The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 339 – Bruce’s Sword 2
Chapter 339 - 339 – Bruce’s Sword 2
A sword could show vastly different potential in the hands of different wielders.
Seeing Bruce's strike, many in the crowd subconsciously asked themselves: Could I unleash something like that if I were at the same stage?
The answer was clear.
No.
It was damn near impossible.
This wasn't just power. It was finesse, dominance—genius.
Bruce was undoubtedly a prodigy.
But John?
He should've been disintegrated in that radiant blast!
How dare he pit himself against Bruce?
Sophia's face went pale, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. Was this it? Would John really die here, under that single strike?
How could anyone survive that?
If even she was questioning it—after all she'd seen from John—then what about everyone else?
The audience was nearly certain: John was dead.
No one could survive a blow like that.
No one... except maybe one person.
Jacob.
He alone stood firm in his belief. He had seen enough of John's strength to know better. He refused to accept such a simple end.
Of course, there were a few others outside the school grounds—barred from entering but watching from afar—who still believed in him too.
And then...
In the center of the hall, the light faded.
The dazzling radiance from Bruce's sword strike finally dissipated, and a figure began to emerge from the lingering dust and haze.
As the silhouette became clear, a wave of stunned gasps spread through the crowd.
John.
He was still standing.
Alive.
Not only that—he was completely unharmed.
And the most shocking part?
He was holding the tip of Bruce's treasured sword—between just two fingers.
Two fingers.
"What the actual hell?!"
Someone in the crowd blurted it out, echoing everyone's thoughts.
The hall was frozen in disbelief.
A Robust master—an existence so often sneered at by others—was this powerful?
He had taken an attack comparable to the peak of the Heaven Realm, and shrugged it off like it was a breeze.
He didn't even flinch.
Damn.
Dozens of martial artists found their beliefs crumbling. Everything they'd been taught—their understanding of cultivation paths, their judgment of Robust masters—was falling apart right before their eyes.
Many even felt an urge they'd never considered before:
Should I become a Robust master?
This was a historic moment.
A moment that shattered decades of doctrine. It made countless Heaven Realm cultivators question everything they'd learned.
That legendary sword—prized by the Will Clan, crafted by a master blacksmith, infused with legacy and pride—was now nothing more than a strip of paper in John's eyes.
If he wanted to, he could've snapped it with ease.
But John didn't.
That would be too flashy. Too high-profile.
Instead, with a faint smile, he casually flicked the blade with one finger.
Clang!
A crisp sound rang out.
A surge of hidden energy pulsed along the sword like an electric shock, racing toward Bruce's hand.
Zzzzt!
Bruce's palm spasmed from the shock, and his grip loosened involuntarily.
His face twisted.
"Still want to fight?" John asked, his voice calm—almost casual. A faint smile played on his lips.
Bruce trembled.
The Will Clan's genius... shaken to his core.
This can't be real.
He couldn't accept it.
For a brief second, he considered taking a pill—using forbidden strength to close the gap.
But another thought hit him like a slap.
What if it still didn't work?
What if, even with all his strength enhanced, he still couldn't break through John's defenses?
That would mean everything he knew about cultivation was wrong.
Everything he had learned about the Heaven Realm... useless.
Who said Robust masters were losers?
Even at three realms above, Bruce couldn't touch him.
And John hadn't even attacked yet.
There was no chance of winning.
Because if this dragged on, John's strength would still be there, steady and unshaken—while Bruce would exhaust his reserves.
That was the terrifying advantage of Robust masters.
They were the kings of attrition.
While most fighters drained themselves in spectacular bursts of force, Robust masters remained... unyielding.
Eventually, their opponent's internal energy would deplete. Their speed would falter. Their precision would wane.
And when that moment came?
That was when the Robust master struck.
Now Bruce understood.
Bertha hadn't chosen John for his looks.
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She had chosen him for his endurance.
His quiet, unbreakable strength.
She liked this kind of man.
The kind who didn't boast—but simply endured until everyone else fell.
Jesus Christ.
Bruce's shoulders sagged.
He didn't want to fight anymore. He couldn't.
He lowered his blade and stared coldly at John, eyes filled with bitter resignation.
"Although I don't like it," he said through gritted teeth, "you've successfully shattered my understanding of what a Robust master is."
He hesitated, then added, "So I admit it. You're... excellent."
John raised an eyebrow.
"You admit I'm excellent?" he repeated, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
He didn't press the matter further.
Instead, he took a few slow steps forward, closing the distance until he stood just in front of Bruce.
He looked him in the eyes.
"Wanna make peace?" he asked.
Then, with a half-shrug, he added coolly:
"I think it's better to get famous when you're young. But after all—"
He grinned.
"I've already ascended."
