Chapter 2962: The Sword Unbound

Everyone watched as the fight between Jin Rong and Han Ceng reached the climax.

In a shocking twist, Jin Rong used Han Ceng’s own technique against him—reversed in timing.

Han Ceng fell, face-first.

The arena was silent.

Lin Mu’s smile was faint.

"Jin Rong has no natural talent. But he has eyes. Eyes that learn. This match... is mine to remember."

By the end of the second month, only one hundred disciples remained.

The final hundred.

The names of each were now known across the sect. They were talked about in inns, tea houses, private courtyards, and hidden cultivation chambers.

The Floating Immortal Platform glittered at night, lit by glowing lantern arrays. Music sometimes played in the background from the Melody Peak disciples. Small food stalls appeared near the edges. The tournament wasn’t just a test anymore—it was a legacy in motion.

And above it all, Lin Mu remained at the center.

Judging. Teaching. Learning.

He hadn’t drawn his sword even once.

But the day would come.

And everyone was waiting.

The next day, the final hundred disciples stood in quiet formation beneath the radiance of the floating Immortal Lanterns.

They were the cream of the sect. Victors of tens of thousands of battles. Inner Court elites, Core Disciples at the Fifth Stage of the Immortal Realm, and even one or two Outer Court dark horses who had clawed their way into legend.

Their clothes bore traces of battle—torn sleeves, faded scabbards, worn boots—but their eyes were resolute. Each had come this far by sword alone.

And now, before them stood the one who had not drawn his blade once.

Lin Mu.

He walked out onto the central platform, dressed plainly in gray robes trimmed in blue for today’s special day. His presence was subtle. No qi fluctuations, no spiritual pressure, not even the faint humming of a sword at his side.

And yet, none of the hundred dared to speak first.

Lin Mu stood still, looking at them with the serenity of one who had crossed ten thousand miles on foot and returned with clarity.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Today marks the final trial," he said, his voice gentle but clear, "and for that... I have a condition."

Murmurs stirred the crowd. Even the elders above, seated in a grandstand surrounded by translucent formation barriers, leaned forward.

Lin Mu held up a hand—not in aggression, but as a gesture of promise.

"I will fight all one hundred of you," he said. "Each of you, one by one."

Nothing surprising there. That was expected.

"But..." Lin Mu paused, his gaze sweeping over the disciples like a sword brushing through mist. "I will not use my cultivation base."

The words struck like thunder.

Gasps spread like wildfire through the crowd.

"I will not use qi. I will not use qi techniques. I will not even use my own sword." He gestured to a nearby rack where common iron training swords were stacked. "I will borrow one of those."

Silence reigned.

And then, Lin Mu bowed slightly to the assembled fighters. "I ask that you use everything. Every technique, every ounce of your qi, every shred of sword will you possess. Show me your Dao, your heart, your limits. Only then will my assessment hold meaning."

No one moved.

The Grand Elder Huo’s eyes flickered with rare surprise. Even High Elder Yi Feiyan, who usually wore a calm expression, raised a brow.

Daoist Chu, seated in the audience beside Meng Bai and Little Shrubby, let out a low whistle."I thought I was the eccentric one," he muttered. "Turns out I’m a student."

Meng Bai’s mouth hung open. "He’s serious... right? He’s actually going to do it?"

Little Shrubby, chewing thoughtfully on a stick of dried meat jerky, gave a calm: "Mm."

A moment later, uproar erupted.

"You can’t fight without your cultivation!"

"This is just arrogance!"

"Does he think we’re weaklings?!"

"Is he insulting our Dao of the Sword? Our efforts?

"Forget that! Wouldn’t it be unfair? For him!"

But even as the disciples shouted, the elders exchanged quiet glances.

This wasn’t arrogance.

This was... an education.

Grand Elder Huo finally spoke, his voice calm yet firm as the mountain.

"Silence."

The air stilled again.

"Do not mistake humility for mockery," the Grand Elder said. "Lin Mu is not challenging you to humiliate you. He is giving you the chance to be your truest self in combat."

Elder Yan Dao added, "You’ve trained for years, some for centuries. Today, you fight a man who uses only one thing—his intent. Show him that the sword is more than power. Show him your conviction."

The disciples quieted, tension shifting into something more complex—determination, perhaps... or resolve.

Lin Mu walked toward the training rack and picked up a dull-looking steel sword. It was heavy, unrefined, and not even balanced properly. A weapon made for drills, not duels.

He gave it a few test swings.

Swish.Swish.

Each swing was clean. Too clean. The edge gleamed briefly—not from polish, but from will.

He turned back to the platform.

"Let us begin."

The First Duel

The first to step forward was Lu Tian, a Core Disciple in the Third Stage of the Immortal Realm. His style was a fusion of wind and shadow, known for erratic bursts of speed.

"I won’t go easy on you," he said, sweating nervously.

Lin Mu smiled. "Please don’t."

The match lasted thirteen seconds. Thirteen seconds on the dot.

Lu Tian attacked like a gale, his steps weaving in and out of the air like black silk. His sword struck from six directions—none of which landed.

Lin Mu didn’t dodge.

He stepped forward.

One clean stroke, too fast for most to follow, knocked Lu Tian’s sword from his grip. It landed ten feet behind him.

No cultivation. No visible intent.

Just one stroke of pure clarity.

Lu Tian stared blankly, then bowed. "Thank you... for the lesson."

Lin Mu nodded. "Your speed is good. But your heart lingers in your past failures. Refine your courage."

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