Chapter Fifteen: Heir of the Sword Sect

Moreover, Young Master Wu ranked sixth among the many disciples of the Huashan Sword Sect, which alone was testament to his remarkable abilities. While others might not be familiar with the inner workings of these ancient sects, Miao Shilin knew them well. The disciples of the Huashan Sword Sect were divided into four categories: outer disciples, inner disciples, core disciples, and seed disciples.

Of these, the status of seed disciples was the most noble and dazzling. They were typically selected and evaluated personally by the Sect Master and the council of elders. In every sect, their number was extremely limited, and each seed disciple was a precious asset. Any harm to a seed disciple dealt a significant blow to the sect.

Seed disciples enjoyed privileges and treatment far superior to other disciples, and even their titles differed distinctly. While all other disciples held no rank among their peers, only seed disciples were entitled to ranking. This Young Master Wu Haotian, ranked sixth among his peers, was clearly a seed disciple of the Huashan Sword Sect.

Records stated that the Huashan Sword Sect possessed thirteen sword techniques renowned throughout the entire Southern Continent, each profound and difficult to master. The inheritors of these thirteen techniques were lauded in the cultivation world as the "Thirteen Swords of Huashan," a title of unrivaled prestige. Each generation of the sect had at least thirteen seed disciples, each corresponding to one of the thirteen sword arts. However, it was unknown which sword technique the Sixth Young Master had inherited.

Now that Wu Haotian had spoken so confidently, it was clear he felt no difficulty in defeating Che Yeming within ten moves. After all, if he could not overcome a peer from a minor region in ten moves, it would damage not only his reputation as an inheritor of the Thirteen Swords but also that of the Huashan Sword Sect.

Miao Shilin, still somewhat uneasy, added, “As long as Young Master Wu does his utmost, I shall have no complaints.”

Wu Haotian nodded and smiled, “Rest assured. How could I fake anything in front of so many distinguished figures of the Immortal Dao? Besides, I have no ties with Che Yeming; there’s no reason to show him any favoritism.”

Seeing Miao Shilin nod in response, Wu Haotian’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Che Yeming, I hope you cherish this chance to survive.”

The crowd cleared a wide space for the two. Young Master Wu still maintained his refined demeanor, standing casually opposite Che Yeming. Once Che Yeming had taken his place, Wu Haotian reminded him, “Be careful; this is the first move.” With that, he delivered a light, floating palm strike.

Che Yeming, uncertain of his opponent’s strength, focused and responded with his own palm. Their palms met briefly in midair, then parted. Both bodies swayed slightly; the first exchange was evenly matched, with neither gaining the upper hand.

Among the spectators, those of lesser cultivation were stirred by the force of the exchange, their breath momentarily halted. The more discerning in the crowd saw the strength in the youths’ palms and realized both possessed cultivation at the mid-stage of the Return to Origin realm. They were astounded; since when had the mid-stage of Return to Origin become so commonplace that even two twelve-year-olds could reach it? Many cultivators could not achieve such heights in a lifetime.

Wu Haotian and Che Yeming, after exchanging palms, were both surprised at the other’s prowess. Che Yeming was astonished to finally meet a formidable opponent of his realm, and so young at that, which only fueled his competitive spirit. Wu Haotian, however, was amazed to find such a remarkable figure in a minor region; it was simply inconceivable.

Wu Haotian purposely tested Che Yeming’s cultivation, eager to see how far the youth had progressed. Without pause, he launched one palm after another, each faster and heavier, his hands weaving like butterflies among flowers, dazzling to behold. Che Yeming showed no weakness, meeting each attack head-on without a trace of fear. Their moves were swift; in an instant, they had exchanged seven more blows. In these seven moves, Che Yeming matched Wu Haotian evenly, showing no signs of being outclassed.

Wu Haotian grew more astonished as the fight continued. What an extraordinary youth—so powerful even before any refinement; truly a rare gem. If a supreme force were to nurture him, his future would be limitless.

Wu Haotian, finding his opponent so impressive, could not help but feel admiration. He looked at Che Yeming with appreciation and said with a smile, “Brother Che, be careful; try my ninth palm.” He raised his right hand slightly, his expression solemn, and intoned, “Haotian Palm, First Form: Waves Stirring the Azure Sea—go!”

It was a simple, unadorned strike, yet blindingly fast, crashing down like a mountain upon Che Yeming. The crowd was stunned—what tremendous force! This was surely the true standard of a Huashan Sword Sect disciple. Such power, even a late-stage Return to Origin cultivator might not withstand it. That Young Master Wu could unleash such force at the mid-stage was truly astonishing.

Che Yeming saw the ferocity of the attack and his expression grew grave. He let out a loud shout, his hands repeatedly striking, “Boom! Boom! Boom!” Explosions echoed as the force spilled over, ravaging the ground and forcing the crowd to retreat under the onslaught. Che Yeming, under such overwhelming force, spat a mouthful of blood and was sent flying backwards.

Miao Shilin watched with a dark heart. No wonder none of the Miao family disciples had survived; even under such fierce palm strikes, Che Yeming had not died. Though his cultivation was mid-stage Return to Origin, he could fully contend with late-stage cultivators. Seeing Che Yeming’s extraordinary talent, Miao’s resolve to eliminate him only grew.

Wu Haotian looked at Che Yeming’s pale face and felt even more admiration. If only he could bring Che Yeming into the Huashan Sword Sect as his master’s disciple, then the Haotian Sword lineage would gain another seed disciple and inheritor. With mutual support, they might overshadow the other sword lineages.

Yet, he was publicly representing the Huashan Sword Sect today, and if he did not give the Miao family a satisfactory answer, even if no one dared protest, word would spread, and the sect’s reputation would suffer.

Wu Haotian shook his head slightly—so be it. He glanced at the tense faces in the crowd, finally settling his gaze on Che Yeming. He smiled and said, “Brother Che, there’s one last move.”

Che Yeming snorted coldly, “Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Though he spoke lightly, he was extremely cautious at heart—Wu Haotian was a formidable foe. He was not gravely injured, but not lightly either; this final move promised to be perilous.

Wu Haotian nodded, his youthful face solemn. His hands began to perform intricate, enigmatic gestures, his mid-stage cultivation pushed to the limit. Waves of spiritual pressure radiated from his hands, spreading outwards. After a long moment, he shouted, “Brother Che, beware! Haotian Palm, Second Form: Surging Waves—go!” A force even greater than before, like rivers and seas roaring, rushed toward Che Yeming.

The Che couple’s faces changed—how could this be power from a mid-stage Return to Origin cultivator? The force of this palm was nearly at the peak of the realm. Young Master Wu was truly formidable; the Huashan Sword Sect’s foundation was beyond imagination.

As everyone expected, Che Yeming could barely resist; in a blink, he was sent flying like scattered chaff. Only Wu Haotian knew that, though the palm was powerful, he had used mainly soft force, aiming not to harm. Even so, Che Yeming would not fare well, for this was the utmost limit of Wu Haotian’s current abilities.

Fortunately, the opponent was Che Yeming. Had it been someone else, even if Wu intended to hold back, the other might not have survived. Wu Haotian had gone to great lengths to spare Che Yeming.

Miao Shilin, however, cared little for such concerns. Seeing his great vengeance fulfilled, he clasped his hands to Wu Haotian and said, “Thank you, Young Master Wu, for upholding justice. Your noble conduct is truly—what? Impossible!”

Before he finished, he saw Che Yeming struggling to rise from the ground. It was as if he’d seen a ghost—he simply could not believe Che Yeming had survived such overwhelming force. Yet the truth was before him: severely injured, Che Yeming was nonetheless alive.

Wu Haotian paid no mind to the differing sentiments around him; his expression remained calm as he addressed the crowd: “Since Brother Che has managed to grasp a sliver of life from certain death, it must be fate’s will. Let him take this lesson to heart, mend his ways, and become a rising star of our Immortal Dao Alliance. As for the feud between the Miao and Che families, let it end here…”

Miao Shilin, seeing that Che Yeming had not died, was filled with bitter resentment. Why should his own son be dead while Che Yeming lived? The Huashan Sword Sect had granted Che Yeming a chance at life; who would grant his own son the same? Before Wu Haotian could finish, Miao Shilin cut in sharply, “Wait!”

Wu Haotian, interrupted rudely, looked at Miao Shilin with displeasure but suppressed his irritation and said, “What, does the Miao Patriarch wish to break his word?”

Miao Shilin shook his head. “With the Huashan Sword Sect overseeing justice, I would not dare go back on my word. However, Che Yeming’s bloodshed is too great. Though he may escape death, he cannot escape punishment.”

The crowd found Miao Shilin’s words intriguing and all turned to him. He continued, “As a warning, and to prove his determination to change, let Che Yeming sever his right arm in front of all present. This will convince everyone of his resolve.”

Before Miao Shilin finished, the Che family erupted in protest. To lose the right arm was to lose half one’s cultivation; such a punishment was unbearable for an immortal cultivator. Che Yeming responded with a cold voice, “You think you can take my right arm?”

Miao Shilin glanced at Che Yeming and smiled coldly. He turned, seized the frail Che Wuyou from a disciple behind him, and said, “Then let me trade his life for your right arm.”

His words brought silence to all. Che Yeming’s pale face flashed with anger and, even more, with struggle. Che Hongshi opened his mouth, only to sigh in resignation—what could he say?

As silence reigned, a weak, childish voice sounded: “You fool, you idiot! I don’t have many days left, and you still use my life to threaten others? Aren’t you ashamed?” Che Wuyou’s dull face showed disdain as he spoke, unable to fathom Miao Shilin’s stupidity in using the life of someone already dying as leverage. He couldn’t help but scorn Miao Shilin once more.