Chapter 79: HOW THE SPEAR SHINES

Chapter 79 — WHEN THE SPEAR DOES NOT HESITATE

The arena of Vermillion Phoenix Academy did not sleep.

It waited.

Heat rippled faintly above the stone floor, restrained by formations carved so deep into the plateau that even veteran cultivators could only sense them as a distant, patient presence. Crimson banners hung high, phoenix sigils glowing dimly, as if watching from above.

Every seat was filled.

Every eye was sharp.

This was not a normal match day.

This was the first execution of Stage Three.

FORMAT TWO — WHEN FIRE MEETS ICE

Before Azure Dragon’s name was ever spoken, the announcer’s voice thundered across the arena.

“FORMAT TWO MATCH—NOW COMMENCING!”

The crowd roared instantly.

On one side of the arena stood Vermillion Phoenix Academy.

On the other—

FROSTCLOUD ACADEMY.

The contrast was striking.

Vermillion’s side burned with restrained heat, their members calm, poised, confident. Frostcloud’s team radiated chilling silence, mist curling around their feet, expressions cold and unreadable.

At the center—

Rong Yueran stepped forward.

She was luminous.

Her crimson hair caught the light, phoenix flames coiling lazily around her shoulders like disciplined serpents. Her presence alone caused the ambient temperature to rise just enough to be felt..

The gong struck.

Frostcloud moved immediately.

The air crystallized as layers of cold surged outward, forming razor-edged frost constructs meant to restrict movement and drain vitality. The arena floor whitened beneath his feet.

Rong Yueran did not retreat.

She stepped forward.

Her flames condensed—not outward, not explosive, but refined into a thin, brilliant mantle hugging her form.

Ice met fire.

And lost.

Steam hissed violently as frost techniques collapsed on contact. Rong Yueran raised one hand, fingers snapping shut.

The phoenix flames surged once.

The Frostcloud fighter was thrown backward, skidding across the arena floor before slamming into the barrier.

Unconscious.

The gong rang.

“FROSTCLOUD ACADEMY— DEFEATED!”

The vast circular field of Vermillion Phoenix Academy was already warm, heat restrained beneath layers of ancient formations, but as Ling Yifan crossed the boundary line alone, something subtler changed. The ambient flow of spiritual energy tightened, as if the space itself recognized a singular will entering its domain.

He carried his spear loosely.

Not slung with arrogance.

Not gripped with tension.

Just… held.

As if it belonged there.

Across the arena, the ten members of Crimson Saber Imperial School stood in formation, disciplined, silent, their presence unified. They were known for this. For order. For preparation. For layered tactics refined through years of doctrine.

Ling Yifan stood opposite them alone.

No signal from his instructor.

No glance back at his teammates.

No hesitation.

The announcer’s voice boomed, amplified and formal.

“FORMAT THREE — CHAIN BATTLE MATCH.”

A pause.

“AZURE DRAGON ACADEMY—FIRST COMBATANT.”

Ling Yifan did not react.

“LING YIFAN.”

Ling Yifan walked into the arena.

The noise dulled—not silence, but focus.

His spear rested lightly in his hand, posture relaxed, breathing steady. He looked calm.

But inside—

His thoughts were chaos.

His father’s voice echoed.

OBEY.DISAPPEAR.REMEMBER YOUR PLACE.

Ling Yifan planted the spear tip against the stone.

A ripple passed through the crowd.

Some whispered his name with curiosity.

Some with recognition.

Some with expectation.

The announcer continued.

Crimson Saber’s first combatant felt it before he understood it.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, his saber already humming as layered formations activated beneath his feet. He had trained for years for moments like this. He had survived Stage Two. He had studied Azure Dragon’s previous battles frame by frame.

And yet—

The instant the gong rang, his instincts screamed.

Too late.

Ling Yifan moved.

Not explosively.

Not dramatically.

Just forward.

The spear tip flickered, barely visible, skimming past the saber’s guard by a hair’s breadth. The Crimson Saber fighter twisted instinctively, formation plates clamping down.

Too slow.

The spear struck his chest dead center.

Not a thrust.

A pulse.

The force detonated internally, bypassing the outer layers of defense entirely. The fighter was lifted off his feet and hurled backward, crashing into the barrier with a dull, hollow sound.

His saber clattered uselessly across the stone.

Silence.

Then—

“CRIMSON SABER—FIRST MEMBER DEFEATED!”

Ling Yifan did not turn.

He reset his stance, spear grounded lightly, breathing steady.

Inside his mind, a voice echoed faintly.

You are the heir. You represent us.

His grip tightened.

The second Crimson Saber fighter entered immediately, quicker, lighter on his feet. Twin sabers spun as he activated a mobile formation, circling rather than charging, probing for openings.

The crowd murmured.

“A scout—”

“He’s testing distance—”

Ling Yifan watched him calmly.

The second fighter lunged, blades flashing in a rapid combination meant to force a reaction.

Ling Yifan stepped back once.

Then forward.

The spear swept low, tapping the fighter’s ankle mid-dash. Not hard enough to injure.

Just enough to break rhythm.

Before the fighter could recover, the spear shaft slammed into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. A short follow-up strike to the shoulder ended it.

The man collapsed.

“SECOND MEMBER—DEFEATED!”

Ling Yifan exhaled slowly.

Don’t hesitate. Don’t improvise. Follow the clan forms.

No.

The third Crimson Saber combatant entered with visible caution. He activated a full defensive lattice immediately, layered shields interlocking around his body.

Ling Yifan advanced without changing pace.

The spear struck.

Once.

Twice.

Each impact landed precisely as the defensive nodes shifted, exploiting micro-delays in energy redistribution.

On the third strike, the lattice shattered completely.

The fighter fell before he could even counter.

Three.

The crowd had gone quiet now.

Not because nothing was happening.

But because too much was.

The fourth fighter anchored himself heavily, activating a gravity lock that pressed down on the arena floor hard enough to draw cracks in the stone.

Ling Yifan felt the pressure immediately.

He welcomed it.

He drove the spear downward, channeling force through the shaft and into the ground itself. The gravity lock destabilized as the force redirected, snapping the anchor point.

The fighter’s knees buckled.

Ling Yifan struck once more.

Four.

Strength without obedience is wasted, the voice said.

Ling Yifan did not slow.

The fifth Crimson Saber member rushed in too quickly, trying to capitalize on momentum. His formation flared erratically, aggression overriding discipline.

Ling Yifan rotated his spear, catching the incoming blade and redirecting it downward. A knee strike followed, precise and controlled.

The fighter collapsed.

Five.

A murmur rolled through the arena.

“Half already—”

“He hasn’t been touched—”

Ling Yifan’s breathing deepened.

Not from fatigue.

From focus.

The sixth fighter entered with overlapping formations, suppression and counterstrike layered tightly. This one was experienced.

The clash rang loud.

For the first time, Ling Yifan was forced back half a step.

The crowd reacted.

Ling Yifan did not.

He adjusted his grip.

Stepped forward again.

The spear struck three times in rapid succession—shoulder, wrist, chest—each timed as the formations attempted to rebalance.

The layers collapsed sequentially.

The sixth fighter flew backward, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Six.

Return. Apologize. Obey.

Ling Yifan’s jaw tightened.

The seventh Crimson Saber combatant tried to retreat, using movement techniques to create distance.

The spear denied it.

Ling Yifan pressed forward relentlessly, controlling space with subtle shifts, herding his opponent toward the barrier.

A final thrust ended it.

Seven.

The eighth fighter screamed as he charged, fear bleeding through discipline.

Ling Yifan sidestepped.

The spear tapped the back of his neck.

Eight.

The crowd erupted again, disbelief spreading like wildfire.

Crimson Saber’s captain stepped forward at last.

Aura flaring.

His stance was perfect.

“You think this proves something?” he demanded.

Ling Yifan met his gaze.

“No.”

The fight was fierce.

Saber and spear clashed, formations screaming under strain. The captain pushed Ling Yifan back once.

Twice.

Then Ling Yifan stepped inside his guard.

The spear twisted.

The saber snapped.

The spear butt struck the captain’s chest.

The body flew backward and did not rise.

Nine.

The final Crimson Saber member bowed stiffly before entering.

Ling Yifan inclined his head once.

Respect.

Then the spear moved.

One exchange.

One strike.

Silence fell.

Then the announcer shouted, voice shaking.

“FORMAT THREE MATCH—CONCLUDED!”

“AZURE DRAGON ACADEMY—VICTORY!”

Ling Yifan stood alone at the center of the arena.

Spear grounded.

Breathing steady.

He felt no triumph.

Only clarity.

He turned and walked back toward his team.

The weight of his name no longer pressed so heavily on his shoulders.

For the first time—

The spear had chosen him.

[Chapter ENDS]

SIDE SCENE — AFTER THE SPEAR, COMES THE DAMAGE CONTROL

The moment Ling Yifan stepped off the arena—

Everything collapsed.

Not him.

Everyone else.

Chen Wulian grabbed him by the shoulders first.

“ARE YOU INSANE?” Chen shouted. “DO YOU KNOW HOW COOL THAT WAS?”

Ling Yifan blinked. “…Cool?”

“You erased ten people,” Chen continued, shaking him slightly. “TEN. IN A ROW. I was warming up!”

Qin Shuo adjusted his glasses, pushing them up with a finger while staring at Ling Yifan like a rare specimen.

“Statistically,” he said calmly, “you have single-handedly skewed every predictive model for Stage Three.”

Ling Yifan frowned. “…Sorry?”

“That was not an apology,” Qin replied. “That was an accusation.”

Ouyang Xue’er crossed her arms, lips twitching.

“So,” she said dryly, “are you done with your rebellious young master arc, or should we expect you to duel heaven next?”

Ling Yifan opened his mouth—

Bai Qianlan was already there.

She grabbed his sleeve.

Hard.

“You idiot,” she said quietly.

Chen froze.

Qin stopped talking.

Ouyang leaned in.

Ling Yifan stiffened. “…I—”

“You didn’t even look injured,” Bai continued, eyes sharp. “Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?”

“…Is that bad?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Because it means you were holding back before.”

Chen slowly raised a hand. “I would like to officially request we never spar again.”

From behind them, Mei Ying spoke flatly.

“Ling Yifan.”

He straightened instantly.

“Yes, Instructor.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then—

“…Good restraint.”

Everyone blinked.

Chen almost fell over. “THAT WAS RESTRAINT?”

Mei Ying looked at him. “Yes.”

Chen stared at Ling Yifan again.

“…I’m changing dorms.”

Meanwhile, Long Hao watched quietly from the side.

Longyu’s voice popped up in his head.

“…You see this? This is what happens when people repress their emotions.”

Long Hao nodded faintly. “Efficient.”

Ling Yifan finally exhaled.

“…I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

Bai Qianlan released his sleeve.

“…Next time,” she said, softer now, “tell us first before you declare war on an academy.”

Chen grinned. “Yeah. We like to bring snacks for that.”

Ling Yifan paused.

“…Snacks?”

“Morale snacks,” Qin corrected seriously.

Ouyang sighed. “We are doomed.”

Ling Yifan looked at them—really looked at them—and for the first time since that morning…

He smiled.

Just a little.

Somewhere in the distance, Crimson Saber’s infirmary collectively groaned.

And the arena staff quietly updated the rulebooks.

Again.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep