For an archer, the moment of nocking an arrow is their most vulnerable. For a swordsman, that fleeting instant—just before the blade leaves the sheath—is equally weak. Seizing the chance, the archer instructor loosed a second arrow at Ling Yu before his sword could clear the scabbard.

But in the next heartbeat, something astonishing unfolded. Though Ling Yu’s blade had barely emerged a sliver, the moment the arrow drew near—*whoosh*—his sword was already poised to slash. The motion from unsheathing to striking felt seamlessly erased.

With a diagonal sweep, Ling Yu effortlessly intercepted the arrow. Steel met steel in a brief spark; the arrow flew aside, severed.

“Trying to strike the moment before my blade clears the sheath?” Ling Yu’s voice held a trace of amusement. “True—for an ordinary swordsman, that *is* the weakest point.”

“But for me? The instant my sword shows even a sliver… there is no weak moment.”

Gritting his teeth, the instructor nocked another arrow. Yet Ling Yu seemed to read his every move. A simple backhand flick of the blade upward—and the arrow was deflected. This time, cleanly split in two. The halves shot past Ling Yu’s sides, momentum spent.

“As an archer, your draw strength is solid, your motions swift. Truly skilled,” Ling Yu remarked, tone shifting like a mentor guiding a peer. “But arrows always fly straight toward the front. Read the angle, and you can block every shot—no dodging needed.”

The instructor smirked through clenched teeth. “Hmph. You’re… interesting. First time I’ve met a student like you.” He drew three arrows, nocked them at once, and loosed.

“Oh? More arrows, same frontal assault!” Ling Yu chuckled. He shifted back a step, sword tracing a fluid arc—three arrows deflected without effort. Volley after volley followed; Ling Yu held his ground, deflecting each, never advancing.

“Ugh, is he just wasting time? Standing there, only defending?” a student muttered in the waiting area.

“Hmph. All talk. No offense left—just getting crushed,” another sneered.

“Exactly! Step down already!” a third chimed in.

“Not so fast,” cut in a student who’d been watching closely. “Look behind the instructor.”

“Behind him?” The two turned. The quiver, once full, now held fewer than half its arrows.

“Could he be…?”

“Exactly. Smart move. Charging in with a short sword? Suicide. He’s waiting for the instructor to run dry.”

The observant student’s gaze shifted to Ling Yu. *He’s testing something…*

Then—Ling Yu’s eyes sharpened. His stance shifted.

*This is it.*

The instructor, snapping out of the frenzy, drew only one arrow. A spiraling gust coiled around its shaft. Dust swirled; wind brushed Ling Yu’s face.

“You’re interesting enough… that I’ll get serious now,” the instructor declared, expression grave.

A roar erupted across the arena. No trial instructor had used magic before. Gasps, awe, burning curiosity.

“That guy forced the instructor to *this*? Incredible!”

“Hmph. Arrogant fool’s about to fall.”

“True. No student, however skilled, can withstand magic. Experience wins.”

All bias forgotten, the crowd leaned in, breathless.

The arrow shot forth—fused with storm, blazing fast. No anti-magic gear. Ling Yu dodged, but the wind-enchanted shaft grazed his shoulder. *Rip!* Fabric tore. The vortex, sharp as glass, left a broad crimson welt—no blood, yet agony flared. A tear welled at his eye.

*Is this… just a graze? Why does it hurt like a blade piercing flesh?*

He’d endured far stronger wind magic on battlefields—never flinching. Less than two years ago. *Am I weakening?* He glimpsed something vile beneath the bruise—but no time.

The arrow struck the barrier. *Boom!* A spherical gust erupted, shaking the walls.

“Oh? So calm earlier… now crying like a maiden?” the instructor taunted.

Ling Yu’s eyes hardened. *No more waiting.* If his body was acting strange, he’d end this now.

From the stands, Tongxi’s ruby-bright eyes widened. A shiver ran through her; her face paled with worry.

The attendant beside her softened his voice. “Don’t worry, little one. He’s fine.” He glanced back at the field. *Ling Yu… even at full strength, that instructor may not win.*

On the field, Ling Yu’s blade flashed white. “Thank you for the concern, Instructor,” he retorted, voice sharp. “But since you’ve stopped holding back… why should I?”

He surged forward.