The match had now truly begun. Yuan moved with fluid grace, dodging and countering every strike aimed at him. His movements resembled a dance more than a battle, while his two opponents struggled to keep up.
Despite his clear advantage, Yuan restrained himself from ending the match too quickly, deliberately leaving openings to give them a chance to strike.
While things seemed easy for Yuan, it wasn't the same for Yuxin and Tianyu. Tianyu was forced to cover too much for Yuxin, making her more of a burden than a help. Meilan, on the other hand, was evenly matched against Sanye, their duel balanced and intense.
As for Haoran and Haodao, their clash had grown fierce. Haoran dodged each of Haodao's attacks with sharp focus, reading his every move.
Haodao was no less concentrated, but Haoran had slowly been forced into a more passive role, inching closer to being cornered.
Every time Haoran moved to strike, Haodao was already there, close to disarming him. Without his sword, Haoran knew, he'd lose within moments.
Yet his sword was only made of wood, brittle and blunt, incapable of truly injuring Haodao, which greatly reduced its effectiveness.
After several exchanges, Haoran realized he couldn't win by direct confrontation. His only option seemed to be exhausting Haodao and winning through endurance, but the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He searched for another way.
"Ha! Pretending I'm a dragon, am I?" Haodao sneered, laughing madly as he struck at Haoran. His voice dripped with mockery.
"I couldn't scare a mouse with my grip? Hahaha! Who's afraid now, loser? Accept your defeat! Bow to me three times, and maybe I'll show you mercy!"
Hearing his own mocking words turned against him, a shadow crossed Haoran's face. His scowl deepened, and for a moment, he stopped. For a moment, his body stiffened for just a breath, leaving an obvious opening.
Haodao immediately seized the chance, laughing gleefully as he struck.
"Fool!" Haodao shouted, but even though it happened suddenly, Haoran dodged at the last second, his speed clearly superior to Haodao's.
Throughout the matches and now in this fight, Haoran had come to understand Haodao's strengths and weaknesses. Haodao wasn't fast. He had sacrificed agility for power.
That was both his flaw and his strength, because if he caught Haoran even once, it might be enough to end the fight.
But against someone like Haoran, a nimble swordsman whose movements flowed with precision, Haodao's brute strength wasn't so easy to land. The problem was Haoran's weapon, just a wooden sword.
Against Haodao's toughened body, it would likely break after one serious strike. That meant Haoran could only rely on evasion and, if he used his sword, it had to count.
It was a difficult match for Haoran. He took a step back, trying to catch his breath, but Haodao pressed in like a tide, refusing to let him breathe.
"You can't win, Haoran! Stop pretending! Accept it and kneel!" Haodao taunted, his voice rising with arrogant triumph.
Haoran's grip on his sword tightened, his irritation flaring.
"Shut up," he muttered coldly, but Haodao only responded with a strange, guttural laugh, somewhere between rage and madness.
The sound unsettled Haoran. That laugh… it didn't sound like someone enjoying a fight. It sounded twisted. And the more Haoran listened, the less he understood the root of Haodao's anger.
Why was he so furious? Where did this hatred come from?
But there was no time to ponder it. Haodao lunged again, his three fingers sweeping toward Haoran like claws.
In that moment, something clicked. Haoran's eyes widened, he had noticed something. And then, a small, confident smile spread across his lips.
He had found it, his path to victory.
Seeing the confident smile spreading across Haoran's face irritated Haodao immensely. His attacks became faster, wilder, but with the added speed came a noticeable drop in accuracy.
"Is he so consumed by rage that he can't even think straight?" Haoran wondered for a moment, before quickly refocusing on the barrage of attacks flying his way.
While Haoran and Haodao's duel grew more chaotic and intense, Yuan's fight was slowly drawing to a close. Jianhai and Yayang were nearing exhaustion, their clothes soaked in sweat, their breathing ragged. In contrast, Yuan looked as if he had only broken a light sweat.
A defeated expression hung on their faces, uncertain of what to do next. Glancing over at Haoran and Haodao's clash, Yayang turned to Jianhai.
"Jianhai, Haodao's almost done with his fight. Let's just hold out until he comes!"
Hearing this, Jianhai's expression brightened slightly, though he gave a bitter chuckle before nodding. "Alright… then let's just hold back this Luanyuan until Haodao gets here."
Naturally, Yuan could hear them, after all, they weren't speaking quietly. Not that they had the breath or focus to whisper anyway. Yuan simply chuckled at their exchange and shook his head.
"Don't worry, I won't help Haoran with his fight. He wants to beat his little brother on his own, who am I to deny him that?" he said with a casual grin.
But the two clearly didn't believe him. The stakes were far too high for blind trust. Jianhai snorted in response, while Yayang offered only a bitter smile. Yuan sighed lightly at their reactions.
"I'm telling the truth…" he muttered to himself, glancing over his shoulder toward the fight behind him.
There, Yuxin and Tianyu were still battling Anbo. That match, too, was nearing its end. Tianyu, though, looked far more worn out than the others, his breathing heavy, sweat pouring down his face as he struggled to keep up.
As for Meilan and Sanye, Yuan scanned the field, no sign of Meilan or Sanye. They must've slipped away to finish their match without being interrupted. After briefly scanning the ongoing battles, Yuan turned his gaze away, ending the short rest he had allowed himself.
He dashed toward Yayang, speaking casually to Jianhai with a relaxed, confident smile.
Meanwhile, Meilan's fight was beginning to turn against her. Unexpectedly, Sanye was proving to be far more skilled with the sword than she had anticipated.
Gritting her teeth, Meilan endured the onslaught, parrying and countering each of Sanye's strikes. But as the fight dragged on, she found herself steadily pushed back.
Her eyes remained cold and focused, her grip on the sword unwavering, and her expression unreadable, but internally, panic had begun to creep in.
Sanye, on the other hand, wore a calm, amused smile. He seemed to enjoy the contrast between Meilan's stoic face and the pressure building behind it.
"You know," he said with a casual chuckle, "we should probably wrap this up soon. It's been a pleasure playing with you, and I wouldn't mind doing it more… but I need to help Anbo. He's starting to lose ground against those two."
With that, his smile widened as he took a step back, shifting smoothly into a new stance.
Seeing this, Meilan's expression didn't change, but she mirrored his movement, adjusting her own stance.
They now stood roughly three meters apart, just enough distance, and far enough from the others that they didn't need to worry about outside interference.
Meilan took a deep breath. Her blue eyes glinted with a sharp, icy determination. For a brief moment, the cold beauty of her gaze caught Sanye off guard, leaving him stunned.
But after another moment, he composed himself, refocusing on the fight.
Sanye held his wooden sword in his right hand, letting it hover just above his left shoulder, telegraphing a wide, sweeping slash. Meanwhile, Meilan gripped her own wooden sword with both hands, raising it slightly above her head.
Her eyes turned even colder, focused like ice, while Sanye's smile grew just a little wider.
"You know," Sanye said with a smooth, almost mocking tone, "you, my dear relative, truly have a beautiful pair of blue eyes."
The compliment caught Meilan off guard. Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Seeing her moment of confusion, Sanye chuckled loudly, but the playfulness quickly faded.
His eyes sharpened, his smile stretched further, and without another word, he charged.
As he approached, Sanye raised his sword, preparing a horizontal slash. Meilan, unmoving, stood like a mountain, firm and composed. She brought her sword down in a vertical arc to meet him head on.
Their Sword raced toward each other, hers descending like a guillotine, his sweeping wide.
Then, mid air, his strike twisted, but just before they did, Sanye's sword shifted mid air. With fluid motion, he stepped in deeper, changing the slash into a piercing thrust.
Meilan's Sword cut only air. Sanye's wooden sword met her stomach with a soft thud.
She froze, her eyes wide and her Breath caught. Slowly, she looked down at the point of contact, then up at Sanye.
His grin stretched ear to ear. "Gotcha."
And before she could react, "Meilan, out!" the teacher's voice rang across the field.
The first to fall.