The tension in the hall thickened like a storm cloud before rain. The elders of the Sword Shandian Sect had just begun to prepare their departure when a voice rose above the murmurs and formalities.

"Elder sir, may I request something before you go?"

The crowd turned. Han Zukong was stepping forward, calm and composed, yet there was something sharp in his gaze that made everyone instinctively part to make way. His tone was respectful, but there was a flicker of unshakable determination that caught the attention of even the most stoic of the Sword Shandian elders.

Senior Brother Ren, who had been overseeing the ceremony, frowned in irritation. "Who are you to interrupt me?" he barked.

But before his anger could carry further, one of the leading elders raised his hand. His voice was deep and authoritative. "Ren. Step down. I want to hear what the young man has to say."

Ren froze, disbelief etched across his face. "Elder, what is this? Are we truly—"

"Now," the elder commanded.

Boom. A wave of spiritual pressure burst from the elder like an invisible tidal wave. The force crashed over everyone, rattling the hall's walls, shaking even the banners hanging from the ceiling. The air turned heavy, and the once-arrogant Ren was forced to bow his head. His teeth clenched as he stepped aside, his pride burning.

He turned to one of his fellow disciples, whispering harshly, "Who is this Han Zukong?"

The inner disciple beside him, his eyes gleaming with a hint of fear, whispered back, "He's a high-class talent, Brother Ren. One of the Han Family's rising stars. The sect has already shown interest in him. Rumors say even the Patriarch himself may take him as a personal student."

Ren's expression twisted. So that was it. He was merely an inner disciple. A small figure before the grand hierarchy of the sect. Against someone the higher-ups had already taken interest in, his voice was nothing but noise.

Han Zukong bowed slightly to the elders. "Thank you for granting me the chance to speak," he said. His words were polite, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something fierce, something unresolved.

He turned toward the center of the hall, where his younger brother stood silently among the family and sect members. "Elder, my request is simple. I wish to challenge my younger brother, Han Zhanjian, before everyone here."

The words hit the hall like a sudden thunderclap.

"What?" a servant gasped.

"A duel?"

"Between brothers?"

Even the sect disciples began to whisper among themselves.

Ren's eyes narrowed. "A duel between siblings? What kind of nonsense—"

But the elder raised his hand again, silencing him instantly. The elder's gaze fell on Han Zukong. "And why do you seek this duel?"

Han Zukong's expression softened, but only slightly. "Because I can't sleep," he said. "Our duel before... I lost. I told myself it was because I wasn't ready, but that was a lie I used to comfort myself. Now, I am ready. And I want to face him again. If I don't, my sword heart will remain burdened."

A wave of murmurs spread through the room.

"Wait, they fought before?"

"When?"

"Without anyone knowing?"

"This is the first time I've heard of it!"

The crowd's excitement grew. Servants exchanged looks of disbelief, and disciples leaned in closer, trying to catch every word.

Han Zhanjian blinked in confusion. "Brother... why are you challenging me again? You are my elder brother. You've already surpassed me."

Han Zukong smiled faintly. "No. You're the one who surpassed me that day. And I intend to return that loss. Otherwise, how can I ever step forward as a swordsman?"

The words carried a quiet weight. There was no anger in them, no resentment—only resolve.

Han Zhanjian hesitated, but when he saw the sincerity in his brother's eyes, he sighed softly. "Alright. If this will ease your heart, then I accept."

The hall erupted.

"What? He accepted?"

"They're really going to fight here!?"

"Both of them are geniuses. This will be incredible!"

The Sword Shandian disciples began whispering to one another, their curiosity piqued.

"Han Zukong's sword technique is said to be flawless. But Han Zhanjian... I heard his sword intent is pure, calm like still water."

"Who will win?"

"I don't know, but the sect elders are watching. This could determine their future placements."

The elder nodded, clearly intrigued. "Very well. Since both sides have agreed, the duel will proceed."

The servants quickly cleared the central floor, rolling up the mats and giving the brothers space. The air turned heavy, filled with unspoken tension. Everyone could feel it—the pressure of two prodigies about to clash.

Han Zukong and Han Zhanjian stepped into the circle, facing each other.

For a moment, no one spoke. Only the faint rustle of robes and the whisper of wind through the open doors filled the silence.

Han Zukong's hand slowly reached for the sword at his waist. "Are you ready, younger brother?"

Han Zhanjian nodded once. "Yes."

The elder raised his hand. "Begin."

Han Zukong moved first. His blade flashed like lightning. The moment steel left its sheath, a gust of wind exploded outward. The ground cracked under his feet as he shot forward.

Han Zhanjian's reflexes kicked in. He stepped back and parried.

Clang!

The sound of steel striking steel rang through the hall like thunder. Sparks flew. The vibration ran up their arms, shaking their bones, and both brothers pushed back at once.

Han Zukong advanced again, his eyes fierce. His movements were fluid yet sharp, like a predator circling its prey.

Han Zhanjian countered with precise, controlled strikes. He didn't waste motion. Every swing was measured, every step deliberate.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The rhythm of their duel was beautiful and terrifying at once. The crowd was silent, mesmerized.

Han Zukong's sword came from the left, then right, then downward in a flurry of three rapid strikes. Han Zhanjian blocked the first two and deflected the third, sending a shockwave across the floor. Dust lifted.

The tiles cracked beneath their feet.

"Impressive," muttered one of the elders. "Neither of them is using sword arts, yet their control and speed... this is beyond what most cultivators can achieve at their level."

Another elder nodded slowly. "Both are monsters in their own right."

Sweat began to form on their brows, but neither showed signs of slowing.

Han Zukong pivoted suddenly, the blade grazing past Han Zhanjian's sleeve. The fabric tore, and a thin line of blood appeared on his arm.

Han Zhanjian didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled faintly. "You've improved, brother."

Han Zukong grinned. "And you've been holding back."

He swung again, this time heavier, his spirit energy flaring around his body. The sword whistled through the air, bright as silver lightning.

Han Zhanjian raised his sword and blocked, the clash sending a blast of spiritual energy rippling through the hall.

Bang!

The spectators shielded their eyes from the shockwave. The tiles cracked even more, and small fragments flew across the floor.

They both jumped back, breathing hard.

The entire hall was silent again. Even the elders, who had seen countless duels, were captivated. The air buzzed with the aftershock of their strikes.

Han Zukong lowered his sword slightly, his chest rising and falling. He stared at his younger brother, eyes glowing with both admiration and frustration.

"You are not taking it seriously," he said. His voice echoed through the hall, calm yet heavy with emotion.

The crowd stiffened.

Han Zhanjian blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Han Zukong lifted his blade again. His aura surged like a storm about to break loose. The ground trembled faintly under the sudden spike of his spiritual energy.

"You're still holding back," Han Zukong said quietly. "Don't treat me like I'm weak."

Han Zhanjian's grip on his sword tightened. The atmosphere thickened again. The elders leaned forward, sensing that what came next would be far greater than anything before.

The duel was far from over. It was only beginning.

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