Chinese Martial Arts: My Super Beast Clone

On the stage, Shen Yu stood casually, his entire body riddled with openings, but a closer look revealed that his breathing was extremely deep, the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible. This was a sign that he had controlled his breathing and blood circulation to the extreme, ready to unleash a thunderous strike at any moment.

There was also movement within the Black Dragon Society's camp below the arena.

A middle-aged man slowly walked out.

The man looked extremely ordinary. He wore a simple martial arts uniform and wooden clogs. His face was somewhat weathered, his hair was haphazardly tied back, and there was a long scar near his eye.

The only striking feature was the three samurai swords hanging at his waist: two long swords and one short sword.

The middle-aged man walked up the steps to the arena step by step. Then he quietly stood about two zhang away from Shen Yu, his hands hanging naturally at his sides.

Upstairs at Hongbinlou, Chang Yun's expression changed drastically after he saw the middle-aged man's appearance and attire clearly, and he gripped the window frame tightly with both hands.

"It's broken." Chang Yun gritted his teeth, his voice very low.

"What's wrong, Third Brother?" Chen Wu noticed Chang Yun's change in mood.

Lin Hai asked, "Is this person also a master of the Black Dragon Society?"

Chang Yun shook his head. "His name is Miyamoto Jiro. He is a disciple of Yagyu Shinichi of the Hokushin Dojo. He is the senior brother of Haruno Munehide, the one you defeated last time."

"He started learning swordsmanship several years earlier than Haruno Munehide, and he practiced the extremely rare Three-Sword Style. It is said that his swordsmanship has reached the point where he can wield it at will, and every strike draws blood."

On the arena.

A gentle breeze blew by, and the hem of Shen Yu's long robe fluttered lightly.

He looked at Miyamoto Jiro opposite him, slowly raised his hands, one in front of the other, and assumed an extremely relaxed boxing stance.

The starting stance of the "Stealth Fist".

Miyajiro didn't waste any words. His dark eyes were fixed on Shen Yu, his right hand resting on the hilt of the katana at his waist.

"Clang!"

Without seeing how Miyamoto Jiro exerted his strength, the long sword, carrying a sharp white light, slashed towards Shen Yu's neck.

Fast! Too fast!

Lin Hai saw it all clearly from upstairs. The moment Miyamoto Jiro drew his sword, two deep dents were created in the wooden planks beneath his feet. He used the explosive force of his legs to concentrate all his strength into that single strike. This wasn't a sparring move; it was a sword-drawing technique honed over countless hours.

The blade instantly approached Shen Yu's throat.

At this critical moment, Shen Yu made a move.

He didn't retreat, nor did he block. His body tilted to the left at an incredible angle, his right foot sliding lightly across the ground. He was like a leaf blown by the wind of the blade, gliding past the snow-white blade.

The stealth walk.

Shen Yu pressed forward, his right hand forming a crane's beak shape with his five fingers, aiming a sharp, piercing sound as he pecked at Miyamoto's wrist, the one holding the sword. If the peck landed, the explosive power of a peak-level Ming Jin would be enough to shatter Miyamoto's wrist bones.

Miyajiro remained expressionless. He didn't even retract his right arm, which had just slashed through the air, while his left hand swiftly drew the second long sword from his waist.

"Whoosh!"

The second blade flashed upwards, heading straight for Shen Yu's right arm. If Shen Yu insisted on crippling his right hand, his own right arm would be severed cleanly by this second blade.

Shen Yu remained calm under pressure and changed his move with lightning speed. He flipped his right wrist, turning his peck into a slap, and precisely struck the side of the samurai sword that was slashing upwards.

"clang!"

The fist struck the steel knife, producing a dull thud like the striking of a bell.

Using the recoil from the blow, Shen Yu's body swam back ten feet like a fish, landing steadily on the edge of the arena.

Miyajiro's twin swords flashed through the air in two intersecting white streaks, but he did not pursue.

"Good fist technique." Miyamoto Jiro said in broken Chinese, glancing at the slightly trembling web of his left hand. The penetrating force contained in Shen Yu's fist during the collision had directly caused his entire left arm to go numb through the blade.

Shen Yu flicked the cuffs of his long robe, maintaining his calm and collected demeanor: "Your blade is not slow either."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the two clashed again.

This time, the battle escalated to a fever pitch.

Miyajiro wielded two swords, his entire being transforming into a rolling mass of blade light. His footwork was extremely steady, each step as if rooted to the ground. He wielded the two swords alternately, slashing, cutting, thrusting, and parrying, without any fancy movements, all aimed at Shen Yu's vital points with the fastest speed and shortest distance.

The sword energy surged and crisscrossed.

The sawdust on the arena was whipped up by the strong wind generated by the blade and flew everywhere.

Shen Yu, on the other hand, has a completely different style.

The essence of Mizongquan lies in the interplay of emptiness and fullness, and the balance of hardness and softness.

Shen Yu's figure weaved through the flashing blades. At times, he was as light as a sparrow, able to float several feet with a mere touch of his toes; at other times, he was as heavy as Mount Tai, each stomp carrying the force of a thousand pounds. His fists were like two dragons emerging from the sea, each strike accompanied by a piercing sonic boom.

"Bang! Clang! Snap!"

The sound of fists colliding with steel was as dense as rain pattering on banana leaves.

Lin Hai stared intently at the arena, not daring to blink even once.

In the short span of half an incense stick's time, the two had already exchanged over a hundred blows.

Shen Yu's moon-white robe now had more than a dozen tears, and a bloody gash appeared on her left cheek from the blade's energy. Gong Jiro's condition was equally dire; his breathing had become heavy, his nose and temples were covered in cold sweat, and the webs between his thumb and forefinger were split open, blood flowing down the hilts of his sword.

"The Japanese are about to give up." Chen Wu's tense expression eased slightly. "Shen Yu has more stamina and breath control than him. As long as we keep dragging this out, once the Japanese slow down, Shen Yu can seize the opening and deliver a fatal blow."

Lei Zhen swung his fist forcefully: "Kill him!"

Zhao Xing, however, was not so optimistic. He stared at the short sword that Miyamoto Jiro had not drawn at his waist and said in a low voice, "The most lethal sword of the Three-Sword Style is still sheathed. He is waiting for an opportunity to kill with one blow."

On the arena.

Miyajiro suddenly let out a roar like a wild beast. He raised his katana above his head, ignoring the heavy punch Shen Yu was about to deliver to his chest, and unleashed his signature move, "Wind-Facing Slash".

The long, narrow samurai sword, carrying the force of a thunderbolt, slashed straight down at Shen Yu's crown.

If Shen Yu doesn't back down, his fist can shatter Miyamoto's sternum, but he himself will be cleaved in two by the blade.

Shen Yu slid her foot forward and dodged to the right, avoiding the fatal blow.

Just as Shen Yu's body tilted and his old strength was gone while new strength had not yet arisen, a violent glint flashed in Miyamoto Jiro's eyes.

His left hand suddenly loosened its grip on the hilt, and the katana flew out of his hand, embedding itself in the wooden board. With his free left hand, he twisted at an angle that defied the natural laws of joint movement, and with a backhand motion, drew the short sword that had remained untouched at his waist.

The long sword cleaved through the air, while the short sword was drawn from its sheath!

This is the true finishing move of the Three-Sword Style!

The short knife was less than a foot long, with an extremely narrow blade and a very thin edge. It was entirely black, without the slightest reflection. It was like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, silently stabbing out from the angle where Shen Yu was least able to defend himself, heading straight for Shen Yu's heart.

The distance was too close, and the change of tactics was too fast.

From discarding the sword to drawing the dagger, it took less than half a breath.

There's no way to dodge this strike!