A Smile That Cuts Deeper Than a Blade
"Pfft—!"
The sound was sharp.
Ugly.
It shattered whatever fragile composure remained in the arena.
After the Referee Elder announced the result, Shera's body trembled violently. A mouthful of blood burst from his lips, staining the front of his robes.
For a moment, he remained standing—
Then his knees buckled slightly.
"Teacher!"
The disciples behind him panicked instantly.
They rushed forward, their movements clumsy, desperate, almost colliding into each other as they tried to support him.
Shera's face had turned deathly pale.
The veins on his forehead bulged like twisted roots, pulsing with suppressed rage.
His breathing was uneven.
Heavy.
Each inhale sounded like it scraped through his chest.
Two consecutive defeats.
And not just losses—
Crushing.
Humiliating.
Public.
The kind of defeat that didn't just wound the body—
It stripped dignity.
Not far away, the second Secret Sword Summit student slowly walked back.
