Chapter 11 - You're not qualified

Han Kuan, still sitting in his wheelchair, scoffed and shouted, "Brother, stop wasting time talking to him. Just take him down now! If he resists, smash his mouth!"

Han Yun's eyes narrowed, the coldness in them sharpening as he glared at Han Zhen.

A chilling aura flared from his gaze, and he commanded sharply, "Seize him! Now!"

"Yes, Young Master!" the guards behind him responded in unison, their movements immediate.

The first to charge was a warrior at the eighth level of the Spirit Awakening Realm. His body blurred as he shot forward with blistering speed, closing the distance in an instant.

His right arm tensed, fingers spreading into a vicious claw. A surge of vitality energy gathered at his fingertips, crackling with an ominous glow.

This was a ruthless, close-combat technique designed to tear through flesh and crush bones. With his level of power, a successful strike would leave Han Zhen's body marred with five deep, gaping wounds, if not worse.

But just as his clawed fingers were about to sink into Han Zhen's flesh

Swish!

Han Zhen moved.

His body tilted ever so slightly, just enough to evade the attack by a hair's breadth. His robes fluttered as he shifted, smooth and effortless, as if he had anticipated the move before it even began.

Shua!

A sharp cry split through the air.

The guard's assault came to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened in shock, staring in horror at his outstretched arm, severed cleanly at the wrist.

A spray of crimson arced through the air as the dismembered hand dropped to the ground with a sickening thud.

A heartbeat later, pain registered. The guard let out a bone-chilling scream, stumbling back as he clutched his bleeding stump.

Before he could even collapse, Han Zhen's foot snapped forward like a whip.

Bang!

The force of the kick sent the injured man flying, his body crashing into the stone pavement several meters away, his screams now weak groans of agony.

Everything had happened in the blink of an eye. The attacker, an elite warrior, had been reduced to a whimpering, one-armed wreck before anyone could even process the outcome.

A heavy silence fell over the courtyard.

Disbelief was written on the faces of the onlookers. Han Yun's expression twitched, his pupils contracting slightly. Even Han Kuan, who had been so full of arrogance moments ago, found his smirk frozen in place.

But Han Zhen was not finished.

His grip tightened around his sword, and without hesitation, he stepped forward, his figure blurring as he launched into the remaining guards.

The blade danced.

It did not follow intricate, flowery forms; there was no wasted movement, no unnecessary flair. Each stroke was crisp, direct, and efficient, with basic swordplay honed to a terrifying level.

A guard attempted to parry. He barely lifted his weapon before a precise slash cut across his wrist, forcing him to drop his sword with a cry of pain.

Another man lunged, his spear thrusting forward like a venomous serpent, only for Han Zhen to sidestep effortlessly and drive his blade through his shoulder.

His vision and experience were unparalleled. In mere moments, Han Zhen had completely deciphered the intentions of his foes. His simple, basic swordplay found and exploited their weaknesses easily.

On the sidelines, Han Kuan, who had been watching from his wheelchair, was left speechless.

"Brother... How can Han Zhen be this strong?" Han Kuan murmured, his voice filled with disbelief.

His mind refused to accept what he was witnessing. Earlier, he had convinced himself that the humiliation he suffered at Han Zhen's hands had been nothing more than a fluke, a stroke of bad luck. But now, as he watched Han Zhen carve through their guards like a blade through soft clay, the bitter truth set in.

This was no accident.

He had severely underestimated Han Zhen.

Even if he fought with everything he had, there would be no chance of victory. He would be crushed, and humiliated beyond redemption.

Han Yun, standing beside him, was equally shaken. His usual composed expression wavered, his brows knitting together as his gaze flickered between the fallen guards and the lone figure standing among them.

"It seems we've been deceived," Han Yun said at last. "This level of sword mastery isn't something that can be faked. It's not something one can achieve in a few short years. Without at least ten, maybe twenty years of relentless practice."

As Han Yun finished speaking, the sword light before them dissipated. The ground was littered with defeated figures, all groaning and writhing in pain.

And yet, Han Zhen's sword, despite having cut down so many opponents, remained spotless, as if untouched by the bloodshed. In fact, the sword in his hand now exuded an even colder and sharper aura, as if it had been further honed by the battle.

Han Yun clenched his fists, his eyes darkening. His pride, and his authority, both had been trampled underfoot.

"You arrogant fool!" he snapped with fury. "You were given a chance, and yet you refuse to repent! Now you dare to resist me? With what you've done, even killing you wouldn't be an overreaction!"

"Killing me?" His voice was calm, indifferent. "You're not qualified."

Han Yun's expression twisted with rage.

"Shameless!" he roared. "No matter how sharp your sword is, no matter how skilled you think you are, against absolute strength, you are nothing! Your arrogance will be your downfall!"

With that, he took a step forward.

Clang!

A sharp metallic ring echoed through the courtyard as Han Yun unsheathed his sword in one swift motion.

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted.

A suffocating force spread through the air, pressing down like an invisible mountain. The surrounding temperature seemed to plummet as a chilling, murderous aura surged from Han Yun's body.

His cultivation, at the peak of the Essence Refinement Realm, burst forth in full force.