C15 Tianyi Hall's Sword Moon Alliance

The strategy proved quite effective at thwarting their offensive. The group shifted positions, taking turns to advance, and though they made no progress, they didn't lose ground either. But with swords and sabers flying blindly, their strength was bound to be depleted. Rupert watched with a cold eye. "What a spectacle! Just don't drag it out by picking on the weak or outnumbering the few. That's no way for a hero to act! If you're truly heroic, why not face them all and seal their fate?"

In the crowd, an elder spoke up, "If you're the hero you claim to be, come down and lend a hand. If not, keep your mouth shut and enjoy the show from the sidelines!"

"Oh dear, I'm not strong enough. If you want to fight me, I'd surely lose. But against the five of you, perhaps I stand a chance of winning..." The words seemed to taunt them. If he showed himself and disappointed the people of Ofanlenor, Rupert would inexplicably claim he could take on all five and emerge victorious. It left everyone wondering whether this man was an oddity or not. He was not worth their concern.

Each clan showcased their unique talents. The Heavenly Fate Hall wielded swords, the Yin-Yang Alliance brandished sabers, and the Green City folks employed their peculiar techniques. Meanwhile, the second warrior from Ofanlenor, Jiang Hao, showed no fear or hesitation. His staff work wasn't as rapid as Kim's, but each swing carried the latent force of a hurricane, and with his singular might, he could fend off the assault of five adversaries. In martial arts, the depth of one's power must match the level of their skill.

After a prolonged stalemate, the five assailants grew impatient. One began to slowly retreat, huddling into a defensive posture. Rupert thought they were considering a withdrawal, but suddenly, from the rear, one threw a mysterious pouch, and smoke billowed forth. "They're resorting to trickery, attempting to poison us," Rupert cursed. Such a despicable tactic was a true affront to the honor of the Midlands.

Rupert recognized the villainous Cedric, whom he hadn't seen in years, still resorting to such lowly methods. The toxic smoke drifted toward the village, threatening harm. Startled, Rupert yelled out instinctively, "Milesio, show us your martial prowess!"

"Eh? Why did I respond like that?" Rupert mused, surprised at his own words. Despite his confusion, his voice had clearly carried through the air...

The third warrior standing at the rear was Milesio, a distinguished instructor from Ofanlenor. Startled by Rupert's shout, he didn't pause to think; he leapt into action, his hands deftly spinning his staff like a propeller, creating a whirlwind.

Milesio's mind drifted to his childhood. At the age of ten, he had been personally trained by Ronan, revered in the village as the "King's Shield." Ronan had insisted on rigorous practice of this technique to fend off enemy attacks. The "Twelve Guardians," elite martial artists, were the stalwart protectors of Ofanlenor, with Ronan's skill surpassing them all. His extraordinary leadership in martial arts and strength earned him the title "King's Shield."

Having honed his martial arts for years, Milesio felt a surge of excitement showcasing his prowess today. The force of his staff whipped up the wind, redirecting the poisonous smoke toward the assailants, leaving them gasping and collapsing, calling for help. Milesio, a man of honor, refused to exploit their vulnerability, allowing them time to take their antidotes and scramble away, cursing Rupert for the disruption.

"These despicable people resort to such cowardly schemes when they can't win fairly. They're utterly shameless, lacking any gratitude, and still have the nerve to hurl insults? Let's drag these wretches to the river and feed them to the creatures below..." Milesio grumbled.

"There's no need for such measures, brother. The heavens are kind. Just send someone to escort this enigmatic person beyond the river. Their fate will be left to chance. Besides, with nature's barriers, you're victorious without a fight. If they die, wouldn't that be on your conscience?" Rupert interjected. Although the culprits might have deserved their fate, it would tarnish the village's reputation if they perished within Ofanlenor.

"Ah! Mr. Owens makes a fair point. Now, are you ready to face the challenge? If so, you'll have to get past me first. And how do you know my nickname? My master has been gone for decades, and few in the village know of it. Mileson, Forest, come here and explain why you brought this stranger up the mountain." But the others, unappreciative of their intentions, helped one another flee the scene.

Rupert was quite perplexed about why he had uttered those words just moments ago...

"There's no helping it, Mr. Owens. I am one of the instructors here, and both Kim and River are my disciples. If you seek the third treasure, you must pass through my checkpoint. But first, you'll need to spar with me to prove your worth." Milesio wasn't inherently combative, but recent events in the village and the meddling of some unsavory characters had forced him to dispatch a few skilled guardians to weed out the idle spectators. Except for the cunning few who found a way around, everyone had to pass through here.

Rupert wasn't offended by the explanation. "I don't mean to boast with a steely gaze. I've studied martial arts for a few years and often roamed the Midlands. I'm not one for bad habits; I just enjoy making friends. In fact, I saved someone from that group earlier, a friend I met in Fristin. If a contest is what you desire, I won't shy away. Meeting in combat as a way to forge friendships is a common and entertaining practice in our circles. Just to be clear, let's agree to stop at the first touch, so I can witness the prowess of an Ofanlenor master..."

"Mr. Owens, I respect your dedication to cultivation! To call me an expert is too generous; I wouldn't dare claim that title. This checkpoint is merely the Earth Gate. Beyond it lies the Man Gate, and only after passing that will you reach the Heavenly Altar. I'm here to filter out the overeager youngsters who wish to storm the mountain; the true masters are further in. Now, let's begin. Mr. Owens, which weapon would you prefer? I'd rather not see any underhanded tactics today..." With a wave of his hand, Milesio summoned a gentle breeze.

Rupert, sensing an opportunity to demonstrate his martial prowess, replied, "Oh! I didn't bring any weapons with me. Could I borrow a staff from you for the time being?"

Milesio gave River, his disciple, a sidelong glance, signaling him to lend Rupert a staff. River skillfully tossed the staff to Rupert, who caught it and with a swift motion, planted it firmly on the ground. With agile footwork, he teased the staff into the air. Milesio called out with a booming voice, "Begin!"

Rupert gripped his staff, right hand leading and left hand braced against his waist. With a deft step forward, he spun and swung the staff with a commanding presence. The renown of the Midlands' South Pole was well-earned. He cautioned, "Be careful."