Missing someone so much, Edward Grant grew furious, afraid that Samuel Carter, his younger cousin, would suffer too much. He loosened his grip and let go of John Harris, saying, “Junior Brother Harris, take your time. Senior Brother will go ahead.”

Edward Grant possessed profound inner strength. Unleashing his lightness skill to the fullest, he moved as nimbly as a swallow, covering over ten meters in a single step, and rushed toward the dueling arena in the outer disciples’ square.

……

Heavenly Sword Sect, outer disciples’ square.

At this moment, hundreds of outer disciples had gathered on the square. A disciple at the fifth level of the Martial Artist realm was dueling a disciple at the third level—a gap in strength so vast that the outcome was beyond doubt. Still, it was a rare event and drew many eyes.

Of course, it only attracted those who had joined in the past few years or whose cultivation was below the sixth level of the Martial Artist realm.

Disciples at the seventh level and above were considered elite among the outer disciples and disdained to watch such a boring duel.

On the stage, Samuel Carter and William Bolton were “fighting”—but rather than a fight, it was more like toying.

William Bolton was also a fourteen-year-old youth, who had entered the Heavenly Sword Sect the same year as Edward Grant. Among his peers, his talent was outstanding. In three and a half years since joining, his cultivation had reached the fifth level of the Martial Artist realm, a whole level higher than Edward Grant before his fortuitous encounter.

William Bolton was naturally strong and robust. Though only fourteen, he stood nearly 1.8 meters tall, built like an ox, and possessed great brute strength. Among disciples of the same level, he was at the very top.

Even using just one hand, every swing of his sword sent Samuel Carter staggering back, his grip numb and aching.

With a change in William Bolton’s sword technique, before Samuel Carter could react, another wound appeared on his arm.

At this point, there were no fewer than ten wounds on Samuel Carter’s arm, and even his chest, back, and thighs bore several cuts, blood streaming down. There was blood at the corner of his mouth as well, clearly indicating internal injuries from William Bolton’s heavy sword strikes.

William Bolton landed another blow, laughed heartily, and said, “Samuel Carter, you still claim you’re not trash? With just one hand, I beat you like slaughtering a dog, and killing you would be like butchering a pig. Today, as long as you admit your mistake and acknowledge that David Carter is trash and you’re the trash among trash, I’ll let you go.”

“Hahahaha…”

Some disciples below the stage burst out laughing, some even making comments that could be faintly heard, such as “He really is trash,” “Senior brother William Bolton is truly formidable,” and so on.

Most of the onlookers were low-level disciples, the lowest tier among the outer disciples. Usually bullied by others, they had nowhere to vent their frustrations. Now, seeing Samuel Carter in an even worse state, they completely forgot their own humiliations.

Some people are just like that—clearly at the bottom of the hierarchy themselves, suffering oppression from above, yet they still take pleasure in mocking others at the same level.

“Don’t even think about it!” Samuel Carter spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes flashing red, looking half-crazed, and shouted angrily, “William Bolton, you’re the real trash! Sooner or later, Brother Grant will knock you down!”

“You worthless piece of trash, still talking tough? Looks like you really are asking for it. If I don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never know how powerful I am.”

William Bolton roared in anger.

He thought to himself: As long as I don’t kill this trash in the duel, even if I seriously injure him, at most the elders will punish me for being too harsh and make me reflect for a month or so. Fine, I’ll stab this trash in the chest, make a big hole, and keep him bedridden for three months.

As soon as the malicious thought arose, William Bolton acted. As soon as he finished speaking, he flicked aside Samuel Carter’s sword and thrust his own long sword straight at Samuel Carter’s chest.

This vicious move shocked the crowd of disciples below, and cries of alarm rang out in unison.

“William Bolton… stop right there!”

At that moment, a thunderous shout came from the edge of the square. Edward Grant leapt into the square, still more than twenty meters from the stage.

Edward Grant’s voice made William Bolton pause for a moment, but then a cold smile appeared on his face. The speed of his sword did not slow but instead increased, continuing to stab toward Samuel Carter’s chest.

Whoosh—

A dazzling beam of light shot from Edward Grant’s hand, instantly crossing more than twenty meters of empty space and flying onto the stage.

Clang—

With a loud crash, just as William Bolton’s sword tip touched Samuel Carter’s clothes, the dazzling light struck William Bolton’s sword.

A tremendous force traveled up the blade, numbing William Bolton’s grip and sending his sword flying from his hand, landing to the side.

After knocking William Bolton’s sword away, the dazzling light veered off course and embedded itself in the stage three meters away.

Buzz… With a hum, the vibrating white light instantly stilled, transforming into a long sword stuck upside down in the stage, half its blade buried in the hard surface.

As everyone’s eyes were drawn to that sword, Edward Grant leapt onto the stage and appeared beside Samuel Carter.

William Bolton, shocked by Edward Grant’s earlier strike, suddenly saw Edward Grant appear in front of him. He immediately retreated three meters and picked up his fallen sword.