The Forbidden Ways of the Warlock

Chapter Fifteen

As the disciples vanished into the portal's swirling depths, the peak masters and higher-ups settled into their seats with the air of royalty at a grand theatre. Their seats, arranged in precise rows, each occupied by a figure of authority, radiated an aura of superiority and anticipation.

They perched on plush cushions, their backs straight, shoulders relaxed, as if attending the opening night of an exclusive opera. Wine glasses glittered in the ambient light, catching the glint of the sun like facets of a thousand tiny jewels. Delicate snacks adorned silver trays, intricately crafted hors d'oeuvres that seemed almost too exquisite to eat.

Eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned the scene below, eager for any hint of drama, amusement, or—dare they hope—a bit of scandalous ineptitude.

The illusionary 'PowerPoint presentation' that had just dissolved into thin air was replaced by a screen bursting into vivid, animated imagery. Xue Xinyu, comfortably reclining in his seat, swirled his wine glass with an air of unexisting nonchalance, ready to enjoy what promised to be a grand spectacle of martial prowess.

He envisioned epic battles, dazzling displays of skill, and perhaps even a few moments of sheer brilliance from his disciple. However, what unfolded before him was a comedy of errors that would have made the gods of humour weep with laughter.

His own disciple, Liang Zhiguan, appeared on the screen, not as the fierce warrior Xue Xinyu had hoped to showcase but as a hapless figure caught in a slapstick comedy routine. It was as if the Flying Circus had made a cameo appearance in the martial arts trial.

"Xue-shidi, is that the paragon of strength you've been extolling?" Huo Zhiwei's voice, dripping with sarcasm, cut through the ambient chatter like a sharpened blade. His tone was as tart as a freshly picked lemon, and his smirk could have soured milk.

Caught off guard, Xue Xinyu nearly choked on his wine, coughing slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. The scene unfolding on the screen showed Liang Zhiguan flailing wildly in mid-air, attempting to mount his sword in a manner that suggested he was auditioning for a comedy troupe rather than participating in a serious trial.

"Every disciple has their own unique journey, Huo-shixiong," Xue Xinyu retorted, his voice remarkably calm despite the turmoil churning within him. He shot Huo Zhiwei, a look that suggested that if he had the power, he would happily strangle him.

Liang Zhiguan, bless his heart, seemed more like a bumbling novice than a formidable warrior. His attempts to balance on his sword were reminiscent of a child trying to ride a bicycle for the first time, complete with wobbles and near crashes that kept the audience on the edge of their seats—not in anticipation of greatness, but in morbid fascination of the impending disaster.

Just when it seemed that Liang Zhiguan was destined for a crash landing that would make even the bravest onlookers wince, he executed a miraculous last-minute manoeuvre. With a twist that defied both gravity and common sense, he spun gracefully in mid-air, correcting his trajectory to land smoothly upon his sword.

It was a move so elegant and unexpected that Xue Xinyu, who had resigned himself to embarrassment, found himself silently applauding. Perhaps Liang Zhiguan had turned his stumble into a stroke of genius, transforming a near-catastrophe into a moment of unexpected brilliance.

With an air of improvisational mastery, Liang Zhiguan soared just above the ground, his sword slicing through the air with a subtle, satisfying swish. Each movement was calculated, every manoeuvre executed with the finesse of a seasoned performer at the peak of their craft. He navigated effortlessly around the looming trees, their branches stretching out like skeletal fingers, reaching for him in a vain attempt to ensnare his path.