Chapter Forty-Nine: A Skill That Amazes All

After witnessing Lin Xiaobao’s mastery over formations and talismans, Long Xingtian genuinely worried that Lin Xiaobao might fight through the entire competition with nothing but his talismans. If Lin Xiaobao only ended up embarrassing himself, that would be a minor issue, but the contribution points wagered in their bet were what Long Xingtian had diligently saved up throughout the year. Losing them would be truly heartbreaking.

"Since Senior Brother Long had the nerve to make the challenge, how could I not accompany you with the sword?" As he spoke, a clear sword cry rang out; the Seven Stars Sword had already appeared in Lin Xiaobao’s hand. "How do you want to play this?"

"My sword is called Thunderclap, so my strikes are as swift as thunder," announced Zou Wenshan, the Thunderclap Sword disciple, giving Lin Xiaobao a friendly warning. Yet, before the first word had fully left his lips, his figure blurred into a streak of light, rushing straight at Lin Xiaobao. By the time the last syllable faded, a dozen sword lights had already sealed off every avenue around Lin Xiaobao.

Peak of the Ninth Rank, Postnatal Martial Artist! The instant Thunderclap Sword acted, Lin Xiaobao saw through his cultivation. Though his sword speed was fast for his peers, in Lin Xiaobao’s eyes—famed for his own swiftness—it was considerably slow.

With a casual, unhurried gait, Lin Xiaobao weaved through the overlapping sword shadows, evading without ever striking back.

Thunderclap Sword performed his signature technique twice, yet failed to so much as brush Lin Xiaobao’s sleeve. Now, more and more disciples began to realize that this Senior Brother Lin might not be as simple as rumors suggested.

"Does Senior Brother Lin only know how to dodge?" As Lin Xiaobao slipped away like a loach, and the corner of his eye caught Long Xingtian’s increasingly grim expression, Thunderclap Sword began to taunt him.

"Are you sure you want me to attack?" Lin Xiaobao smiled. "I’ve let you show off this mediocre technique twice. Since you insist, let me show you what a true fast sword really means!"

Suddenly, the arena was blanketed in overlapping sword light, the air filled with the clash of metal. Except for Elder Zhi Cheng and a handful of personal disciples, no one present could see through the sword light to discern the movements of the two on stage.

A few heartbeats later, the sword light vanished. Lin Xiaobao sheathed his sword, folded his arms, and stood at ease. A gentle breeze swept by, and Thunderclap Sword felt an icy chill. Looking down, he saw his entire robe had been sliced into countless strips fluttering away on the wind, leaving only a single pair of intact underpants.

Yes, completely unscathed underpants—not a sword mark upon them. What did this mean? It meant that even at such unimaginable speed, Lin Xiaobao could still control his sword to perfection. If Lin Xiaobao had chosen otherwise...

At this realization, Thunderclap Sword’s blade clattered to the ground, and a wet stain blossomed across his underpants, quickly spreading and dripping in a vertical stream to the floor.

The entire Frostwind Hall fell silent. If Lin Xiaobao's talent with talismans could be attributed to innate genius, then the strength he’d just revealed had undoubtedly already stepped into the realm of Innate Martial Artist.

Three years since joining the sect, he had risen from a novice with no prior cultivation to an innate martial artist. Was that even humanly possible?

Cen Shuya had also stood up. Though she’d known beforehand that Lin Xiaobao would win, she had never imagined he would win so cleanly, so beautifully.

Long Xingtian stood in shock, staring at Lin Xiaobao, momentarily forgetting that he and his allies had just lost twelve thousand contribution points. Suddenly, he realized that, faced with Lin Xiaobao’s strength, his own petty schemes were utterly laughable.

Long Xingtian saw more clearly than the others. Based on what Lin Xiaobao had just displayed, he possessed at least the eighth rank of innate martial power. But how had he achieved this? Two years ago, he was still an ordinary martial artist. Recalling his own arduous path of cultivation, a fierce jealousy rose in Long Xingtian’s heart, which soon twisted into envious resentment.

But perhaps this was for the best. With Lin Xiaobao’s strength, he was certain to enter the competition for personal disciples. When that time came, Long Xingtian swore he would make sure Lin Xiaobao never returned! At the thought, Long Xingtian unconsciously touched the pill bottle hidden in his storage pouch.

"Thunderclap Sword wet himself!" Someone in the crowd was first to recover, shouting out loud. The stillness in Frostwind Hall shattered, replaced by chaos and uproar.

Most people had come merely for the spectacle; whose embarrassment they witnessed hardly mattered, as long as it offered them a moment of amusement in the monotony of cultivation.

Thus, after someone broke the silence, a torrent of mockery rained down on Thunderclap Sword from all directions.

Watching all this coldly, Lin Xiaobao suddenly felt no joy. If it weren’t for the help of his two elders, he would have been the one standing on that stage, the object of ridicule. In this world, without strength, everything would drift away from you.

Thunderclap Sword finally snapped out of his daze. The jeers ringing in his ears left him no time to retrieve his fallen blade; mortified, he scrambled out of Frostwind Hall, which would forever haunt him as a living nightmare.

With Thunderclap Sword gone, all eyes once again settled on Lin Xiaobao, but now, almost every gaze brimmed with admiration and respect.

Yet Lin Xiaobao found little pleasure in it. His time was precious; was he to waste every day fending off these bothersome gnats? With this thought, Lin Xiaobao made a decision—to instill fear, to wield a heavy hand and intimidate these unwelcome pests, Long Xingtian included. Raising his sword tip, Lin Xiaobao pointed at the remaining eight top-ranked formal disciples below the stage. "My time is limited. You all may come at once."

Challenging the top eight formal disciples simultaneously? What was Lin Xiaobao thinking? Was he planning to take on all the formal disciples by himself? Many who had just admired him now looked on with resentment.

A slap in the face!

Lin Xiaobao’s move was a blatant slap in the face—not just to the top ten, but to every formal disciple present.

The remaining eight hesitated for only a moment before leaping onto the platform in unison, doing their best to suppress their emotions. "Since Senior Brother Lin wishes to instruct us, we have no choice but to stake our lives and oblige!" Though their words were polite, the hostility in their tone was unmistakable. Should Lin Xiaobao make even a single misstep, none of them would show mercy.

Lin Xiaobao cared little for this. To prevent future trouble, he needed to establish dominance—and now, he certainly had the strength to do so.

Swords clanged as they were drawn. Of the eight on stage, only Liu Chanyang, the formal disciples’ champion, wielded his sword alone. The other seven each gripped a sword in their right hand and a talisman in their left.

Clearly, they acknowledged Lin Xiaobao’s strength; even with eight against one, they treated him as the strongest foe. Moreover, they hoped to defeat him as swiftly as possible, to salvage some shred of dignity for the formal disciples.