Wandering Swordsman |

The gate was tall and magnificent, made of thick sandalwood, and inlaid with gold foil carvings depicting legendary stories from the martial arts world.

The gate slowly opened with a deep rumble, as if welcoming every brave challenger.

Upon entering the gate, a very large square comes into view.

The square is surrounded by lush green trees, and sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that add a touch of mystery to the space.

Thirty-odd martial artists stood in the square, their figures motionless like statues, each with a thick iron plate beside them. These iron plates were actually made of extremely hard, thousand-year-old cold iron, each piece of which was very valuable, its surface gleaming with a cold metallic luster, as if proclaiming their indestructibility.

The next test is for all candidates to attack the iron plate with their strongest moves. A martial artist will then assess the candidate's strength and suitability for admission to the academy based on the damage left on the iron plate.

Shen Mo and the others received their numbers and entered the gate of the "Elite Academy". After arriving at the square, they saw many young people taking tests.

A young man practicing martial arts unleashed a powerful strike, using all his internal energy. A loud "bang" resounded, the iron plate echoing crisply, but not a single scratch was left on its surface. The young man's arm, however, trembled violently from the recoil, swelling up like a pig's trotter moments later. A nearby martial artist shouted, "Number 1928, unqualified, please leave." The young man, his face showing disappointment, shook his head helplessly and silently left the square.

Immediately afterward, another young man practicing swordsmanship stepped forward. Holding his sword, a resolute glint flashed in his eyes. He channeled all his inner strength and slashed with all his might. The blade struck the iron plate, producing a piercing metallic scraping sound. Not a single scratch was left on the iron plate, but the sword, unable to withstand the immense recoil, shattered. A nearby martial artist shouted, "Number 2476, unqualified, please leave." The young man stared at the broken sword, his eyes filled with resentment, but he silently gathered the broken blade and left dejectedly.

Shen Mo observed for a while and found that most of the unqualified people were young people without any sect or faction, as well as disciples of some unknown small sects. Just as he was pondering, a shout broke the silence around him and attracted the attention of many people: "Look, that person is one of the Nine Young Masters: Long Zaitian, the young sect master of the Changhe Sword Sect."

Shen Mo looked in the direction of the sound and saw that it was now Long Zaitian, the young sect leader of the Changhe Sword Sect, who was being tested.

Long Zaitian moved with agility and lightness, as if each step was a dialogue with the earth. His eyes revealed confidence and composure, as if he had already foreseen the arrival of victory.

Shen Mo was also curious about the strength of the successors of the nine sects in the Central Plains martial arts world, so he began to observe them intently.

Long Zaitian stood in front of the iron plate, took a deep breath, and slowly raised his palms. His fingertips shimmered with a faint blue light, which was formed by his powerful internal energy.

He channeled his inner energy into the longsword in his hand, and the blade was instantly enveloped in a layer of ethereal blue light, as if transforming into a bolt of lightning. This light not only illuminated his handsome face but also refracted a dazzling brilliance in the sunlight, captivating all who beheld it.

Long Zaitian's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly swung his sword, the tip precisely piercing the core of the iron plate. With a soft "whoosh," the iron plate was pierced through by his sword, leaving a clear gap.

The edges of the slit were neat and smooth, as if cut with the sharpest knife, beyond the capabilities of human hands. A chorus of exclamations arose from the surrounding crowd, many casting envious glances, and attracting the attention of numerous girls.

A martial artist nearby announced loudly, "Number 3056, qualified! Please continue inside!" Long Zaitian sheathed his sword, a faint smile on his face, as if all of this was expected. As he turned to leave, applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, as if he had become the center of attention.

The young women whispered amongst themselves, their eyes gleaming with admiration. One of them, dressed in a pink dress, couldn't help but exclaim softly, "My goodness, did you see that? That sword strike was absolutely amazing! Young Master Long truly lives up to his reputation." Her words were filled with worship and longing, as if Long Zaitian before her was not merely a martial artist, but a mythical figure.

Another woman with an elegantly styled hair bun smiled and said, "I had long heard that the young sect leader of the Long River Sword Sect was exceptionally talented, and seeing him today, I can confirm it is indeed true. Look at his elegant posture and his sharp swordsmanship; he is simply the embodiment of perfection." Her voice was gentle and melodious, and every word revealed her deep admiration for Long Zaitian.

Not far away, several older women were also whispering among themselves. "What kind of woman do you think he would like?" one of the girls asked, her voice tinged with shyness.

"Given his status and position, he'll probably find a beautiful woman from a similarly prestigious family," another girl replied, but a hint of disappointment flickered in her eyes. "However, being able to see such a hero in person, regardless of whether he gets into the academy or not, makes this trip worthwhile."

At the same time, the young men around him couldn't help but be impressed.

Although they couldn't help but feel a little jealous, they couldn't deny Long Zaitian's strength and charisma. A young man from the Diancang Sect couldn't help but sigh, "As expected of the Ninth Young Master, it seems we still need to work harder." His words contained both admiration and a determination to motivate himself.

At this moment, Long Zaitian seemed to pay no attention to the gazes of those around him. He simply sheathed his sword and continued walking into the academy.

Now it was Shen Mo's turn. He walked steadily to the iron plate, his gaze calm and unwavering. However, just as he was about to begin the test, he caught a glimpse of someone standing in front of another iron plate who looked seven-tenths like Huangfu Hui.

That person was none other than Huangfu Feilong, one of the Nine Young Masters. Shen Mo was slightly taken aback. While he was wondering what was going on, Huangfu Feilong noticed his gaze, turned his head, and glanced at Shen Mo with disdain. His eyes were full of contempt and mockery, as if he were looking at an ant.

"You, Shen Mo, that gigolo from the Murong family?" Huangfu Feilong's voice was as cold as an ice blade in winter, each word carrying a chilling edge. "I've heard you're quite skilled in martial arts, but in my eyes, you're nothing but a clown." A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips, his eyes filled with contempt, as if he already regarded Shen Mo as a speck of dust beneath his feet.