"We’ll bet on whether Han Yan or Mu Hanyan will win, with odds of one hundred to one," Mu Nan declared.
"Oh, I bet on Han Yan winning," Mu Cheng said almost without thinking, uttering the words instinctively.
"What?" A chorus of astonished gasps echoed around, doubting the very reliability of their ears.
"You didn’t mistake your words, you really bet on Han Yan to win?" This time, it was Mu Nan’s turn to look at Mu Cheng as if he were a fool.
"Mm-hmm." Mu Cheng nodded. Even as he spoke, he found it strange himself, as if he had been compelled by an instinctive impulse.
"How much will you bet?" Mu Nan inquired.
"Ten taels of silver," Mu Cheng responded. Ten taels of silver wasn’t much to him—it was all in good fun, and he didn’t feel like retracting his statement.
"Fine, fine, ten taels it is." Mu Nan was just trying to stir up some excitement, but unfortunately, no one paid him any attention until the foolish Mu Cheng came along to willingly hand over ten taels of silver, much to his delight.
At that moment, the thought of losing never even crossed Mu Nan’s mind. By the time it would, it was already too late. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
"Idiot, you know you’re bound to lose, so why wager at all? Isn’t ten taels of silver still money? You can’t just throw it away," someone nearby said disapprovingly.
"This is strange. Didn’t Mu Cheng always find Han Yan the least bit palatable? They’ve been rivals since childhood. Why the sudden change of heart?" another person pondered, looking at Mu Cheng with curiosity. Shouldn’t he have supported Mu Hanyan, with whom he had a better relationship? What got into Mu Cheng today?
Mu Cheng pretended neither to see nor hear these comments, instead looking up at the two contestants in the arena.
At that moment, Han Yan and Mu Hanyan had both taken their places in the center of the martial arts field, facing each other.
"Make your move, I’ll let you have three chances," Mu Hanyan arrogantly asserted, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Wait." Han Yan suddenly spoke up.
"What, you’ve come to your senses and want to beg for mercy?" Mu Hanyan said with a sneer.
"No, you’ve misunderstood." Han Yan shook his head, turned, and ran to Mu Nan, stuffing a silver note into his hand, "You said the odds are one hundred to one, right? I place one hundred taels of silver on myself to win."
Having said this, before Mu Nan could even react, Han Yan sprinted back to confront Mu Hanyan.
Mu Nan held the silver note with a goofy grin, realizing that it wasn’t only Mu Cheng who was foolish with his money; here was someone even more foolish, lacking even the basic self-awareness. Even if it were just for the sake of pride, there was no need to bet with money—those were a hundred taels of silver, enough for a hefty spell of indulgence.
Mu Hanyan’s complexion darkened a shade. He had expected Han Yan to plead for mercy but found his opponent placing bets instead. It was incomprehensible where such a good-for-nothing found the confidence.
"Alright, you can start now. I’ll let you have three chances, so you won’t later accuse me of bullying," Han Yan said with a smirk, throwing Mu Hanyan’s earlier words back in his face.
"Hmph!" With fury burning within him, Mu Hanyan no longer wanted to waste words. He drew his longsword and slashed towards Han Yan.
The longsword flashed like a rainbow, its howl piercing the sky, and upon the previously gleaming blade, a dazzling silver light flared, nearly blinding those who gazed upon it.
Using strength to shape the sword was the hallmark of a Fifth Rank Swordsman—the Condensed Power Realm.
The Fifth Rank was a watershed for swordsmen. From the First to the Fourth Rank, a swordsman merely experiences a rise in brute strength. But upon reaching the Fifth Rank and mastering the Power Condensation Technique, a qualitative change occurs.
Through Force Condensation, any longsword transforms, becoming a divine weapon capable of cutting through iron as if it were mud, with an unstoppable sharpness, and the power within the sword increases manifold.