Chapter 80: Tenth Extended Move?

 Dao Wei descended from the sky, his movements fluid, and graceful—like a deity stepping down from the heavens, bridging the gap between celestial power and the mundane world. His white robes billowed as he landed on the arena floor, his feet barely stirring the dust. For a moment, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath, captivated by his presence. His gaze, however, was not on the crowd, nor on the competitors waiting in anticipation, but on the grandstand directly ahead.

A faint flicker of emotion stirred in his chest as his eyes swept across the Sword King candidates sitting in the grandstand—each one staring back at him with varying shades of hatred, disdain, and begrudging respect. Why so many people held contempt for him was a mystery, but it wasn't something he dwelled on. He didn't care.

Dao Wei's lips barely moved as he nodded toward Lu Shen, a warm yet controlled gesture. In response, his sword, Tian, materialized with a soft hum. The blade shimmered with an ethereal glow as if reflecting the power and wisdom of countless past battles. Without hesitation, he unsheathed the sword in one smooth motion.

Whoosh!

The sword light surged forward like a tidal wave. The force was so immense it felt as though it might drown the entire arena in its wake. Yet, there was something deeper about the display, something more profound than mere force—an undercurrent of mastery that permeated the air.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd.

"Hah?"

The arena was gripped by a wave of astonishment. Even the elders and seasoned experts who occupied the highest tiers of the grandstand couldn't conceal their amazement.

"Is that... the Flowing Mirage Sword Art?" came the murmurs, disbelief woven into every word. The six Sword King candidates had performed it earlier, dazzling the audience with their prowess. But what Dao Wei was displaying now—it was different.

To the untrained eye, his movements seemed slow, even clumsy. His steps lacked the flourish expected of someone in his position. There was no dramatic flaring of energy, no overly complex maneuvers. He seemed to be... playing. But the truth, concealed beneath his movements, was terrifying—Dao Wei was moving at a speed that defied logic, his form leaving only afterimages behind.

"This little demon is actually performing the Flowing Mirage Sword Art?" Jiang Feng's booming laughter broke the tension, cutting through the murmurs.

"It's the same Sword Art as the others. But since theirs was too dazzling earlier, this boy wouldn't impress us even if he performs it as well as they did," Zhang Ruolan remarked, her laughter light and dismissive. "It doesn't matter even if he reaches the Seventh or Eighth move."

But Lu Shen, watching closely, shook his head slightly. His lips curved into a faint smile. "That may not be true."

"What do you mean?" Li Mei and Feng Xiaoyue asked simultaneously, leaning in.

"If all the candidates have reached the Tenth sword move, demonstrating great skill in the Flowing Mirage Sword Art," Lu Shen said calmly, "do you think a genius who has mastered One Sword Thought would be worse off?"

Silence fell over the group, before Zhang Ruolan, her brows furrowed, responded, "Elder Brother, are you suggesting that little demon has mastered the Sword Thought Art? Does this mean he's capable of the Tenth sword move?"

"I don't know how good he is," Lu Shen said simply, his tone nonchalant. "Let's watch and see."

The famous experts in the grandstand, their curiosity piqued, turned their attention fully to the arena.

Meanwhile, murmurs of disbelief spread among the audience.

"He dares perform the Flowing Mirage Sword Art?"

"Is he digging his own grave?"

Performing the same Sword Art as the dazzling Sword King candidates was risky—especially with only ten days of preparation. To many, it seemed like a subtle act of defiance.

"The Situ brothers already pushed the Sword Art to its peak," one voice scoffed. "What's he trying to prove by following them?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," another argued. "This is Dao Wei—the Evil Star. Didn't he break the Sword Peak trials?"

Dao Wei remained unperturbed by the chatter. He had tuned out the arena's noise, his focus honed entirely on the sword in his hand, the art flowing through him. The Flowing Mirage Sword Art was an exercise in patience and accumulation—layer upon layer of power, each move building on the last.

With each swing, the sword light rippled through the air, the resonance of steel slicing through the atmosphere with perfect rhythm. The first seven sword moves came easily, almost effortless in their execution. His strikes were precise, yet far smoother than the demonstrations of the other candidates.

"He's already at the Eighth move," someone whispered.

Indeed, Dao Wei had transitioned into the Eighth move without pause, his sword flowing through the air like water cascading down a mountain. Still, his movements were a step above the others, an elegance that seemed to go unnoticed at first, but gradually became undeniable. And when he moved into the Ninth, gasps of awe rippled through the crowd.

"He's attempting the Tenth move."

The spectators leaned in, their eyes widening as Dao Wei continued without faltering.

Dao Wei's form remained steady, unwavering as he built up to the Tenth move, the apex of the Flowing Mirage Sword Art. His sword seemed to dance in his hand, a natural extension of his body, his mind entirely one with the blade. With a final, graceful flourish, he executed the Tenth move as though it were second nature.

The arena erupted in disbelief.

"Haha! Brother Lu Shen, you were right!" Zhang Ruolan exclaimed, clapping her hands. "The little demon actually managed the Tenth move. And he did it more smoothly than Cheng Fang. His talent in the Sword Principle is undeniable."

The other experts in the grandstand nodded in agreement. Their expressions showed admiration, though still tempered with uncertainty. But Lu Shen, watching Dao Wei carefully, wore a cryptic smile. He wasn't celebrating yet.

"Don't be so quick to judge," Lu Shen said, his voice low but commanding. "It's still too early."

The spectators buzzed with shock and disbelief, but Dao Wei remained unfazed. He stood still, Tian glowing faintly in his hand, his face calm and unreadable. The logical next step would be to sheathe his sword, signaling the completion of his performance. Yet, he made no move to do so.

The entire arena watched in confusion.

"What's he doing?" a disciple murmured.

"Isn't it over?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's already finished the Tenth move. Why isn't he stopping?"

The arena fell into a tense silence.

Dao Wei's eyes remained closed, his focus inward as he drew upon the teachings instilled in him by his father. His father's voice echoed in his mind.

'There is no such thing as a supreme level to any Sword Art. If the Tenth move is the limit, then transcend that limit. Always strive for more.'

A faint smile tugged at Dao Wei's lips. He knew what he had to do.

Then, without warning, Dao Wei's sword surged with a sudden burst of energy. The air around him crackled with power as he moved once more.

"What?" someone shouted in disbelief. "He's not stopping!"

Then, the whispers began. "Don't tell me… he's attempting the Eleventh move?"

An immediate uproar followed.

The entire arena erupted into exclamations. Dao Wei wasn't just performing the Tenth move—he was attempting something beyond it.

"The Eleventh move? Is there even such a thing?" another disciple gasped.

Even the elders, usually reserved and composed, were on the edge of their seats

"The Eleventh sword move? There's an Eleventh move in the Flowing Mirage Sword Art?"

Cheng Fang, seated among the Sword King candidates, stared down in disbelief, his previous disdain completely erased.

Dao Wei was moving again, his sword gathering power with every swing, an unseen pressure building around him. The air crackled with energy, a force that became palpable, and oppressive. The power of the Flowing Mirage Sword Art was reaching its peak, but Dao Wei did not stop.

The blade moved.

Swish!

The Eleventh sword sliced through the air with an explosive force, the sound deafening as the arena was engulfed in its power.

"This boy is mad!" Cheng Fang exclaimed, his voice trembling with disbelief.

The grandstand was silent, the elders and experts frozen as they watched the impossible unfold. The Tenth move was meant to be the highest level—the pinnacle of the Flowing Mirage Sword Art. But what Dao Wei had just demonstrated... was beyond that.

"That's not possible!" The Supreme Elder, standing from his seat, stared down at the arena with wide eyes. "He's transcended the Tenth move…"

Dao Wei stood in the center of the arena, his sword glowing faintly as if absorbing the aftershock of the power it had just unleashed. His expression was calm, serene—a quiet confidence radiating from him. The faintest of smiles touched his lips as he raised his gaze toward the grandstand.

'I have transcended the supreme level.'

For a brief moment, silence reigned in the arena. Then, slowly, an uproar of applause and cheers filled the air. The Sword God Sect's arena erupted in celebration, disbelief, and admiration for the young man who had just achieved what few thought possible.

A stunned silence continued over the crowd as they absorbed the magnitude of what they had just witnessed. No one dared to speak, their eyes wide with awe and disbelief.

Then, slowly, a ripple of applause began to spread. First, from the disciples who had once doubted him, and then from the elders who had watched in silence. Even the Sword King candidates, once full of disdain, now regarded Dao Wei with a newfound respect

The applause swelled, filling the arena with a deafening roar. Dao Wei, his expression calm and collected, simply sheathed his sword, offering no words of triumph.