A Single Draw

Fang Lang and Liu Hao had a duel!

The news spread like wildfire through the third floor of the seventh study block.

Fang Lang was not known by many in the academy. Although he was one of the rich, his family background was nothing noteworthy. Those who attended classes in the academy had to be either rich or destitute.

On the other hand, Liu Hao was a well-known student owing to his reputation as one of the talented common folk students.

The match was between a rich kid and a common folk student. Was the common folk student forced into this?

The news spread quickly to the other study halls—many students were curious about the outcome.

Students made their way to the practice grounds, chattering as they went.

"Fang Lang? From the Fang family in Luojiang City? I heard he ranks in the 700s. A third-grade sword disciple… Is he even a good representative for the upper class?"

"I heard the duel stemmed from jealousy and the girl is the third name on the honor roll, Ni Wen."

"I don't think it's about jealousy. Fang Lang went to Ni Wen with some questions about cultivation. Then, Liu Hao came to stir up trouble."

"Is it? What an attitude on a common folk genius."

"Liu Hao is a fifth-grade martial arts disciple. If Fang Lang doesn't use any spell charms, he'd be asking for a beating."

…

On the limestone path to the practice grounds, green-robed students were exchanging curious words and whispers.

The students from the third floor of the seventh study block had taken their sides. A number of upper class students followed Fang Lang while most of the common folk students went with Liu Hao.

The two boys approached the practice grounds with their auras blazing.

Fang Lang was spearheading the group. His eyebrows were knitted together as he recalled the details of the Sword Draw Technique.

The System said the technique was incorporated through mental memory and muscle memory. There were new memories relating to the Sword Draw Technique floating in his mind. Even his palm showed calluses from the sword training he supposedly went through in the past. Despite all this, he was still nervous.

Liu Hao was a fifth-grade martial arts disciple who had a natural talent that Fang Lang could only dream of.

As Fang Lang was deep in thought, a flash of green came into his vision. Someone was standing in front of him.

"Lang'zi, are you confident?"

It was a boy with a floppy mop of hair. He stroked his fringe as he asked the question.

Fang Lang stopped thinking about the Sword Draw Technique and lifted his head.

Yang Zhengyi was an eighth-grade spell disciple, the fifteenth name on Luojiang Academy honor roll.

The Yang family and the Fang family were long-time family friends. Yang Zhengyi was a childhood friend and one of the few close friends of Fang Lang's.

"Hey, I'm talking to you. Why would you pick a fight with a fifth-grade martial arts disciple if you don't want to lose? Have you lost your mind? With your family background and my support, you can get your pick of girls. Why don't we pay a visit to the entertainment house after class? I'll show you that love exists in this world."

Yang Zhengyi looked like a true son of nobility with a folding fan in his hand. After each line, he flicked his head to move the fringe away from his eyes.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing," Fang Lang said.

He patted Yang Zhengyi on the shoulder and smiled warmly.

The two boys' eyes met and Yang Zhengyi flinched.

Fang Lang was overflowing with confidence.

"Lang'zi… You're giving off a different aura today!"

Was this the power of love?

Thwack! Yang Zhengyi slapped the folding fan on his palm and glanced at the faraway Ni Wen, then he looked at Fang Lang.

Yang Zhengyi's stare was knowing.

…

The blue sky over the practice grounds of Luojiang Academy was dotted with milky, white clouds.

The practice area was paved with green tiles. Willow trees were planted along the sides—the leaves rustled in the wind.

Combat class had not begun but there were already students milling about. Some were doing stretching exercises while others were channeling their vital energy.

In the third practice ring, the gathered students were split into two factions.

Both parties were highly strung, as if an impromptu fight might break out any second.

Fang Lang stood in the center of the fight zone. His head was downcast as he stroked the wooden sword he collected from the weapons shelf.

The destructive power of a wooden sword was limited—it was used for practice after all.

The duel was voluntary so the academy would not stop them. After all, cultivation was a dangerous business and getting hurt was not out of the question.

However, the loss of life was definitely prohibited. Hence, the weapons' choice was limited.

Opposite Fang Lang, Liu Hao entered the ring. His hands were wrapped in leather and chains dangled from each fist.

These were the specialized boxing gloves used by martial artists, the most destructive ones allowed by the academy to be used in duels.

The students clamored when they saw the boxing gloves. 'Liu Hao's not joking around!'

The martial artist was a unique occupation. Most martial arts disciples relied on their fists but some would pick up odd weapons like a warhammer, machete, nine-toothed serrated blade and so on.

Those who used their fists would be equipped with specialized boxing gloves.

Sharps were attached to the boxing gloves to enhance their destructive powers.

When Liu Hao was done wrapping the chains around his gloved fists, he sent Fang Lang a cold look.

"A third grader challenging a fifth grader… You must have some treacherous schemes up your sleeves. You rich kids are always playing tricks!"

The accusation left Liu Hao's mouth.

He was not worried about the challenger—a boy who only achieved third grade sword mastery after three years of study despite the family's wealth.

He hated the rich for exactly this reason. Some of them had little talent and awful cores, yet they had access to spirit crystals and other cultivation resources.

The world was unfair!

Liu Hao's emotions were running hot.

He was not worried about offending the upper class students. He had some innate talent and there was a chance he would be selected by one of the sects after the Imperial Examination. His social status would be elevated once he became a master.

If he had the resources, he would be able to climb higher.

Hence, the anger and jealousy.

Liu Hao was sure Fang Lang had something nasty planned. Why else would a third grader challenge a fifth grader?

If spell charms were not in play, Liu Hao could not think of a scenario where he would lose.

He punched his chain-decorated fists together and said, "You better not cry and beg later."

His eyes were cold as he stared at Fang Lang.

Fang Lang leaned on his wooden sword and gave the boy a flippant smile. "Beg for you to not die?"

Liu Hao frowned.

The crowd of students were quiet.

The frail-looking Ni Wen watched Fang Lang with a worried and anxious expression. This duel was happening because of her.

She would feel incredibly guilty if anything happened to Fang Lang.

Liu Hao noted Ni Wen's attention on Fang Lang, and the lack thereof on himself.

Rage burned in his chest.

'Ni Wen, as the third-ranking student, you're the pride of the common folk. Yet, you only have eyes for the rich! Fang Lang has nothing except money.'

The duel began.

"Fang Lang!" Liu Hao shouted.

Whoosh!

The martial arts disciple's vital energy circulated within his body. The energy made his sleeves billow out.

The boy's aura shifted—like an enraged tiger, he let out a roar.

Liu Hao took a step forward and a tremble spread across the floor.

Then, he rushed toward Fang Lang with a wind-like speed.

Gasps were heard among the crowd.

Engulfed by his anger, Liu Hao's aura was approaching that of a sixth-grade martial arts disciple.

Yang Zhengyi's expression changed. He flipped his fringe to a side.

This was not good for the third-grade Lang'zi. 

'Lang'zi, danger.'

Huh?

Suddenly, Yang Zhengyi's eyes widened in surprise.

Fang Lang took a step back and assumed a sword-drawing position. His aura shifted into… He held the weapon like it was a prized sword.

The surrounding winds coalesced into Fang Lang's sheathed sword.

Yang Zhengyi heard a faint whine coming from the sword.

The wooden sword in Fang Lang's hand was shaking.

The presentation also took Ni Wen by surprise. Her initial worry for Fang Lang ebbed as she watched the scene play out.

It was not a mistake—Fang Lang was truly someone of her caliber.

There was a frenzy in Liu Hao's eyes as he charged forward. At that moment, he directed all his hatred and jealousy for the rich into his strike.

His blood boiled as he roared again and again.

Five roars to indicate his status as a fifth-grade martial arts disciple.

His vital energy flared brightly.

At the last step of the charge, the green tile at his foot broke into pieces.

Liu Hao leapt into the air. His body was twisted at a 45-degree angle as his spiritual sense locked onto Fang Lang—a fist aimed straight at the boy's head.

A wave of energy radiated from the ring.

The intensity elicited a gasp from the crowd.

Fang Lang remained in his sword-drawing position, unperturbed by his surroundings. He was focused as the scene blurred…

Snow was falling. He was the wind in a snowstorm, slicing through the ice and snow.

Spiritual energy flowed through Fang Lang's body. His sword rattled with vigor, then the restraints broke. The blade sang five times.

Fifth-grade sword disciple!

The audience was surprised by the turn of events. Then, a loud cheer broke out.

When did Fang Lang ascend to the fifth grade?

Everyone knew him as a third-grade sword disciple.

Realization dawned upon every student—Fang Lang's ace up his sleeve was his miraculous advancement in cultivation!

Unfazed by the revelation, Liu Hao made his strike.

At the same time, Fang Lang lifted his head to meet Liu Hao with an eerie calmness.

Two parallel universes overlapped in Fang Lang's eyes.

Liu Hao shuddered as he saw himself reflected in Fang Lang's eyes… Liu Hao was himself, but also a snowflake. The snowflake was sliced in half.

The blade energy erupted.

A cloud covered the sun.

Fang Lang drew his sword.

Liu Hao's spiritual sense was knocked back.

Fast!

Undeniably fast!

The quickness of the sword draw was unimaginable.

Sword Draw Technique, Sword Mastery Specialty!

One draw.

One hit.

Liu Hao felt his fist collide with an unstoppable force.

The clash was loud!

The chains and leather were shredded. Blood welled out from the open cuts on his fist. Red droplets fell like flower petals, staining the floor.

Liu Hao laid a distance away on the ground. He clutched his hand in pain, teeth grinding. After a moment, he gave in and started groaning.

Silence filled the battleground.

The duel was concluded with a single draw.

The audience was stunned.

What was he playing at?

How did he score so low with this sword technique?

Fang Lang let out a breath of air.

Sunlight streamed down as the clouds parted.

He turned to find Ni Wen. With the worn-down wooden sword in hand, he gave her a nod.

Bathed in the golden light, Fang Lang said softly, "I won. See you later."