Chapter 28 With Justice in Heart, How Can Evil Exist

In the Dragon Temple, the eight hall leaders sat on the platform, while the elders lined up on either side. They exchanged glances, and the atmosphere was almost stifling with tension.

Maha spoke up, "The position of hall leader has always been held by disciples of their respective halls. Selecting a candidate for the Bamboo Hall leader from another hall might undermine the essence of the Bamboo Hall's teachings. It seems rather inappropriate."

"Hehe, Sister Maha, you're mistaken. The hall leader position should naturally be occupied by the capable. For nearly a century, the Bamboo Hall has been in decline, with fewer and fewer disciples. Including Brother Hassan's daughter, there are only five left, and none of them show significant potential. If we could choose a young talent from among the sect's elite to take on the role of Bamboo Hall leader, it would reinvigorate the hall and restore its former glory," Arthur replied with a smile.

Amina, who sat among the elders, felt a surge of anger and was about to step forward when Hassan stopped her with a look. She reluctantly remained seated, though the injustice in her eyes was unmistakable.

Hassan's face remained expressionless, making it impossible to discern his emotions. In a cold tone, he said, "Senior Brother Arthur, the position of Bamboo Hall leader is none of your concern. Don't be a busybody meddling where you don't belong."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hassan's expression sharpened, and his robes began to billow even though there was no wind. A powerful surge of righteous energy erupted from him, threatening to burst through the very roof of the Dragon Temple.

The hall leaders felt their breath catch in their throats, and they quickly channeled their internal energy to defend against the overwhelming force. The elders, whose strength was slightly inferior, were involuntarily pushed back a few steps.

The assembly was shocked—Hassan, who had always kept a low profile, possessed the power of a fourth-rank sovereign.

"Well, well," Arthur said, unfazed. "So, even the once untalented Junior Brother Hassan has reached the level of a fourth-rank sovereign. However, flaunting fourth-rank power like this isn't much of a threat."

Arthur's sword remained sheathed at his waist, yet invisible sword energy began to swirl around him. His aura was not only equal to but seemed to surpass Hassan's.

Hassan's brows furrowed in anger, and he coldly replied, "You're more than enough for me to handle."

Arthur immediately stood up, exuding confidence. "Then let me see the power of your Azure Force Technique, Hassan. After thirty years, let's find out if you've improved at all."

Hassan said no more. He stepped forward and gripped the hilt of his sword. Thirty years ago, during the Nine Veins Martial Tournament, Hassan had lost to Arthur by a single move.

At the time, everyone thought Hassan was unremarkable, with dull talents, while Arthur was celebrated as an extraordinary genius, a once-in-a-century prodigy of the sword. That Hassan had only lost by one move had shocked everyone and caused quite a stir. But, in the end, he had still been defeated. Now, with Arthur mocking that past defeat, Hassan could no longer hold back.

In the Dragon Temple, the air suddenly felt as if it had frozen, thick with tension.

"Insolence!" A booming voice filled the hall as Sect Leader Amir slammed his palm heavily on his seat. His long beard trembled, and his face was full of rage. "Do you both truly think I'm dead as the Sect Leader?"

As the head of the Nether Sect, Amir's outburst held unquestionable authority. Neither Hassan nor Arthur dared to defy him, and both withdrew in silence.

"Calm your anger, Sect Leader," Arthur said with a forced smile.

Hassan, however, only let out a cold snort, returning to his seat without sparing Amir another glance.

Amir's eyes swept over the gathered heads of the halls and the elders, his fury gradually subsiding. After a long pause, he spoke again. "Hassan, junior brother."

Hassan remained unflinching, his gaze fixed forward, choosing not to respond.

Amir looked at him and continued, "Although Arthur's words are somewhat lacking, the gradual decline of Qingzhu Hall is evident to everyone. If we don't come up with a solution, I'm afraid..."

Before Amir could finish, Hassan stood up, flicked his sleeves, and floated down, coldly saying, "Rest assured, Brother Sect Leader. If no disciple from Qingzhu Hall ranks in the top eight in this Nine Veins Martial Competition, then the matter of Qingzhu Hall's next head can be entirely decided by you."

Without waiting for anyone to react, Hassan headed toward the rear hall, and Amina quickly followed him.

As the sun rose higher, it was already nearing noon. The disciples gathered in the square, growing more and more impatient. Just as they were feeling restless, a crisp sound of a bell rang out.

Clang!

The sound of the bell echoed through the square and the vast sea of clouds, its crisp resonance carrying a magical quality that stirred the spirits of all present. The previously noisy square fell into a sudden hush.

Then, the eight hall heads gracefully descended from the arching bridge, exuding an ethereal, celestial presence. Amir stepped forward, surveying the gathered disciples, and announced in a loud voice, "The martial competition will be conducted in four simultaneous bouts, judged by the heads or elders of each hall. Now, let the Nine Halls Martial Competition begin!"

With a sweep of his robe, the bell sounded again, reverberating through the heavens. The disciples' faces lit up with excitement, their blood surging with anticipation.

Nasser Reza glanced at Hina, only to find her as cold as ever, her expression as frosty as a winter's night. There was no trace of excitement in her demeanor. Her blue dress fluttered gently, and her long hair cascaded down her back, making her appear like a celestial maiden, untouched by the mortal world and its concerns.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, until an elder called out, "Third match: Nasser Reza of the Qingzhu Hall versus Wafa of the Sword Hall."

Nasser Reza snapped out of his reverie, realizing that he was the only disciple from the Qingzhu Hall participating in the first round of four matches. Hassan and Amina soon joined him.

At the third high platform, there were over a hundred people gathered, mostly disciples from the Sword Hall. Hassan led his group to the base of the platform, where they were quickly absorbed by the crowd.

Nasser Reza looked up at the high platform and saw an old man in black robes sitting with his eyes closed. He gave off an eerie and sinister vibe, sending shivers down one's spine. This was Jamal, the head of the Yuming Cave.

Dina whispered to Nasser Reza, "That old man in black robes is Jamal, the head of the Yuming Cave. He is the oldest among the eight hall heads, and his martial arts are the most mysterious. Whenever he channels his energy, it is surrounded by black mist, giving him an extremely ominous aura. His character is equally inscrutable and dark."

Before Dina could finish speaking, the old man in black suddenly opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Nasser Reza and Dina. His lips parted slightly, revealing two sharp, eerie fangs.

Both of them were horrified, feeling as though they were being watched by a ghost, their bodies turning icy cold.

Jamal, with a smile that was neither here nor there, said, "Hehe, little girl, although the martial arts of the Yuming Cave are indeed extremely sinister, if my heart remains righteous, how could there be any talk of evil?"

With that, Jamal closed his eyes again, shrouded in his black robe, his face obscured.

Dina, gasping for breath, remained shaken, while Nasser Reza's heart was stirred by a tumultuous storm.

Since that day when Ibrahim taught Nasser Reza to communicate with the sword spirit, the intense murderous aura had left him with lingering fear and a lingering grudge against the Blood Sword. However, Jamal's words, though eerie and sinister, sounded like a divine revelation to Nasser Reza.

"With a righteous heart, how can there be talk of evil? With benevolent thoughts, how can there be talk of murderous intent?"

Nasser Reza felt as if he had been enlightened, his inner turmoil dissipating completely. His grip on the sword tightened, and it felt incredibly familiar, almost as if it were an extension of himself. The true energy flowed seamlessly, as if it were effortlessly merging, and it surged with the semblance of a sixth-grade martial artist.

Looking at the old man in black, Nasser Reza's gaze now held a genuine respect.

At this moment, a commotion arose among the Sword Hall disciples. A young man in white, stepping lightly on his long sword, soared onto the stage with remarkable grace. The Sword Hall disciples below erupted in cheers and applause.

Zayd said with a forced smile, "Nasser Reza, don't be nervous. Even if you lose, it's no big deal. Your senior here will definitely bring glory to the Qingzhu Hall."

Nasser Reza seemed not to hear him. He glanced at Hassan, who, with a stern expression, said, "Just give it your best. Don't disgrace the Qingzhu Hall."

"Yes, Master," Nasser Reza replied, nodding in acknowledgment, before leaping onto the stage.

Jamal remained with his eyes closed and said coldly, "The match begins."