better! What will you subjugate demons with?'
'Since Benefactor remains obstinately unrepentant, this humble monk also knows a little—' The monk stopped halfway through, only then realizing that Li Ye had already stolen his thunder.
With that, neither spoke any further nonsense. The monk summoned his four-sword Vajra mighty warrior once more. At this moment, every gaze in the heavens and on earth gathered upon them.
Li Ye raised a finger to the heavens, each word resounding like thunder: 'I have a sword that can break ten thousand arts!'
In midair appeared a palm-sized flying sword trailing a rope behind it. The sword plummeted straight toward the Vajra, the rope paying out longer and longer until it abruptly reached its end—and dragged a blazing, glorious sun out of the void!
This great sun was far larger than the entire dueling platform. As it crashed down with a deafening roar, the colossal venue violently jolted! Li Ye stood atop the great sun like an immortal or buddha!
When the sun dispersed, the dueling platform had vanished into thin air. In the center of the ruins lay a monk, alive or dead none could tell.
Chapter 1028