The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 270

When Su Mengnan arrived at the Eastern Dojo with Liu Yunduo, the prime viewing spot at the northwest pavilion was already packed shoulder-to-shoulder with spectators craning their necks toward the courtyard below.

“Damn it! I thought today was restricted to elites!” Su Mengnan grumbled. “How’d all these people get in? Are they all masters or something?”

They’d been stopped by rōnin guards demanding identification earlier, only gaining entry after Liu Yunduo announced her name. Though defeated by Miyamoto Ichizen, her very qualification to face him earned her access.

“Hey, why’s that pavilion empty?” Su Mengnan pointed to an isolated structure across the walkway, conspicuously less crowded and furnished with chairs, tea tables, and refreshments. “Since when do fight venues have VIP boxes?”

Indignant, he nudged Liu Yunduo toward the exclusive area.

Surveying the packed crowd where bodies formed an impenetrable wall against the railing, Liu Yunduo acquiesced. But before they crossed the corridor, two armed guards blocked them without inquiry.

“Let them through.”

The crisp command came from a woman whose crimson Louboutins and matching lipstick made her impossible to miss—the very exchange student who’d asked for Jiang Fei’s number after his Peking University lecture. Yagyū Chika, campus belle and scion of the legendary Yagyū swordsmanship lineage.

As Su Mengnan opened his mouth to flirt, Liu Yunduo’s glare shut him down.

“Thank you,” Liu Yunduo said courteously upon seating.

Yagyū poured tea gracefully. “No need for formalities, Alliance Leader Liu.”

The title made Liu Yunduo’s brows twitch. “You know me, Miss…?”

“Yagyū Chika.” The name explained everything—no further introduction needed for anyone versed in Japanese swordsmanship circles. Liu Yunduo simply nodded over her tea.

“So,” Yagyū smiled, “having faced both Jiang Fei and Miyamoto, who would you bet on today?”

“Jiang Fei. Without question.”

Yagyū gazed toward the courtyard. “I, too, believe Master Jiang holds the advantage…”

…..

“I came to kill.”

Jiang Fei’s declaration finally charged the pavilion with the lethality the occasion demanded, shattering the earlier pretense of civility.

“Such bloodlust,” Miyamoto remarked, setting down his cup. “This isn’t a friendly match to you?”

Jiang Fei’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Says the man who crippled one opponent and killed another within days of arriving.”

“Merely the natural outcome of duels.” Miyamoto shook his head. “I only defeated them.”

A cold laugh. “Then today, I’ll defeat you.”

Jiang Fei had zero patience for this charade. No more tea ceremonies—his blade thirsted for action.

“Had you not come, I’d have sought you eventually,” Miyamoto admitted. “You’re worthy of my drawn sword.” His voice hardened. “But you cannot win.”

“Try me.”

“Gladly.”

Autumn leaves pirouetted through the pavilion as teakettle steam curled peacefully—a serenity shattered when Miyamoto’s blade flashed without warning. The legendary Muramasa cleaved upward in a draw-cut so sudden it seemed to warp time itself.

But Jiang Fei was already airborne, his leap carrying him to the pavilion roof as the stone table beneath him split cleanly in two with a thunderous crack.

‘Draw-cutting technique—just as Liu Yunduo warned.’ Jiang Fei noted mentally. ‘Without her intel, that opening strike might’ve decided the fight.’

Miyamoto didn’t falter. Coiling like a spring, he launched himself higher than Jiang Fei, unleashing a blistering flurry of slashes. The essence of iaijutsu lay in speed—overwhelming, unavoidable speed.

Yet Jiang Fei’s Dugu Nine Swords could dismantle any technique… except raw velocity.

‘The one unbreakable rule of combat: nothing counters sheer speed.’

Like when Linghu Chong faced Dongfang Bubai on Blackwood Cliff—even spotting openings meant nothing if your blade couldn’t reach them in time.

Fortunately, Miyamoto’s strikes, while terrifyingly fast to ordinary swordsmen, moved like molasses compared to the Sunflower Manual’s infamous practitioner. As the fourth slash descended, Jiang Fei had already landed, his unadorned thrust piercing toward Miyamoto’s exposed right flank mid-air—a move so deceptively simple it bypassed all flashy swordsmanship principles.

Miyamoto barely managed to draw his secondary Nagamaki sword in time, crossing both blades defensively. The metallic shriek sent both combatants skidding backward before they lunged again.

For the next forty exchanges, their figures wove through the pavilion like ethereal ghosts—leaping meters high with featherlight steps, darting beyond the structure only to spiral back in. Steel rang continuously as spectators in distant galleries cursed their obstructed view.

‘Why the hell fight inside? Come out where we can see, damn it!’

Only elite observers like Liu Yunduo and Yagyū could extrapolate the battle from fleeting glimpses.

“Why hasn’t Miyamoto used his Reincarnation Slash yet?” Liu Yunduo wondered. That ultimate two-sword technique should’ve been his trump card.

What she couldn’t know was Miyamoto’s mounting frustration—every time he initiated the signature move, Jiang Fei’s seemingly prescient thrusts intercepted its starting motions, forcing him to abort and defend.

‘What demonic swordsmanship is this?!’ Miyamoto seethed internally after taking two wounds. When Jiang Fei’s blade next targeted his thigh, he made a desperate gamble—ignoring the impending strike to finally unleash his spinning twin-blade onslaught.

Blood sprayed as steel found flesh, but Miyamoto’s face lit with savage triumph.

“MY TURN!”

The Reincarnation Slash, at last, began its deadly orbit.