The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 225

Early August, the cicadas buzzed incessantly.

The Central Martial Arts Academy was shaded by towering ancient trees that nearly covered the entire courtyard in coolness. But in the scorching furnace of the capital, even the shadiest spots were useless without the miracle of air conditioning—you’d still end up sweating like a dog!

Jiang Fei, feeling unbearably hot, picked up his sword and headed inside to cool off.

Glancing at Chen Zhoujian beside him—dressed in white Taoist robes, with long hair and a beard—Jiang Fei couldn’t help but notice how utterly unbothered he seemed by the heat. Curious, he asked, “Master Chen, don’t you feel hot at all?”

Chen Zhoujian, a true Daoist who had cultivated on Wudang Mountain for years, smiled faintly. “A calm heart brings natural coolness.”

“Yeah, right—self-deception!” Jiang Fei grumbled inwardly.

Though his physical abilities far surpassed those of an ordinary person, making him practically a minor superhuman, Jiang Fei still hadn’t mastered internal energy (neili). Unlike the martial heroes in novels who remained unaffected by extreme temperatures, he was still stuck with an average person’s sensitivity to heat and cold—just with slightly better endurance.

A calm heart didn’t bring coolness—only profound internal energy could do that!

Seeing Jiang Fei’s expression, Chen Zhoujian could guess his thoughts and shook his head with a sigh.

This Jiang Fei was truly an anomaly.

At such a young age, he was already hailed as a once-in-a-century genius in traditional Chinese medicine and now served as the chairman of the Chinese Medicine Association. Yet, despite his astonishing medical achievements, his swordsmanship was equally extraordinary. Just how monstrously talented was this guy?

What was even more bizarre was that despite being such a prodigy, Jiang Fei carried himself with none of the gravitas expected of a master. It completely upended Chen Zhoujian’s understanding of what a true expert should be.

By now, word had spread throughout the martial arts community: a young swordsman had emerged with the potential to become a “Sword Saint.” His skills were unfathomable, and his techniques didn’t belong to any known school.

Though Jiang Fei claimed to have a mysterious master who forbade him from revealing his lineage, not everyone bought that story. After witnessing several of his sparring matches, many began to suspect that Jiang Fei’s swordsmanship wasn’t inherited—it was self-created!

This theory made far more sense to them.

If Jiang Fei really had an unparalleled master, that person would surely have left some mark in the martial arts world, and their techniques would be recognizable. Yet, none of the academy’s instructors—all of whom had sparred with Jiang Fei—could trace his style to any known school.

In fact, they couldn’t even discern any consistent pattern in his moves.

And that was because Jiang Fei’s swordsmanship had no fixed patterns. The essence of the Dugu Nine Swords lay in “no technique surpassing technique”—it wasn’t bound by form but focused on breaking the enemy’s intent.

Sometimes, Jiang Fei’s strikes were breathtakingly elegant, like Ye Gucheng’s legendary Heavenly Fairy Descending; other times, they were as crude as a farmer swinging a hoe.

Yet no matter what, his moves always struck with uncanny precision, exploiting his opponent’s weaknesses in ways that defied logic.

Because of this, many martial artists who had faced Jiang Fei were convinced his skills weren’t inherited—they were self-realized!

The only explanation was that Jiang Fei was a once-in-a-generation genius who had grasped the very essence of the sword, transcending formal techniques altogether.

Unbeknownst to him, his name had already attracted attention from serious figures in the martial world—some of whom were eager to test this so-called prodigy for themselves.

“Jiang Fei, I hear the Sword Alliance is very interested in you. They might even send someone to formally invite you to join,” Chen Zhoujian said, sheathing his sword and resting it against his back.

“If they’re sending skilled fighters to spar with me, I’m all for it. But as for joining the Sword Alliance? No thanks,” Jiang Fei replied dismissively.

“From what Wu Ke told me, the Sword Alliance is just a bunch of rich kids with too much time and money—basically a fancier version of a sports car club. Though I do respect their original goal: countering Japanese kendo. Too bad they’ve spent a fortune inviting Japanese swordsmen over, only to get humiliated every time…”

Traditional Chinese martial arts were still thriving, with many schools preserving their legacies. But Chinese swordsmanship had long been in decline, lagging far behind Japanese kendo—and even Western fencing.

A big part of the problem was China’s strict weapon laws, where even kitchen knives were regulated. Swordsmanship, as a lethal art, had little room to flourish. The state of Chinese swordsmanship was even worse than that of traditional medicine. During his time at the Central Martial Arts Academy, Jiang Fei hadn’t encountered a single noteworthy swordsman.

But reviving Chinese swordsmanship was the last thing on Jiang Fei’s mind. After joining the Chinese Medicine Association, he’d sworn off any similar organizations—they were nothing but trouble.

Besides, despite its grandiose name, the Sword Alliance sounded like little more than a playground for bored rich kids. Even Wu Ke mocked it and wanted nothing to do with it.

Chen Zhoujian chuckled. “A few years ago, that might’ve been true. But since last year, things have changed—something even Wu Ke might not know.”

“How so?” Jiang Fei asked, intrigued.

“Last September, the Sword Alliance got a new leader, and it’s no longer the joke it once was. Not long ago, they actually defeated a Japanese kendo team for the first time.”

“They won?” Jiang Fei was genuinely surprised. As much as he disliked admitting it, Japanese kendo was undeniably advanced.

“Did they get lucky? Or did they just pay the Japanese to throw the match?” he joked.

Chen Zhoujian shook his head. “The Japanese team was overconfident, yes, but the Sword Alliance’s improvement was real. Otherwise, even their second-tier fighters would’ve crushed the Alliance’s spoiled amateurs.”

“So the Sword Alliance actually has real talent now?” Jiang Fei said, amused.

“I doubt anyone would dare call themselves a ‘swordsmanship master’ in front of you,” Chen Zhoujian said with a smile. “But if you ever spar with them, you’ll see for yourself.”

Jiang Fei shrugged. “If the chance comes up, sure. But I won’t be in Beijing much longer—I’ll be heading back to Jincheng soon.”

Ye Yuanyuan had informed him that the expert who’d kidnapped her had been located, and the operation to capture him would launch within days. Once that was settled, Jiang Fei had no intention of staying in the sweltering capital. He missed the tranquil, oxygen-rich retreat of Daocun Village—where he could hunt with his eagle and dog, roam the grasslands or Changbai Mountain, and live a far more relaxed life than in Beijing.

Before long, Jiang Fei left the Central Martial Arts Academy—quietly “borrowing” a sword on his way out.

He didn’t carry it visibly. Instead, he stored it in his system’s limited inventory space.

In the past, he’d considered the storage function useless except for luggage during trips. But now, with the Dugu Nine Swords in his arsenal, he realized its true value:

Concealing weapons.

In modern society, carrying even a dagger in public could get you detained—let alone a full-sized sword. And even without legal trouble, lugging one around was impractical.

But without a sword, how could he unleash the Dugu Nine Swords in a crisis?

The inventory space solved that perfectly.

As Jiang Fei walked away in high spirits, he suddenly froze mid-step.

A voice echoed in his mind:

“Congratulations! Player experience has reached 3500/3500. Upgrade now?”