The chilling scene by the lakeside left all the spectators utterly dumbfounded. Many had not even managed to process what had happened. Some wondered if "Madman" Lodewijk was pulling some sort of stunt, or if there might still be another twist to come.
Yet as Gui Zihan got into his vehicle and departed, the "Lodewijk" on the ground remained completely motionless. It was as though the silence itself declared the finality of the outcome: the master of that pile of minced flesh would never rise again.
At that moment, the previously dead-silent crowd erupted like a boiling cauldron. Some cried out in shock, others cursed under their breath, while still others found it impossible to believe. Had this duel really ended so easily? Had the notoriously mad Lodewijk truly died just like that?!
For the ethnic Tawatina in attendance in particular, it was something they flatly refused to accept.
They had genuinely viewed Lodewijk as a hero. Even though his reputation was appalling, even though he had shown no mercy in slaughtering his own kin, and even though he was a wanted felon, he was still one of the few martial artists from their ethnic group. They feared him, yet worshiped him with feverish devotion.
In particular, Lodewijk completely fulfilled the fantasies of violence and dominance harbored by certain young people; the result before their eyes was simply unacceptable to them.
Someone shouted that it was not Lodewijk at all—that it was an impostor, a real lunatic who had deluded himself into believing he was Lodewijk, but lacked the prowess of a genuine martial artist and was thus slaughtered on the spot.
Such an assertion actually found favor with quite a few people, who convinced themselves that this must be the truth. It brought psychological solace to many young Tawatina, returning relaxed smiles to their faces, though the older members remained hesitant and deeply uneasy.
Meanwhile, the audience in the city was buzzing with chatter, voicing their confusion and discontent to the platforms broadcasting the live match. They had paid good money to watch, only for the bout to end practically the instant it began. The martial artists' fight was far less entertaining to watch than an ordinary clash between fighters, and they demanded an explanation from the platform.
The news media and prominent hosts, on the other hand, stayed quiet. They could neither confirm the true situation nor fathom what had just occurred, and were waiting for higher-ups to provide them with the concrete details.
During the duel, there had been martial artists responsible for security stationed around the perimeter. At this moment, their expressions were solemn as they gazed toward Lake Qiyuan. They, too, had been unable to clearly see that strike. That meant if that sword had been aimed at them, they would have been equally powerless to evade it.
Consequently, when the authorities inquired, they had no answers to offer.
Vea State was, after all, a city of combat. The platform acted swiftly, immediately bringing in analytical martial artists to reconstruct and slow down the field footage so they could dissect that sword strike as soon as possible.
Yet no matter how much the field footage was slowed down and frame-by-frame deconstructed, Gui Zihan's draw remained completely imperceptible. He had simply stood there gripping his hilt, and in the next instant released his grip, as if nothing in between had taken place.
Yet he had unquestionably done something. The only possible conclusion was that the strike's speed had exceeded the observational limits of the field recording equipment.
As a result, they could only speculate in their analyses.
Some believed it was a sword strike unleashed purely through the spirit. Such techniques existed across various nations, though they were most prevalent in the Eastern Continent and the Outer Ocean: one harbored and nurtured spirit within the sword's blade, keeping it deeply concealed under ordinary circumstances, only to unleash it upon encountering an enemy.
Because the blade served merely as a vessel while the actual attack was an incomparably sharp spiritual force, it was entirely normal for the naked eye and cameras to miss it.
Others argued that the strike was still delivered by the blade itself, but because the spiritual fire was intensely concentrated and the drawing speed excessively fast, the field sensors simply failed to record the event. Considering that Lodewijk had been sliced into pieces, such a result was hardly surprising.
With both sides clinging stubbornly to their arguments, a debate broke out on the platform, each party presenting their reasoning.
Martial artists of higher tiers had not bothered to watch the duel, yet from the descriptions and proceedings alone, they could roughly deduce what lay behind it. They reasoned that the sword and spirit had already merged into one, supported by specialized technique. Naturally, they had no intention of volunteering such insights publicly, so after hearing the reports, they simply returned to their own affairs.
Inside the private car, the orderly and the driver were thrilled, stealing frequent glances in the rearview mirror at Gui Zihan seated in the back. On the way here, they had never imagined the battle would end so quickly and cleanly; their prior worries had been entirely groundless.
Gui Zihan sat holding his sword, as expressionless as he had been on the ride over.
The swordplay he normally used when sparring with others was strictly meant for sparring. His true killing move relied on a sword momentum long nurtured and stored: once drawn, death was inevitable—either his foe's, or his own.
This swordsmanship was a Yang sword style and inherently flawed; it required the transition into a Yin sword style to achieve the harmony of Yin and Yang, allowing him to truly advance and withdraw at will. With the sword manual in hand, he had already successfully embarked upon this path.
It was not that his original lineage could not develop the transformation of Yin and Yang, but rather that without guidance, relying solely on his own comprehension might have taken years or even decades of honing. In that intervening time, there was no telling what insurmountable situations might have arisen.
Now, he needed to continue nurturing his sword. But the next time he drew it, its momentum would be even more formidable. For with every foe slain, the accumulated spirit and sword force would rise by a tier.
When breaking through to the Fourth Limit, he could have crossed the threshold entirely on his own strength, yet he had still taken a vow: never to strike down those who should not be struck down, never to sever that which should not be severed.
Only against people and things he deemed worthy of being slain would his sword be drawn. This extreme discipline had in return forged his swordsmanship into something far sharper.
When he returned to the hotel, the gaze of the corporate representatives and team members waiting there had changed completely. They had imagined a bitter struggle, and had even braced for a bleak aftermath should he be defeated or killed. Never had they anticipated such a dominating victory for their side.
Several corporate representatives declared on the spot their willingness to donate another batch of supplies to the delegation and send telegrams of gratitude back home. While such provisions were of little use to a martial artist, they were tangible benefits for the ordinary personnel below, significantly boosting morale.
Gui Zihan said to the telegraph operator, "Send a telegram to Section Chief Chen."
The operator replied with an eager "Yes, sir!" and hurried off.
At that very moment, Chen Chuan arrived outside the Center City of Serranocha State aboard an express train. Just as the train pulled into the station, a telegraph operator delivered a telegram into his hands.
It notified him that Gui Zihan had won the duel and "Madman" Lodewijk had been slain on the spot.
Having read it, Chen Chuan instructed the operator to reply that he acknowledged the message.
Moments later, the train came to a stop. He stepped down accompanied by his entourage. Having received prior notice that he was coming to assist in the investigation, the members of the International Investigation Delegation who had accompanied Skarson had already sent representatives to wait for him.
Seeing him disembark, the officer leading the group immediately stepped forward and said gratefully, "Section Chief Chen, thank you for coming to assist us."
Chen Chuan asked, "Still no news?"
The leader sighed. "We've hired and dispatched many people to make inquiries, but we still haven't found any trace of the captain's whereabouts."
He added, "Section Chief Chen, we also have some files for your review. Why don't you get in the car first, and we can talk on the way?"
Chen Chuan nodded. He had his entourage board the vehicles prepared in advance while he entered the delegation's private car.
As the vehicle drove out of the station, the leader handed over a dossier.
"Ever since the captain received the information provided by your side, he has been investigating the New Light Cult. He uncovered numerous traces of sacrificial rituals left behind by this cult in the past, during which those cultists tried to obstruct him.
"After obtaining some evidence, the captain discovered that the fissures near the Serranocha Center City were forming at a rate far exceeding normal conditions. He concluded that the New Light Cult's rituals were sabotaging the Center City's containment capacity. He reported this matter to the Federation authorities several times, but their response was deeply disappointing. Although they promised to investigate, no action was ever taken.
"Seeing that waiting would yield nothing, the captain decided to investigate further and personally put a stop to the New Light Cult's activities." He pointed with a finger. "All of this is the information the captain gathered and compiled over these past days."
Chen Chuan opened and flipped through it. Judging from the contents, the New Light Cult made no attempt to conceal its actions. In particular, they favored using First Folk and undocumented immigrants as sacrificial material, so evidence was by no means lacking; wherever small First Folk tribes vanished, copious traces were usually left behind.
The leader said, "Five days ago, the captain discovered a very crucial clue. He said he needed to verify a theory of his. However, he didn't specify where he was going beforehand; he only instructed us that if he didn't return in time, we should hand that key over to you." As he spoke, he gestured toward the inside of the dossier pouch.
Chen Chuan looked inside and pulled out a key from the document pouch. It was a key to a safe-deposit box at the Wansheng Financial Firm. Skarson had undoubtedly stored something in there.
Since Chen Chuan could not enter the Center City directly, he could only have the financial firm's personnel transport it out.
The motorcade came to a stop at the outpost established here by the international investigation team. Upon arrival, Chen Chuan immediately instructed an orderly to retrieve the items.
To guard against unexpected mishaps, the investigators also dispatched some security personnel to accompany him. Fortunately, everything went smoothly, and by the afternoon, the financial firm's security team had delivered the items intact.
When Chen Chuan received them, he opened the package to examine the contents. Inside were regional maps with geographical coordinates marked in the upper right corners. Locations circled in red ink were likely the spots Skarson had investigated.
Beneath them were photographs of the sites, along with Skarson's own notes. In addition, there were reports concerning the New Light Cult gathered from other Federation states.
These materials did not differ significantly from what he had previously seen; there seemed little reason to deliberately conceal them.
Yet after studying them a while longer, he sensed something amiss. He immediately had someone bring over a large map of the Federation. Comparing it against the files once more, he instantly spotted something anomalous.
Chapter 1125