Chapter 94: Bare-Handed Duel — Flawless Defeat
The battle raged on.
Fists howled through the air like vengeful spirits, dark silver gauntlets gleaming with brutal force as Su Jian struck again and again—each blow carrying more desperate power than the last, none finding their mark.
It was like fighting a ghost made manifest.
No matter how fast he moved, how wild and unpredictable his attacks became, Su Tianhao remained just barely out of reach—slipping through gaps like water between fingers, untouched, unshaken, completely composed. To the watching crowd, this was no longer a contest between equals.
It was a lesson being delivered.
In truth, Su Tianhao's movements went far beyond simple evasion. He was applying the fundamental principles of Parry—one of the nine basic sword moves—directly into his defensive footwork.
"See not just the physical attack, but the intention behind it."
His mother's teaching echoed with crystal clarity. Having reached sword assimilation and touched upon the Realm of Perfect Edge, reading Su Jian's intent was effortless—he arrived at each position before the attack fully formed, always one step ahead.
To the spectators, he appeared to be toying with Su Jian at will.
"Young Master Jian is unlucky," Lu Qingran muttered from his elevated position, eyes tracking every exchange. "With those techniques, he could defeat an ordinary 7th level Martial Disciple without difficulty. Too bad he encountered Su Tianhao instead."
Many shared the sentiment. Su Jian had thoroughly surpassed expectations—his raw power and unwavering will were genuinely impressive. But the conclusion settling in every mind was the same:
He stood no chance.
As the battle dragged on, Su Jian's breathing grew ragged, his punches fueled now by willpower alone. His physical reserves were visibly thinning, and he knew it.
'I won't be defeated by exhaustion!' Su Jian roared inwardly, the thought alone driving him toward the edge of desperation.
He suddenly stopped.
His jet-black hair hung scattered and disheveled, his once-pristine white robes now thoroughly stained with dust and sweat. Brown eyes had turned bloodshot, prominent veins bulging across his features—and Su Tianhao hadn't thrown a single attacking strike.
Across from him, Su Tianhao stood with a calm, almost pleasant expression. Azure robes untouched. Long black hair fluttering gracefully behind him like a victory banner.
"Su Tianhao!" Su Jian shouted through ragged breaths, naked hatred and desperation stripping his voice raw. "If you have any guts at all, fight me like a man—stop running away like a coward!"
"Oh?" Su Tianhao responded quietly, yet his voice somehow carried across the entire arena—soft and unhurried, yet impossible to ignore.
"You think I'm running from you?"
Gulp.
Su Jian swallowed audibly, his body taking an involuntary step backward before he could stop himself. His face flushed crimson the instant he realized what he'd done.
"Su Tianhao, just face it! You're nothing but a coward who only knows how to hide!"
"Run? From your weak, predictable moves?" Su Tianhao's voice shifted—serene calm giving way to something colder, something that sent involuntary shivers through the younger disciples in the galleries. "I'm only saving you the humiliation of losing too quickly. You haven't had the chance to prove anything to these witnesses yet."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Do you really think you'd still be standing if I hadn't shown mercy?" he continued, his gaze cutting straight through Su Jian like a blade. "I dragged this out—because of your father."
Realization rippled through the crowd like truth rising through still water.
"No wonder Su Tianhao chose to drag out the fight despite having the power to end it instantly—he's saving face for the Patriarch," an elderly spectator murmured, nodding slowly.
"As expected of him," Master Huan said with a quiet smile. "He's someone who doesn't like leaving favors unpaid."
On the high platform, Su Huiqing glanced down at Su Tianhao. 'Thank you, Tianhao,' he thought, though no words passed his lips.
In truth, Su Tianhao's restraint stemmed from something deeper than family obligation. Su Huiqing had saved his life twice—once from Zhu Shan's blade seven years ago, and again from Ye Shiming's assassination attempt just two weeks prior. Against those two life-saving debts, showing mercy to Su Jian in a match cost him nothing.
"Bullshit!" Su Jian sneered, throwing the explanation aside without a second thought.
"Then I'll prove it," Su Tianhao said flatly.
"How?" Su Jian asked, frowning—but inwardly, a small, desperate spark reignited in his chest. 'A golden opportunity to turn the tides!' His fists clenched until the gauntlets groaned with metallic protest.
The crowd leaned forward as one, waiting.
Su Tianhao's next words hit like thunder splitting open a silent sky.
"Come at me with everything you've got. Hold nothing back." His voice carried across the arena without effort, calm and absolute. "I'll catch your fists with my bare hands. Show you just how weak your techniques truly are."
Silence.
One heartbeat of it—complete and suffocating.
Then the arena erupted.
"Is Su Tianhao insane?! Catching gauntlet-enhanced fists with bare hands?!"
"Far too arrogant! Even an 8th level Martial Disciple wouldn't dare attempt that!"
"The Tyrannical King Fist concentrates internal energy into each strike—without martial arts backing him up, even a Peak-stage Martial Disciple would suffer severe injuries!"
Hmph.
"Overestimating yourself," Ye Wenjie sneered from his concealed position, genuinely unconvinced for once.
Even the elders on the high platform shared the sentiment. Su Jian's Tyrannical King Fist wasn't raw strength alone—it concentrated immense internal energy into each strike, capable of shattering bones and breaking through defenses. Bare hands against that, regardless of cultivation level, bordered on suicidal.
'Hahahaha! His arrogance will become his downfall!' Su Liang thought gleefully, color flooding back into his previously pale face.
"The recklessness of youth," Su Qingfeng muttered with a disappointed shake of his head.
"He's acted too impulsively," Su Minghe agreed reluctantly, genuine concern in his eyes.
Su Yuntian said nothing—but the disapproval in her gaze was unmistakable.
Those who truly knew Su Tianhao, however, thought differently.
'Little Tian has never made reckless choices without careful consideration,' Su Yuan thought, his expression perfectly tranquil amid the surrounding tension. 'He knows exactly what he's doing.'
Su Huiqing sat perfectly still, watching the distant stage with quiet anticipation flickering in his composed eyes.
On the disciples' platform, Su Lei's silver brows arched sharply. "What exactly is Su Tianhao trying to achieve?" he muttered.
"Looks like your friend has shot himself in the foot," Su Ruxue observed, though her usually composed features flickered with undeniable interest. "Who would have thought he'd make things so unnecessarily difficult for himself?"
"What are you talking about?!" Su Lei responded immediately, conviction absolute. "Su Tianhao will win. There's no other possibility." His tone left no room for argument—as if defeat simply didn't exist as a conceivable outcome.
The certainty in his voice made Su Ruxue pause.
Ten thousand eyes locked onto the arena platform.
The final stage was set.
---
Meanwhile on the stage, Su Jian stared at Su Tianhao in stunned silence, his mind still struggling to process the words he'd just heard.
'Come at me with everything you've got... I'll catch your fists with my bare hands.'
The declaration sank like a stone dropped into still water—sending ripples of disbelief and mounting excitement through every corner of his racing mind.
He could no longer contain himself.
"Hahahahahaha!"
Su Jian's laughter burst forth uncontrollably, carrying through the arena like thunder rolling across open skies—wild, unrestrained, edged with hysteria.
"Good! Good!" He turned to face Su Tianhao directly, renewed confidence flooding back into his features. "I never knew you would be so kind! Since you suggested it yourself, I naturally won't refuse your generous offer!"
The words dripped with mockery.
However, Su Tianhao showed no reaction whatsoever. "Just come at me already," he said casually, motioning with one hand—as if beckoning a child forward.
Su Jian's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Better remember your promise and catch my fist!"
BOOM!
He moved.
His figure shot forward like a cannonball—fast, wild, thunderously heavy. The reinforced ground cracked violently beneath his feet, stone fragments launching into the air as raw force surged through his body. His right arm drew back sharply, coiled like a spring under immense pressure. The dark silver gauntlet glowed ominously, pulsing with concentrated internal force that spiraled through his veins.
"Tyrannical King Fist—Third Form, Tyrant's Judgment!"
A fierce battle cry burst from his throat as his fist lunged forward—not merely with physical might, but with absolute finality.
This was not a test. This was not suppression.
This was meant to end everything.
The punch tore through the air like a falling meteor, leaving visible ripples of crushing pressure in its wake. Shockwaves sent the robes of nearby disciples flapping wildly. A single blow concentrated with everything Su Jian had left—the true culmination of the Tyrannical King Fist's terrifying might.
The crowd leaned forward as one, breathing caught collectively in their throats. All eyes fell on Su Tianhao's completely unmoving figure.
"Is he really going to catch Su Jian's full-power fist?!"
Many spectators broke into cold sweat. They could already envision a severely injured second young master—the momentum behind that fist was simply too overwhelming.
Su Jian's eyes flashed with premature victory as he brought his devastating strike down toward Su Tianhao's chest.
Su Tianhao remained utterly unmoved.
His golden eyes flickered briefly with profound light—a subtle gleam almost impossible to catch.
Then—
BOOM!
A thunderous sound exploded outward as Su Jian's fist collided with its target. Massive shockwaves rippled through the air, forcing nearby disciples to shield their faces. Several weaker cultivators stumbled backward, suffering minor injuries from the aftershock alone.
A cloud of dust erupted, obscuring both combatants from view.
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating, complete.
Then the dust settled.
Su Tianhao still stood—unshaken, unbent, completely untouched.
And Su Jian's fist?
Caught.
Gripped firmly in Su Tianhao's bare palm, held as easily as one might catch a thrown ball. No blood. No cracks spider-webbing across the skin. Not even the faintest tremor in his steady wrist.
Su Jian's face twisted violently in disbelief. Veins bulged in his straining neck, muscles tensed to their absolute limits as he desperately pushed forward—but it was like attempting to topple a mountain with bare hands. His full-force strike, the devastating final form of the Tyrannical King Fist, had been stopped.
Without a weapon. Without a single defensive technique. With just one hand.
"Impossible..." Su Jian muttered hoarsely, his voice cracking with shock.
He wasn't alone. The entire crowd stood frozen in complete speechlessness, as if their understanding of reality was being rewritten before their eyes.
By all logical reasoning, catching Su Jian's full-powered strike with bare hands should be impossible—even for a Peak-stage Martial Disciple.
But Su Tianhao was an existence that consistently defied conventional logic.
The Heavenly Devouring Dragon Physique was already extraordinarily powerful in its base state. After cultivating the Supreme Dragon Transformation Technique, his body had undergone profound transformation—his endurance, durability, and resilience far surpassing ordinary human limits. This was the inherent potential of his Supreme Dragon bloodline, systematically unlocked by his heaven-defying technique.
While the world around him remained locked in stunned silence, Su Tianhao stayed perfectly calm. His voice cut across the arena—low, emotionless, and utterly final:
"You see now? This is the difference between us."
Ice-cold chills raced down Su Jian's spine. Though spoken quietly, those words felt like a pronouncement delivered from the depths of hell itself.
He immediately abandoned any intention of attacking further.
'Since I can't attack, I must defend! I will not be defeated!' he roared desperately in his mind, pulling backward sharply—trying frantically to free his fist from Su Tianhao's grip.
"Argh!" Su Jian growled through gritted teeth, channeling every last scrap of remaining strength into the attempt. But no matter how hard he strained, Su Tianhao didn't budge—like trying to move solid bedrock.
Su Tianhao watched him with emotionless golden eyes, as dispassionately as one might observe a child throwing a futile tantrum.
Creak!
A sharp metallic sound cut through the air. Su Jian had made a desperate decision—abandoning his precious gauntlets entirely for even the slightest chance of escape.
"Futile," Su Tianhao said coldly.
His figure shifted forward. Shadowfang flew from its scabbard for the first time since the match began—the obsidian blade seeming to drink the surrounding light as it emerged.
Whoosh!
One fluid motion. The blade cut through the air—impossibly fast, perfectly fluid, blending seamlessly with shadow and light until it was impossible to track.
Then it vanished.
Reappearing in its sheath with a soft, satisfied click.
"You've already lost," Su Tianhao said, his hand resting lightly on the hilt once more.
Su Jian frowned deeply in confusion. "What are you—"
Sharp pain blossomed across his neck before he could finish.
His brown eyes widened in absolute horror as he looked down—a clean, narrow cut had appeared at his throat, dripping slowly with crimson blood.
'So fast... If this were a real battle, I wouldn't even know how I died!'
As he turned to face Su Tianhao again, his eyes were no longer filled with rage or wounded pride.
Only fear. Deep, primal, inescapable fear.
It was as if he wasn't staring at a fellow human being.
He was staring at a monster wearing human skin.
Su Tianhao had defeated him so utterly that it transcended physical victory—this was a complete psychological crushing. One that Su Jian would carry buried deep within his heart as a constant, inescapable reminder of his own inferiority.
The crowd remained frozen in their seats, still processing what they'd witnessed.
From this day forward, many thought simultaneously, the name Su Tianhao would no longer be spoken of as a rising talent—but as an overwhelming force that no one in the younger generation of Oakwood City dared to challenge.