When the two contrasting figures—the red-haired freshman and the reforged senior—finally vanished from the auxiliary arena, the invisible, suffocating weight that had pressed down upon the spectators entirely lifted.
The crowd of hundreds began to disperse. At first, they moved in a heavy, contemplative silence, but as they spilled out into the sprawling avenues of the academy, the dam broke. The hushed whispers rapidly evolved into frantic, excited chattering. The news of a 'C' rank freshman shattering the liquid Dou Qi armor of a 2-Star Dou Shi with a single, fiery strike was already spreading like a wild inferno across the outer sectors.
Standing by the ruined stone ring, the group of seasoned instructors exchanged deeply complicated glances.
"I need to report this to the Deputy Headmaster immediately," Instructor Lin sighed, rubbing his temples.
The headache of dealing with the bureaucratic fallout of such an anomaly was already setting in. "The factions are going to tear themselves apart trying to recruit him, or worse, challenge him to prove the rumors false."
Instructor Zhao, the burly man with the axe, chuckled dryly. "Let them try. Did you see the boy's eyes? He didn't just defeat Kuo; he completely dissected him. Anyway, I'm heading to my Department to inform the Head. She has a keen interest in unparalleled seedlings."
With a final nod, the instructors scattered, leaping into the air or darting down the corridors to deliver their respective reports to the academy's upper echelons.
Meanwhile, entirely unbothered by the sheer political chaos he had just ignited, Yoriichi walked the familiar, winding paths back to his sanctuary. He enjoyed the quiet solitude of the late afternoon, the golden-orange rays of the descending sun casting long, peaceful shadows across the cobblestones.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the open area out of his courtyard. He pushed his legs forward and directed his gaze in another direction.
Yes, this place is not empty.
Leaning casually against the thick trunk of the oak tree that Xiao Yu regularly used for target practice, stood a woman.
She possessed an aura so incredibly sharp that simply looking at her felt like dragging a razor across one's skin. She was gorgeously striking, blessed with the lush, mature bodily proportions of a woman fully grown and tempered by years of martial rigor.
She wore a sleek, form-fitting black combat cheongsam adorned with silver embroidery that accented her curves without restricting her movement. But her most captivating feature was her hair—a cascade of deep, vibrant violet locks that fell past her shoulders.
Her eyes were closed as if she were taking a light nap in the shade.
Yoriichi stopped a dozen paces away. He didn't speak. He didn't flare his Dou Qi. He simply stood there, his presence merging flawlessly with the peaceful surroundings.
The moment his boots stopped crunching against the gravel, the woman's eyes snapped open. They were a piercing, luminescent silver.
Without a single word of warning, the serene atmosphere shattered.
With a flick of her wrist, a slender, perfectly forged silver straight-sword materialized from her spatial ring.
In the very next microsecond, she lunged at Yoriichi. She moved with a speed that defied mortal comprehension, crossing the distance between the oak tree and the courtyard entrance instantly.
Yoriichi didn't flinch. His expression remained utterly stoic. He stepped forward into the attack, his right hand drawing his Sun-Steel Katana from its scabbard in a smooth, blinding arc.
CLANG!
The sharp, ringing sound of high-carbon steel clashing against silver echoed through the courtyard. Sparks showered onto the grass.
Crucially, neither of them used a single drop of Dou Qi. There were no explosive shockwaves, no colorful elemental manifestations, and no suffocating auras. This was a spar of pure, unadulterated physical biomechanics.
The violet-haired woman smiled—a fierce, blood-pumping grin—and unleashed a torrential flurry of thrusts and slashes. She attacked from impossible angles, utilizing the extreme flexibility of her mature physique.
Yoriichi met her blow for blow. When she attacked with the fury of a tempest, he smoothly transitioned into a flawless defensive sword style, parrying her silver blade with millimeter precision. He used the minimal amount of leverage necessary to deflect her kinetic force, letting her strikes slide harmlessly down the side of his katana.
Then, the instant she overextended, Yoriichi would strike back with terrifying, surgical precision.
But she was no amateur. Whenever Yoriichi's dark blade aimed for a critical blind spot, she blocked easily, parrying his counterattacks with a graceful twist of her wrist, resetting their deadly dance.
The minutes rapidly passed. The sheer intensity of their physical spar escalated to a terrifying degree. If any student from the academy happened to peek over the, they wouldn't have seen two people fighting; they would have only seen a chaotic web of flashing silver and black afterimages, accompanied by the ceaseless, rhythmic ching-ching-ching of metal on metal.
As the twentieth minute approached, the physical toll began to build.
While Yoriichi possessed centuries of flawless martial memory and the absolute breathing efficiency of the Sun, his current physical vessel was still fundamentally that of a 3-Star Dou Zhe. His opponent, however, was a High Dou Huang.
Even without actively using her Dou Qi, her muscles, bones, and organs had been passively tempered and baptized by high-tier worldly energy for decades. Her physical stamina was a bottomless ocean.
Yoriichi felt the familiar, heavy burn of lactic acid building in his forearms. His breathing rhythm remained perfect, but the kinetic transfer from his hips to his shoulders slowed by a fraction of a millisecond.
Against an opponent of her caliber, a millisecond was a lifetime.
Yoriichi abruptly stopped in his tracks, canceling his momentum entirely. He lowered his katana, letting the tip rest against the grass.
Simultaneously, a sharp gust of wind blew past his face. The woman's silver straight-sword halted exactly one inch from his calm, unblinking crimson eyes. A single lock of his gradient red hair was severed by the ambient wind of the blade, drifting slowly to the ground.
For a long moment, they stood frozen in that lethal tableau.
Then, the woman let out a rich, melodious laugh. With a graceful twirl of her fingers, the silver sword vanished back into her spatial ring.
"Your physical limits are catching up to your monstrous mind, Xiao Ning," she teased, her silver eyes glinting with profound amusement and deep respect.
Yoriichi didn't reply immediately. He smoothly sheathed his katana. He walked gently over to the base of the massive oak tree, sitting down on the cool grass to rest his taxed muscles. He looked up, watching the late afternoon sun cast an orange glow through the rustling leaves.
The gorgeous woman walked over and unceremoniously plopped down right beside him, completely uncaring about dirtying her expensive silk cheongsam. She stretched her long legs out, letting out a satisfied sigh.
Yoriichi glanced at her calmly. "So, you already saw it."