Just as the dwarf was proud and Han Li was plotting his moves, two more figures leapt out from the Seven Xuanyuan Sect. As soon as they emerged from the crowd, they didn't waste a word, charging straight toward the dwarf at full speed—these were the two remaining senior disciples of Wang Juechu. Their faces were filled with deep sorrow, clearly devastated by the death of the sturdy man. They were furious with Jin Guang the Monastic Master and utterly determined to kill him, regardless of whether he was a sword immortal or not, solely to avenge the fallen warrior. Wang Master had originally intended to stop their impetuous actions, but then realized that the dwarf, who was skilled in magical arts, would inevitably face challenges, and these two senior disciples were the only ones capable of posing a real threat. Rather than intervene now, it would be better to let them settle their differences at this moment, while they were still driven by strong motives of vengeance. With this thought, the words Wang Juechu had meant to utter slipped back into his throat. Since the recent encounter, Jin Guang the Monastic Master had no longer underestimated his opponent. He drove the gray light toward the two figures, pointing with a gesture, and instantly, the gray glow transformed into a long arc, rushing straight toward the opposite side. The scholar among the two on the opposite side saw the glow, which appeared to be a flying sword, approaching. He arched his brow slightly, then raised his hand, sending out a slender silver thread from his sleeve that met the gray glow head-on, momentarily halting it. Yet the gray glow continued on unimpeded, as if undisturbed, suggesting the silver thread had not made a significant impact. While others could not clearly see what the silver thread was, Han Li, endowed with the extraordinary vision granted by the Changchun Technique, observed it clearly. It was plainly composed of dozens of silver needles aligned in a straight line. The scholar had somehow managed to launch these delicate, light needles with such force and precision, a feat that greatly intrigued Han Li. Seeing the silver thread fail to produce a decisive effect, the scholar remained calm and composed. He bowed slightly, then suddenly spun like a top in place. From the rotating figure, countless spears of cold light burst forth—some large, some small—dividing into two streams. One stream flowed like a silver current, colliding directly with the gray glow, producing sharp, crisp impacts that sent the gray light soaring upward and momentarily suspended. The other stream surged straight toward the dwarf, striking the golden casing with a brilliant, resonant clatter, creating a magnificent display. The cold stream engaging the gray glow continuously shed fragments and splinters, which, due to their fragmented state, had lost their original form. However, the cold spears that struck the golden casing and rebounded remained intact—each one a distinct projectile: flying knives, bodhi seeds, iron lotus seeds, gold darts, and various other familiar and unfamiliar weapons, all diverse and some even unnamed. The master of golden light paused slightly, then gave a slight shake of his head. He certainly did not believe these ordinary metals and iron could withstand his treasures for very long. A thunderous cry, like a spring storm, rang out, shaking the entire arena and startling everyone. At that moment, people realized that the gray-robed figure who had originally been running alongside the scholar had, at some point, drawn his sword from behind and was now steadily advancing toward the gray light. To their astonishment, a luminous white glow, over two inches long, emerged from the tip of his sword, pulsing and shimmering with a piercing cold. "Sword Glow," someone first uttered—this name, long sought after by every swordmaster, now became the very essence of their dream. A roar erupted, both within and beyond the arena! If flying swords were still mere legends, then sword glow was a myth of the martial world, a cherished aspiration of every swordsman. Now, not only were flying swords and sword glow appearing one after another, but they were about to engage in a direct duel—how could the audience not feel their hearts race, inspired to believe this was the very pinnacle of their lives? Yet, Ji Tianlong felt nothing but a sudden chill, his body drenched in cold sweat. Now he finally understands what it means to be slow to realize, filled with dread! Although he had previously known that the Seven-Perfected Sect concealed three outstanding masters, he had never imagined that these masters could wield swordlight. If he had not summoned the immortal Jin Guang, the very master capable of producing swordlight—this gray-robed figure alone—would have been sufficient to eliminate all of his people. When Jia Tianlong grew pale with fear, the gray-robed figure had already reached beneath the swordlight. At that moment, whether the scholar had deliberately stopped or whether his projectiles had truly run out, his body suddenly ceased its rotation, and the silver stream bearing the gray light halted mid-air. The unimpeded gray light then fell directly upon the gray-robed figure's head without hesitation. Holding his sword in both hands, the figure rose into the air with calm composure, wielding the swordlight and delivering a powerful downward slash at the gray glow. A clear sound of impact, the gray-robed figure fell from the air and landed on the ground, staggering and retreating several steps before spitting out a stream of blood, his expression growing wan. The long sword in his hand lost its three-inch tip, now flattened and convex. Even so, the gray glow sustained itself, still pulsing and flexing on the ground with a vibrant, lively spirit. Witnessing this, both Jia Tianlong and the members of the Qi Xuan Sect gasped in unison. While the Qi Xuan Sect members' gasps were tinged with joy, Jia Tianlong's were filled with concern. The scholar was equally delighted; he glanced at the fallen gray-robed figure, then at the dwarf, hesitated slightly, and then drifted gracefully toward the dwarf, intending to first eliminate the main threat. Before the scholar had drifted more than a few steps, a sudden cry from the gray-robed figure echoed behind him: "Flash now!" The Confucian scholar was startled, intending to take action, but felt a sudden coolness at his neck. A gray glow flashed past his vision, and then he saw a lifeless body—headless—rushing forward a few steps before collapsing to the ground. The silhouette looked remarkably familiar. Just as the scholar caught on to this, he lost consciousness entirely. The gray glow originally heading toward the gray-robed figure suddenly turned a corner in midair, wobbling and slanting instead toward the crowd on the opposite side. Wherever the gray glow reached, people panicked, scrambling to flee. Among them, one ordinary young man—only about seventeen or eighteen years old—remained still. He smiled gently at the golden-robed figure, revealing bright white teeth that contrasted sharply with his dark complexion. Then, pointing at the gray glow, he simply gestured, and the glow settled neatly onto his hand. "An immortal cultivator!" the dwarf felt a cold rush, his face instantly turning pale.