I Became a Peak Master With No Disciples?!

Slightly below him stood five seats reserved for his personal disciples. Only three of those seats were occupied, and Jian Wushen took his place in one of them.

Below the personal disciples, the nine elders of Sword Peak were seated in a row, their expressions calm.

Below the elders lay the guest section, overlooking the main stage. Guided by an inner disciple, Su Ming took his seat. Meanwhile, Wang Tian joined the other participating disciples in the lower waiting area.

A loud chime echoed across the peak, silencing the crowd. The tournament was about to begin.

***

As the chime faded, its heavy echo rolled across the massive amphitheater of Heavenly Sword Peak. In the center, the ancient runes on the grey stone stage glowed with a golden light, activating the platform’s arrays.

This was the Sword Path Tournament. Unlike other events, this was not a test of cultivation. The active arrays suppressed their cultivation, preventing Core Formation cultivators from simply paralyzing Foundation Establishment disciples. Ranged energy blasts, projected sword Qi, and spells were strictly forbidden. It was a test of pure, physical swordsmanship.

From his seat, Su Ming watched the crowd, his hands tucked inside his sleeves. Around him, the chatter of the gallery returned as the chime’s echo died down.

"Look at the elders’ seats," a disciple whispered. "Even the ninth is here. Elder Cang Yun."

"The one who went missing during the Western Seas mission almost a year ago?" (Ref. Ch-9)

"Yes. He returned completely changed. Confident, sharp, nothing like the weak elder he used to be."

Su Ming glanced at the ninth seat. Elder Cang Yun sat straight, a confident smile on his lips, and his posture was dominant.

"His new disciple, Zhou Heng, is also competing," the disciple added. "He recently broke through to the Core Formation realm and is already among the top disciples."

Su Ming watched in silence.

Peak Master Jian Wufeng rose, his dark blue robes catching the wind.

"The way of the sword is our way," Jian Wufeng announced, his voice echoing clearly. "This tournament tests your sword path and understanding. Begin."

Another chime sounded, and the matches started.

With two hundred and fifty-six participants, the tournament progressed rapidly.

Wang Tian entered Stage Three. His opponent lunged with a heavy broadsword. Obeying Su Ming’s instructions, Wang Tian kept his Shattered Sword Physique hidden. He stepped aside, using basic sword forms to strike the disciple’s wrist and disarm him instantly.

On Stage One, Xiao Ran of the vassal Iron Sword Sect, who had recently joined Sword Peak as an inner disciple, drew his plain steel blade. The Spirit Echo Sword hummed, correcting his movements in real-time to parry a flurry of strikes before he tapped the opponent’s chest to push him off the stage.

Meanwhile, Zhou Heng stepped onto Stage Two against a female disciple. As she launched a flurry of rapid strikes, his silver blade suddenly shimmered with a soft, purple light. His movements were flawless, executing the defensive forms of the Purple Radiance Sword with absolute precision.

In the gallery, murmurs of shock broke out among the disciples.

"The Purple Radiance Sword!" an inner disciple gasped. "He has already mastered that difficult sword technique to perfection!"

Zhou Heng moved like water, his purple-shimmering blade parrying her strikes gently before tapping her shoulder. He stepped back and bowed with perfect courtesy.

"I yield," she said, blushing.

In the gallery, female disciples cheered his gentle swordsmanship.

Su Ming watched from above, frowning slightly. Zhou Heng’s behavior felt a bit odd.

’Let me see what is going on,’ he thought, activating his Essence Sight.

On Stage Four, Guan Feng won his match within three exchanges, his blade stopping a millimeter from his opponent’s throat as the ancient fragment in his dantian resonated.

The bracket narrowed quickly. Within two hours, only sixteen remained.

"Stage One," the elder called. "Wang Tian of White Lotus Peak versus Zhou Heng of the Heavenly Sword Peak."

Wang Tian walked onto the stage, holding his broken star sword. Zhou Heng stepped out from the opposite side with a silver blade, performing a perfect, formal bow.

"Junior Brother Wang. Please guide me," Zhou Heng said.

Wang Tian returned the bow. "Please guide me, Senior Brother Zhou."

The gallery whispered, noting the gap between a Core Formation cultivator and a Foundation Establishment disciple.

Su Ming continued watching Zhou Heng, wondering if he was one of those Heaven’s chosen or just some lucky disciple like Guan Feng who had a fortuitous encounter.

At first, everything looked normal, carrying Core Formation realm qi. But sensing a strange friction in the air, Su Ming pushed his Essence Sight to dig deeper.

Deep in Zhou Heng’s sea of consciousness, coiling around his soul core, lay a faint, dark brand pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. A Demonic Soul Brand.

Su Ming’s face remained calm, but his mind raced. He scanned the gallery, searching the rows of spectators and participants. Within moments, he spotted ten other disciples with the same dark brand coiling their souls. None of them were the source.

On stage, the duel began.

Wang Tian moved first. He stuck strictly to the basic sword forms, his steps firm and his broken star sword striking with absolute precision. His execution was almost perfect, leaving no gaps in his guard. Under his relentless strikes, Zhou Heng was initially pushed back. The silver blade parried, but Zhou Heng had to retreat step by step, his eyes showing a flicker of surprise.

Murmurs rose from the gallery as the spectators watched a peak Foundation Establishment disciple force a Core Formation genius to yield ground.

But the momentum did not last.

Zhou Heng’s expression changed. His eyes lost their youthful warmth. His silver blade shimmered with a soft, purple light, and the flow of the battle shifted. The same Purple Radiance Sword he was executing suddenly rose to a whole new level. His parries became minuscule, his counter-attacks finding the absolute smallest gaps with terrifying efficiency.

It was no longer the performance of a young genius. The movements carried a chilling precision, as if he possessed the combat experience of a hundred years. Every strike from Wang Tian was predicted and brushed aside. Zhou Heng stepped inside his guard, flicked his wrist, and stopped his silver blade inches from Wang Tian’s throat.

Wang Tian retreated, his chest heaving slightly as he lowered his sword. "I yield."

Zhou Heng sheathed his sword, and his expression changed back. "Thank you for the match. Your foundation is incredibly solid."

"Senior Brother is too kind," Wang Tian replied.

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