Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2964: The Final Fights

Lin Mu’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but focus.

A ripple of Peak Sword Intent burst outward like a tremor.

He adjusted his footwork.

Now, he no longer parried—he redirected.

Zhu Lan’s next five strikes met nothing but air. Her foot planted to deliver a high slash—only for Lin Mu’s sword to meet it mid-swing.

Clang!

Zhu Lan staggered.

Before she could recover, Lin Mu’s sword gently tapped her neck.

Silence.

She lowered her sword, then gave a deep bow. ”...It was an honor.”

Lin Mu nodded. ”Your control is perfect. But don’t be afraid to press forward. A mirror only reflects—it does not act.”

Soon it was the final day.

Only eight disciples remained.

And among them stood Bai Xu, an aloof genius known for his raw power and the Crushing Heaven Sword Style—a brutally direct form that overpowered opponents through sheer force. He was known for defeating enemies two stages above him in cultivation.

When Bai Xu stepped onto the stage, his every step made the arena tremble.

”I won’t hold back,” he warned. ”If you get hurt, don’t blame me.”

Lin Mu tilted his head. ”That’s what I was hoping for.”

The moment the bell rang, Bai Xu’s sword roared through the air like a meteor.

It struck Lin Mu’s training sword head-on.

A wave of pressure surged outward, cracking the edge of the platform and sending dust flying.

Lin Mu slid back five steps—the most anyone had ever pushed him.

Bai Xu’s grin widened. ”You blocked it? Good. Let’s see if you can block this!”

He leapt skyward, sword raised above his head, channeling every ounce of his immortal qi into the next strike.

Even the elders sat forward now.

Lin Mu looked up.

And exhaled.

His Sword Intent surged like a tsunami crashing through a canyon.

The pressure made the very sky tremble.

As Bai Xu descended, Lin Mu raised his dull iron sword and delivered a single rising slash.

BOOOOOOM!!!

A deafening shockwave tore through the field, shattering the edges of the arena and forcing protective formations to shimmer into visibility.

When the dust settled, Bai Xu stood panting heavily, sword cracked, arms trembling.

Lin Mu’s sword was broken at the tip.

But he still stood tall, his robes fluttering gently, untouched by dust.

”That’s enough,” he said calmly.

Bai Xu fell to his knees, slamming his sword into the ground.

”I... lost.”

”You endured more than most,” Lin Mu said, voice quiet. ”But don’t forget—strength alone doesn’t lift the sword. The mind does.”

By the end of the day, only two remained: a quiet disciple named Yan Chun and the mysterious Xue Wuqing—an Inner Court prodigy whose sword style remained unknown.

And Lin Mu?

He stood taller than ever, his arms heavy, his body tired—but his Sword Dao had grown sharper with every exchange.

His borrowed blade may have dulled—but his heart had never gleamed brighter.

And somewhere inside him...

The will of a distant Sword Dao stirred.

Waiting to be born.

The sun had dipped low behind Mount Sky Sever, casting long golden shadows across the Floating Platforms. The crowd was silent now—not from fatigue, but from reverence.

Ninety-eight disciples had been tested. Ninety-eight had failed. And yet, not one walked away without having learned something—many with fire newly kindled in their hearts.

Two contenders remained.

Yan Chun.

Xue Wuqing.

Their names hung in the air like the last echoes of a plucked zither string.

Yan Chun was not famous for bombastic technique or raw power. In fact, most disciples had barely noticed him at all until the tournament began. But slowly, steadily, like a stream carving its way through stone, he had advanced.

He now stood before Lin Mu, his eyes downcast, his sword plain and unadorned.

No arrogance.

No unnecessary words.

Only intent.

Lin Mu raised his practice sword once more—its tip dulled and edges chipped from a hundred battles. He could’ve replaced it easily but chose not to, wanting to see if the blade could endure under his grasp till the end.

”You may begin,” he said softly.

Yan Chun nodded, and disappeared.

Not like Yu Minghe’s distorting steps, nor Zhu Lan’s graceful motion. Yan Chun simply ceased to be seen.

The watching disciples leaned forward.

Lin Mu remained still, his breath calm.

Then—

Clang!

His sword met an invisible strike. Then another.

Yan Chun’s sword art wasn’t one of speed, flash, or force. It was concealment—an embodiment of patience, of striking only when the opponent was at their most relaxed.

Lin Mu parried a thrust that should have pierced his ribs. Then turned, his sword dancing as though following the rhythm of wind itself.

”He’s matching him without even seeing him...” one disciple whispered.

But Lin Mu was seeing. Not with eyes, but with Sword Intent. He didn’t follow motion—he followed intention.

Clink!

A final parry.

And suddenly Lin Mu’s blade tapped the center of Yan Chun’s chest.

The invisible man flickered into view, eyes wide in disbelief.

”How did you...?” he asked softly.

”You cut through presence. But intention is harder to hide.” Lin Mu gave a faint smile. ”You’ve managed to combine your Sword Dao with the Dao Of Illusion, a great accomplishment, but you still have more to learn.”

Yan Chun bowed deeply. ”Thank you for teaching me the final step of my art.”

And with that, he stepped down in silence, his sword sheathed—but his heart roaring with new understanding.

Now came the final challenger.

Xue Wuqing.

She had fought only five matches before this day—each victory swift and absolute. No one knew what style she used. She had not drawn her sword once in public before this moment.

Even now, as she stepped onto the platform, her blade remained sheathed.

Xue Wuqing had stark silver eyes and hair as dark as night. Her presence was... heavy.

Lin Mu felt it immediately—not killing intent, but something worse:

An Abyss.

Her every step was silent. Not soundless—empty.

When she stood before him, she finally spoke.

”Senior Lin Mu,” she said. ”If I lose today, I will not ask for mercy. I only ask... that you show me what lies at the peak.”