Mediocre Master: I Can See Your Hidden Potential! (A Xianxia Sect-Building LitRPG)

65. My Disciple’s Copy-Paste Eyes Are Overpowered!

by inkadmin

Between batches, the noise in the arena swells to a dull roar, with thousands of conversations layering over each other until individual words dissolve into a wall of sound. Ling’er and I slip out to a food stall near the concourse. The vendor is efficient, his hands moving from pot to bowl to customer without pause. We eat standing up, hunched over our noodle bowls. No one looks at us twice. No one can hear us.

“Twelve new techniques. I’ve understood and copied twelve so far.”

I nod. “Useful?”

“I tried to focus on ones I haven’t seen before. Two of them would be perfect for Mei Lin. Water-aspected. One defensive, one counter. She’s been needing something to handle aggressive opponents.”

“Write them down tonight when we get back.”

She nods, chewing. We return to our seats as the next batch is set to begin. I watch Shen Qiao from where he’s seated, splitting his attention between the matches and me. The later batches fight differently now. Yan Ruohan’s single-exchange victory hangs over them like a shadow. No one wants to be the fighter who looks slow. No one wants to be the fighter who struggles. The matches become utter dogfights. Hundred-exchange affairs; bloody, desperate, exhausting. The crowd loves it. But I’m still waiting for the other two to make their debuts. At the fifth batch, Mu Jianyu stands. His opponent is from the Iron Lotus Sect; an established institution with a reputation for body refinement cultivators. The man is in his late twenties, Qi Condensation peak, his spear polished and his stance confident.

The murmurs around me are dismissive.

“Independent cultivator. No chance.”

The disciple spins his spear once and plants the butt against the stone. The impact cracks the platform slightly, but Mu Jianyu doesn’t react; he just stands quietly at the edge of the ring, one hand resting on the hilt of his plain sword. The signal sounds. The Iron Lotus disciple lunges immediately. His spearwork is excellent. Sharp, disciplined thrusts that chain together without wasted motion, forcing Mu Jianyu backward across the platform: making him retreat step by step as the spearhead flashes toward his throat, chest, ribs.

Metal shrieks against stone.

Mu Jianyu twists aside by a hairsbreadth. The spear tears through his sleeve instead of his arm.

Someone in the crowd laughs.

“Too scared to fight back!”

The Iron Lotus disciple presses harder. His attacks grow heavier, more aggressive, each thrust carrying enough force to crater the platform if it misses. Mu Jianyu continues retreating.

Ten exchanges. Twenty. Thirty.

The crowd begins losing interest and focusing their attention on other, more entertaining matches going alongside it. The fight settles into an ugly rhythm; spear, retreat, near miss, retreat. Even the Iron Lotus disciple starts smiling now, confidence bleeding into his stance. That is when I notice Mu Jianyu’s eyes. Focused and tracking, something swirling behind his pupils. The spear arcs toward his shoulder again. Mu Jianyu pivots away a fraction faster than before. The next thrust comes low. He avoids it before the motion fully commits. A pattern. He’s memorizing the sequence. The Iron Lotus disciple roars and commits fully at last, qi surging down the length of the spear. The weapon screams forward in a thrust aimed straight for Mu Jianyu’s chest.

Mu Jianyu finally draws his sword for the offensive.

The blade leaves the sheath with a sharp metallic hiss. Light flashes along the tiny formation lines hidden within the steel, too fast for a mortal to see fully.

One strike. His sword falls diagonally through the spear shaft exactly three inches below the grip. The spear breaks apart. The Iron Lotus disciple’s eyes widen. Mu Jianyu’s blade continues through the opening before the man can recover, carving a deep line across his shoulder. Blood sprays across the platform.

The disciple stumbles backward with a cry, clutching the wound. Mu Jianyu steps forward for the first time all match and places the tip of his sword against the man’s throat.

“I surrender!”

The arena erupts instantly.

“Rigged!”

“What happened? I was watching the other match. Wasn’t he losing?”

“He ran the whole fight!”

Mu Jianyu ignores all of it. He wipes his blade once against his sleeve, sheathes it, and walks off the platform with the same calm expression he entered with. A solid showing. He didn’t leave a deep impression like Yan Ruohan did on the crowd, so he’ll be a good bet for the rounds to come. I get up from my seat, leaving Ling’er to continue analyzing the remaining matches. I find Shen Qiao near the Silver Hall. He is standing at the edge of the crowd, his ledger tucked under his arm, his eyes watching people’s hands and tracking payouts.

“How goes it?”

“A few hundred silver,” he says. “And I sold information to some of my contacts. They paid well.”

I nod. “Bet on the next match.”

“On who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He stares at me. Then his expression shifts to understanding, reluctant and resigned, before whispering.

“You’re losing on purpose.”

“I’m making our betting pattern look like someone else’s.” I keep my voice low. “People are watching. Not just the house. Information brokers. Rival bettors. Anyone who might wonder how a minor sect leader and a mortal keep winning. Our communications are careful, but there’s no easy way to tell if someone’s watching.”

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Shen Qiao shakes his head. “No one is watching mortals that closely in the Silver Hall.”

“Someone is always watching.”

He does not argue further. He turns and disappears into the queue. I remain where I am and let the Gaze flicker on the crowd.

At first, it is only noise. Mortals clutching coin pouches. Young masters laughing too loudly, placing bets worth several mid-grade stones. Servants running messages between seats and betting counters. Cultivators pretending not to care about odds while watching every board like starving dogs watching butcher scraps.

A man in plain gray robes near the Silver Hall entrance has been standing in the same place for twenty minutes, buying nothing, watching everything.

Crimson Dragon Alliance Outer Security – Qi Condensation (Peak)

Name: Zhang Wei

Age: 43

Spirit Root: Fire/Metal (D-grade)

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