Chapter 207: Bring It On!
Su Tianhao and Su Mei walked the moss-covered stone path with purposeful steps—past the slopes, past the cottages, past the gathered disciples. Curious eyes followed them from every direction. Many of the disciples knew Su Mei well enough that the moment she came into view, respectful greetings rose naturally from the crowd.
"Greetings, Senior Sister."
"Greetings, Senior Sister."
"This lowly one greets the Echoing Blade."
Su Tianhao wasn't surprised. He had walked beside Su Mei long enough to understand she was a figure of genuine weight in the Outer Court. He watched the disciples with calm, calculating eyes.
Every single one of them was a Martial Adept—cultivators strong enough to dominate any mortal settlement. Yet the way they looked at Su Mei went beyond mere acknowledgment of rank. He could see it clearly. They didn't just respect her title. They admired the person herself, their eyes carrying something closer to reverence. Curious as they were about the stranger walking beside her, not one of them dared ask. They simply watched. A few even followed at a quiet distance.
Su Tianhao smiled and leaned closer, his voice dropping. "From their faces, I'd wager you have more than a few suitors in the Outer Court—wouldn't you agree, Miss Echoing Blade?"
"W-What?!"
Su Mei's face flushed instantly. She composed herself before the colour could fully show, straightening with deliberate calm.
Su Tianhao's smile was warm and genuine. Beneath all that composed dignity was the Su Mei he remembered—and that, more than anything, was what made him smile.
"Senior Sister."
He said quietly.
"What?" Her tone was flat, laced with suspicion.
He chuckled softly. "I noticed every disciple here is at the Martial Adept Realm, and Torin is the strongest among them... You don't live here, do you?"
"Hmph. Took you long enough." She snorted. "Outer Court Disciples who reach the Martial Core Realm advance to the third section of the residential area—the Baiyin Quarters."
Her eyes carried quiet pride. "The Baiyin Quarters is home to Martial Core Realm disciples. Each one is given their own personal courtyard with a proper noble house—exactly similar. No competition. No challenges. No pressure from neighbours—only the quiet race against time..."
"And if you can't become an Inner Court Disciple before thirty," Su Tianhao said before she could finish, "all that luxury is taken away, and you're left choosing between leaving or working for the sect."
"Indeed."
---
Behind them, the gathered disciples had not dispersed.
"Who's that walking beside Senior Sister Mei?" one asked in a hushed voice.
"He's not wearing a uniform or the Sect insignia... could he be a new recruit?" another said, noting the azure of Su Tianhao's robes.
"A new recruit?" A third voice rose with righteous indignation. "What gives him the right to walk beside the Echoing Blade?!"
"Keep your voice down," a timid-looking girl with a blunt bob cut and wide orange eyes whispered sharply, her gaze darting sideways. "That man is a Peak-stage Martial Adept."
"WHAT?!"
The collective outburst rang out loud enough that Su Mei paused mid-step. Su Tianhao didn't. He continued walking toward Torin's cottage without breaking stride.
Su Mei turned and swept the crowd with a single look—the measured gaze of a predator that had decided the prey wasn't worth the effort. Then she turned and fell back into step beside Su Tianhao.
Hiss.
A collective sharp intake of breath moved through the disciples. Several exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from their temples.
"Senior Sister Mei is terrifying..."
The others nodded in solemn agreement. It was only natural. A 7th level Martial Core Realm expert and top-ten Azure Cloud Ranking disciple—even a passive glance from someone at that level carried weight.
Then the timid girl's already large eyes went wide. "That direction—" Her voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "They're heading toward Senior Brother Torin's cottage."
The crowd turned. Sure enough, Su Tianhao and Su Mei were only a few metres from the door.
The implication settled over the gathering like a stone dropped into still water.
New recruit. Peak-stage Martial Adept. Escorted by the Echoing Blade. Walking directly to Torin's cottage.
It could only mean one thing.
This newcomer was going to challenge the strongest disciple in the Stonehaven Grove!
The shock gave way almost immediately to a wave of excitement and anticipation. It had been a long time since anyone dared challenge the Rampaging Warlord. Disciples began abandoning whatever they had been doing, drifting toward the cottage while keeping a careful distance—enough to watch, not enough to offend.
Su Tianhao paid them no attention. He could read the enthusiasm in their eyes well enough, and beneath it, the unmistakable flicker of mockery. They were here to watch him get put in his place! He remained unfazed. He had nothing to prove to any of them.
He stepped onto the low stone path leading to the door, drew a folded piece of paper from his robe, and crouched to slide it beneath the door. The words were simple.
I, Su Tianhao, challenge you, Torin of Grenmoor. I have high hopes of you. Don't disappoint me.
He rose, rested his hand on Dark Nether's hilt, and waited.
One minute passed. Then two. Then three.
Fifteen minutes came and went. To Su Tianhao, they were nothing. To the disciples crowding the tree line, each minute stretched painfully. He stood perfectly still, hand on his sword, hair shifting in the mountain wind—unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world.
Whatever else the watching disciples thought of him, more than a few found themselves quietly admiring the picture he made standing there. The men straightened without meaning to. The women forgot, briefly, what they had come to see.
---
Twenty minutes after the note disappeared beneath the door, the cottage went still.
Then—footsteps.
Loud. Heavy. Deliberate. Each one landing like a war drum beating a slow advance.
The door swung open.
What emerged wasn't simply a man. It was something closer to a weapon that had learned to walk.
Torin filled the doorway completely—seven feet of lean, battle-hardened muscle, dark-skinned, with short neatly trimmed hair and features carved sharp by years of hard living. He wore the Outer Court uniform, but the robe had been tied off at his waist, leaving his upper body bare. Runic tattoos covered him from collarbone to waist—dense, deliberate markings that pulsed faintly with contained energy, each one placed with the precision of someone who understood exactly what they were putting on their body. Two downward-facing triangular tribal tattoos marked the space beneath his eyes. A necklace of beast fangs hung around his neck—heavy, worn, and clearly not decorative.
He carried a nine-foot halberd at his side. The dark haft was etched with runes that mirrored the tattoos on his torso. The blade end held both a spearhead and a sharp crescent cleaver, cold and quietly hungry in the fading mountain light.
He stepped forward and his dark eyes moved first to Su Mei, then to Su Tianhao. Unlike the disciples who had bowed and greeted with elaborate deference, he offered a single curt nod.
"Senior Sister."
His voice was low and deep, carrying the particular weight of someone who spoke rarely and meant it when he did.
Su Mei returned the nod.
Torin turned to Su Tianhao. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Are you the one who sent the note?"
"I am." Su Tianhao held his gaze without shifting.
Torin's eyes hardened into a deliberate, pressing stare—his aura surfacing in a controlled leak, steady pressure building in the air between them like the moment before a storm breaks. The disciples nearest to them took unconscious steps back.
Su Tianhao didn't move. His eyes remained calm and indifferent.
"Are we going to do this or are you going to keep staring?"
Torin's aura vanished like smoke. His face split into a wide grin—sharp and genuine.
"You are a warrior. I, Torin, accept your challenge!"
The crowd erupted. Cheers, chatter, barely contained excitement—they had been waiting for this.
Torin's expression settled as he looked around the grove. "This space is too cramped. We cannot fight freely without risking sect property." His grin returned. "But I know the perfect place."
He turned to Su Mei. "Since Senior Sister is acting as Arbiter, I assume you're coming?"
"Lead the way," Su Mei said flatly.
Torin turned toward his backyard. The disciples nearest his path took instinctive steps aside as he moved through them, sweat forming on more than a few foreheads just from proximity to his presence.
Su Mei fell into step beside Su Tianhao as they followed. "Let's go."
"Senior Sister—what exactly is an Arbiter?"
"An Arbiter oversees matches between disciples," she said. "Official arena bouts, cottage challenges, death matches—any formal engagement. It's the Arbiter's responsibility to ensure fairness and enforce the rules of the match type."
Su Tianhao's brow shifted slightly at the last one. "Death match."
He didn't need it explained. The ominous name said enough—only one person walks out alive.
"Yes," Su Mei confirmed. "Arbiters can be Elders, Deacons, or higher-ranking disciples. My position in the Azure Cloud Ranking qualifies me here."
"Understood." He filed it away quietly.
Torin's deep voice came from ahead.
"We are here."
---
The clearing sat deep enough in the Ironpine Woods that the canopy formed a natural enclosure above it—open to the sky in the centre, framed on all sides by the dark, dense trunks of the ironpines. The trees themselves bore the evidence of long use: dents, scrapes, and impact marks carved into their bark at varying heights, each one a record of training sessions that had apparently held nothing back. The ground was packed flat from repeated use, the pine needles long since pressed into the earth.
Torin stepped to the centre and turned.
The disciples had already begun forming a wide ring around the clearing's edge, keeping enough distance to stay out of the way while remaining close enough to see everything.
Su Mei moved to the side and positioned herself clear of the fight line. She leaned slightly toward Su Tianhao, her voice low enough to carry only to him.
"Be careful. He has multiple physical-enhancement runes—strength, speed, defence. And one of them can expand the size and power of his weapon."
"Interesting." Su Tianhao's lips curved slightly.
He stepped forward into the clearing. The mountain wind moved through the tree line behind him, pulling at his hair and robes.
Su Mei's voice rose to address both fighters, her tone shifting—formal, controlled, carrying an edge that hadn't been there before.
"Since Tianhao is newly arrived, I'll state the rules clearly. One—lethal strikes are forbidden. Two—fouls and deliberate dirty tactics will not be tolerated. Three—if your opponent forfeits at any point, you stop immediately. No exceptions." Her gaze moved across both of them steadily. "Non-compliance will be met with my personal intervention, by the authority granted to me as Arbiter of this match."
The air felt heavier than it had a moment before.
"Do you both understand?"
"Yes." The word came from Su Tianhao and Torin in the same breath.
"Then begin."
Torin rolled his shoulders and settled into his stance, his grip shifting on the halberd. His eyes dropped to the pitch-black blade at Su Tianhao's waist—and stayed there for a moment.
"Draw your sword."
Su Tianhao shook his head once. "Let's see if you're worthy of it first."
The crowd reacted immediately.
"Arrogant!"
"He's looking down on Senior Brother Torin!"
"Is he serious?! Does he think he can stand a chance without a weapon?!"
Even a few of the women who had been quietly impressed by his demeanor just moments ago found themselves frowning.
Torin's expression darkened with a deep frown. Then he exhaled slowly—and the frown became something sharper.
"You asked for this. Don't regret it."
The runic tattoos across his body began to ignite—one by one, golden light spreading outward from his collarbone, down across his torso, along his forearms, down his legs, to the tribal marks below his eyes. His eyes themselves pulsed with gold, shifting from their natural dark hue. The ancient, primal quality of his appearance intensified tenfold—something that no longer looked entirely like a cultivator and something not entirely unlike one either.
'Powerful inscriptions,' Su Tianhao noted, his eyes moving across every marking in a handful of breaths.
The torso runes—defensive amplification. The forearm runes—strength enhancement. The leg runes—speed enhancement. The tribal marks beneath his eyes—a rare perception and clarity inscription. Difficult to obtain. More difficult to bear without the right foundation.
'No wonder he could draw against a 1st level Martial Core expert,' he thought. His lips curved upward. 'Still—it's not enough.'
Torin caught the smile, and that more than anything made his anger flared.
"I'll wipe that look off your face!"
"Ironblood Rampaging Art!"
BOOM.
His aura detonated outward—deep crimson, pulsing and volatile, a spiritual pressure that sent several of the watching disciples stumbling back a step.
"First Form: Ironblood Charge!"
His voice tore through the clearing like a war cry. He launched forward—not a charge but an eruption, the ground fracturing beneath his first step like cracked ice under a war hammer. The runes blazed. The halberd runes ignited gold to match the rest.
Whoosh.
The distance between them collapsed in a heartbeat. The halberd drove forward like a spear aimed at Su Tianhao's centre—
And in the same fluid motion, Torin reversed his grip.
The crescent cleaver swept around in a vicious arc, angled directly at Su Tianhao's exposed ribs.
"No—!"
Su Mei's breath caught.
The crowd froze.
The heat of the strike reached Su Tianhao a heartbeat before the blade did.
Then the Dragon Instinct fired.
Time seemed to slow down. But for Su Tianhao, it simply expanded—the space between one moment and the next stretching wide enough for absolute clarity to settle into every nerve and muscle without a single thought to guide it.
Swoosh.
Su Tianhao twisted mid-air. He didn't retreat. He didn't dodge backward. Instead his foot found the flat of the cleaver itself—landing on it for one impossible instant—and used the momentum to launch himself upward and back in a clean flip that carried him clear of the swing. He touched down against the trunk of an ironpine, the bark solid beneath his feet, and immediately drove off it like an arrow from a drawn bow.
SHIIN—!
Dark Nether cleared its scabbard.
The blade arrived at Torin's exposed neck faster than the eye could follow—a flash of void-black and crimson edge, close enough that the air between blade and skin was measured in fractions.
"That's—fast—!"
Torin's eyes snapped to their sharpest. Every rune he had pushed to its limit in that single desperate moment. The tribal perception inscription blazed gold across his face and his eyes flooded with light—granting him just enough clarity to read the trajectory.
He tilted his head.
The blade kissed his neck and passed.
Su Tianhao did not press the opening. He had never intended to finish it there. He stepped back and stilled, Dark Nether held loosely at his side.
Torin quickly put some distance between them, his mind working fast. He felt the warmth at his neck before he registered it consciously—reached up, and brought his fingers back wet with blood.
'If I hadn't moved in time—it would have ended there.' His golden eyes steadied, the heat of earlier anger replaced by something quieter and considerably more focused. 'Who is this person.'
The disciples stared at the sword in Su Tianhao's hand with expressions ranging from disbelief to genuine unease. Void-black blade. Crimson-gold edge. An aura radiating from it that made the air feel heavier and raised every hair on an arm.
Su Mei exhaled slowly.
Su Tianhao turned, his grip on Dark Nether easy and unhurried. He looked at Torin with the calm expression of a man who has just confirmed a suspicion rather than won a fight.
"You're a worthy opponent," he said. "You deserve to face the complete me."
Torin laughed—short and genuine, the last of his caution burning away and replaced entirely by the hunger of a fighter who had just found something worth fighting.
He tightened his grip on his halberd with firm hands.
"Bring it on!"