Combat Training 2

As soon as he finished speaking, Sun Miao, whose form had been strafed by gunfire, immediately ceased his attack. Like a veteran of many years, he stowed his rifle onto his back, standing tall with a resolute gaze.

The audience below began to murmur, many surprised by Sun Miao’s unexpected proficiency with firearms. Before the match, several had whispered that Sun Miao looked as fragile as a blade of grass and likely couldn't even lift a gun. Yet, with just one magazine, he had successfully defeated Li Mosen, who stood a head taller than him. The observing students were stunned.

Wen Jiu, however, was not surprised. From the moment Sun Miao stepped onto the stage, she had noticed the confidence in his eyes as he picked up the weapon, as well as his seemingly thin but taut and refined muscles. Li Mosen, conversely, had hesitated while choosing his weapon, pondering for a long time before selecting an assault rifle, and his movements while aiming and chambering were clumsy. Despite his size, his form lacked agility, making him no match for Sun Miao, who clearly possessed years of training.

"Come down. Are you both injured?" Yu Ruman tapped the barrier, and two gaps appeared in the stairs for them to exit. Both students shook their heads. Only then did Yu Ruman withdraw the vine armor from their bodies. Satisfied that they were unharmed, she announced the entry of the second pair of students.

Standing below, Wen Jiu watched the other students' combat intently. She realized that most of the students had studied combat arts to some degree and were proficient with weapons. She focused her full attention on their movements, hoping to learn as much as she could.

Finally, Yu Ruman parted her lips and looked toward her. "Number five: Wen Jiu and Fei Qingyu."

The two named stepped forward. Following protocol, they bowed and shook hands before heading to the stage from opposite sides. Once up there, Wen Jiu realized the combat platform was much larger than it appeared from below. It was vast, and the floor seemed to be made of some special material; the bullet holes from the previous match had already vanished, as if the surface had automatically repaired itself, leaving it smooth once more.

Wen Jiu scanned the weapon rack. Most students had chosen firearms; cold weapons were rarely used in this era. Nevertheless, Wen Jiu selected a longsword. She gripped the dark gold hilt, drew the blade, and turned to face her opponent.

On the right, Fei Qingyu had already chosen his weapon: an Olock Type 19 pistol. It was compact and efficient, with a range perfectly suited to the platform. It was lightweight and ergonomic, making it easy for someone of his age to handle. Seeing Wen Jiu holding a longsword, he couldn't help but scoff.

In this day and age, who still uses such difficult-to-master cold weapons? Since Wen Jiu had made her choice, he wouldn't hold back from crushing her.

"Prepare for combat," Yu Ruman’s voice drifted over. "Begin."

The moment she finished, Fei Qingyu quickly chambered a round and disengaged the safety. Without hesitation, he raised his pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger, firing a barrage of bullets toward Wen Jiu. As the shots rang out, the corners of Fei Qingyu’s mouth curled upward. He would not lose to Wen Jiu again.

Yet, a second later, a flash of surprise crossed Fei Qingyu’s confident expression, and his peach-blossom eyes widened slightly.

Wen Jiu, standing on the left side of the platform, remained calm. With a single sidestep, she dodged the incoming bullets. Like a hunting wolf, her gray-blue eyes glinted as she locked onto Fei Qingyu, moving with incredible speed to avoid the gunfire while sprinting toward the right side of the platform.

Fei Qingyu felt a flicker of panic. Only one thought occupied his mind: he had to keep distance from Wen Jiu and prevent her from getting close. Having undergone training before enrollment, he reacted quickly, firing again in the direction of her sprint. But her speed surpassed his bullets; only one shot grazed her arm, but thanks to the vine armor, it caused her no harm.

Fei Qingyu’s nerves were taut. He retreated rapidly to maintain distance while frantically reloading. Even though he knew Wen Jiu needed to be in close quarters to pose a real threat, he dared not relax for a moment.

Wen Jiu, like a cat playing with a mouse, kept her eyes fixed on him, a faint smile beginning to form.

*Bang! Bang!*

Fei Qingyu finished reloading and fired several more shots. At this point, the distance between them was only ten meters—a sight that left the audience gasping. At such close range, anyone would assume the shots were guaranteed to hit.

Wen Jiu, however, remained indifferent. Her slender fingers gripped the hilt tightly. She raised the sword high and swung it downward with force. Just before the tip touched the ground, she nimbly flicked her wrist, spinning the blade before turning sharply to unleash a horizontal strike of sword energy as swift as lightning. The incoming bullets were instantly struck by the energy, sliced in two, and fell to the ground.

Fei Qingyu froze, stunned. He had never seen such a technique.

Wen Jiu, ignoring the gaze of Fei Qingyu and the crowd below, spun the hilt with a smile, the thin, light blade creating a breeze as it whirled. Then, she pushed off the ground and sprinted; to everyone else, she was nothing more than a blur.

In an instant, the cold light of her silver sword reflected in the sun, its tip pointing directly at Fei Qingyu’s vulnerable neck. A gentle breeze blew, ruffling her clothes and stirring her platinum-white short hair.

The air seemed to stand still, and the audience was deathly silent.

Fei Qingyu’s confident eyes were now misting with tears, and a chill surged through him. Even with the protection of the vine armor, he could physically feel the killing intent contained in Wen Jiu’s strike.

*Drip.*

Tears began to roll down his cheeks, yet he stubbornly bit his lip, suppressing the fear in his heart.

"You’ve lost."

Wen Jiu was a different person now. Her gray-blue eyes were devoid of emotion, cold and indifferent.

After she spoke, Fei Qingyu, being a boy who cared deeply about his pride, sniffled and shouted through his tears, "I haven't conceded!"

As he said this, his hand, still gripping the gun, tried to aim at Wen Jiu to make one last struggle. But his plan was thwarted immediately, as Wen Jiu had anticipated his move. She pulled back her sword and flipped it, the dark gold hilt slamming heavily into his wrist.

The pain forced him to loosen his grip, and the pistol dropped straight to the floor.

"Fei Qingyu, you have lost."

Wen Jiu’s tone remained flat, without a single ripple of emotion.