Han Long

"Brothers, brothers, fear not. I, Han Long, also known as the Long Swords master, will deal with this rather... unpleasant situation," Han Long said with a stupid smirk plastered across his face.

'Huh? Why is he introducing himself like that? You'd think that's an NPC thing… Could I have been wrong? Is he actually just an NPC? Unless…' Ying wondered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the proud young man stride fearlessly toward the guard with the sword.

"Brother, are you willing to place your honour on the line? If you are, then fight me in a duel. If I win, you shall let us all pass. But if you win… well, we shall retreat with our tails between our legs. Do we have a deal?" Han Long declared, his voice dripping with confidence.

'Who's we?' Ying interjected silently, raising an eyebrow.

Han Long's challenge to the guard sent shockwaves through the crowd. Eyes popped, jaws dropped, and even Ying couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise. The audacity of this guy was something else.

The guard, however, didn't even blink. He eyed Han Long from head to toe, then let out a tired sigh, as if he'd seen this kind of nonsense a hundred times before. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could—

"Let me handle this one... if you don't mind, of course, senior," the second guard spoke up. He'd been silent until now, but something about Han Long's bravado seemed to have sparked his interest...

Oh dear.

The first guard shot his subordinate a long, slightly distasteful look. But after a moment, he simply snorted and stepped back, leaving the annoying Han Long to his colleague. The second guard stepped forward, his two-meter spear clenched tightly in his hands.

"I hope you don't mind, but I shall be your opponent today." The second guard said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace.

"I don't actually. In fact, I could face two of you," Han Long shot back, his confidence unshaken.

At this point, Ying couldn't help but wonder if the guy had an ace up his sleeve. Was this merely a case of misguided conceit, or was there something more to Han Long's bravado? Maybe it was all part of some grand scheme?

Ying didn't know. He could never know. At least, not until this duel was over.... Or so he thought.

"All of you, listen well and let it be known!" Han Long roared, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "My name is Han Long, the Long Swords master, and I am the man who will rise to the summit of this world, standing atop it as its sole ruler! Consider this my first act of kindness. When I win this duel, all those who wish to fight at my side can join me!"

The crowd fell into a deafening silence, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words.

'So that's what this is about… Nothing but friggin' propaganda!' Ying thought, disappointed. Han Long's true intentions were surprisingly shallow and pathetically vain. Yet, Ying couldn't deny his curiosity. He wanted to see how this would end.

'That idiot got too excited by the Inaugural Speech, but let's see if he actually has the strength to back up his big mouth,' Ying mused. He had a feeling he wasn't the only one thinking along those lines.

The crowd backed away, creating a wide circle for the duel. Their faces were tense and expectant, a stark contrast to the guards' indifferent expressions. It was as if they'd seen this kind of thing a hundred times before.

Han Long stretched out his arm, summoning his sword from his inventory. A bright light flashed between his palms, and the silhouette of a short sword emerged from the radiance.

'Quite ironic for someone calling himself the Long Swords master,' Ying thought, slightly unimpressed.

Han Long grasped the blade with one hand, pointing it at the guard with a grin. "Soon, I shall become a rare commodity—obtained by none but desired by all. So, enjoy this while you still can. You, my opponent… may I know your name?" Han Long asked, proud and boisterous as ever.

He inquired the guard's name; the latter's response, however, was not within his expectations.

"You may not. This will be over soon," the guard said, his tone aloof, oozing absolute confidence. His words shook Han Long, but the young man quickly masked his shock—everyone missed it except Ying, of course.

"Um… okay, I see. I guess I'll just have to earn your respect, then," Han Long said, ending the pre-fight chatter. Or so he thought.

"Watch! Behold my radiance!" Han Long roared, dropping into a stance that hinted at years of swordsmanship practice. Raising his sword above his head, he charged at the guard, yelling, "Unlucky warrior, taste my blade's edge!"

The audience held their breath as Han Long closed the distance, his blade descending with deadly intent. But the guard didn't move. His stance was firm, his guard up, and his expression unreadable.

'He's not moving, but his guard is definitely up. That means… oh no,' Ying realized, his eyes widening.

Just upon finishing the thought, while Han Long's blade was just mere inches away from his body, the second guard finally move. His response was so fast that it came across as nothing but an imperceptible blur!

'Eh?'

Whoosh!

The sharp whistling of air being cut through was followed almost immediately by the loud and uneven clang of metal hitting the unpaved ground. Shocked gasps and confused whispers ran through the sizable spectatorship as they slowly processed what had just unfolded.

There, standing in front of the guard, was Han Long. His eyes widened far beyond their usual limits as he gazed at the piece of metal that had hit the floor not too long ago.

It was a blade… Half a blade... His blade.

Suddenly achieving realization, the crowd ran wild with comments and side talk on what just happened. To them, Han Long's blade had been cut in half. He was disarmed; thus he had lost the duel.

It was over. The show had ended, and in such a spectacular manner no less.

But...

Ying noticed two details, two crucial underscores that would undoubtedly affect the way players reacted and interacted with players in this new world.

First, the blade itself. The cut was clean, precise, and unnervingly perfect. Severing a blade like that in a single strike was no small feat—it spoke of a level of skill that was almost inhuman.

The second, and perhaps the most important, detail was far more chilling. The guard's spear hadn't retracted. It was still poised, ready to strike again. And this time, Ying knew, it wasn't aiming to disarm.

'H-he's going for the kill!' Ying thought, his stomach dropping.

Ying was right. As truly saddening as it was, he was capable of predicting scenarios like this with ease.

He watched in horror as the spearman's ppolearm stiffened and, soon after, descended downwards with frightening precision and a bone-chilling lack of hesitation.

As though a hateful smite, from the heavenly gods themselves, the spear descended and once again blurred out of existence. It's sharp whistling was eerie, and final.

All it took was an instant, and the pole arm reappeared, bringing with it the all but familiar sound of a blade cutting through air.

SLASH!

Once again ,the ruthless spearman attacked, and once again ,he wrought havoc. The sound that followed, unfortunately, was not the sound of metal against metal… How wonderful it would have been?

But it wasn't. This time something else was reaped.

Something much more precious than a mere metal sword.