Chapter Thirty-Nine: Overcoming Obstacles and Defeating Foes

“Well done on your first victory,” Yan Chen greeted Ye Zihan as soon as he stepped down from the Assembly Platform. The outcome of the match had been exactly as he expected—Ye Zihan’s opponent was a shikigami user at the late Two Rites stage, a contest with no real suspense.

Ye Zihan only nodded slightly, fully aware that this battle had been nothing more than a warm-up.

“Next up, it’s your turn,” he said, patting Yan Chen’s shoulder with a grin. “Don’t let yourself get beaten by a girl, ha!”

Yan Chen shot him a glare, retorting testily, “Do I look that feeble to you?”

“It’s not that you’re weak—maybe she’s just stronger,” Ye Zihan replied, his smile lingering, half-jesting, half-serious. But Yan Chen had every right to his confidence—whether in cultivation or the backing behind him.

A short time passed as the fifth and sixth rounds concluded in quick succession. Yan Chen, with his back to Ye Zihan, raised his fist high as if in declaration, then moved with effortless grace onto the Assembly Platform.

“Seventh round, begin!”

With this announcement, ten matches erupted simultaneously in the ten zones atop the platform, each dazzling and intense. The crowd was left reeling, wishing they had more eyes to take it all in, lamenting the impossibility of witnessing every spectacular duel.

Yan Chen’s opponent, Song Ya, surprised him—a young huntress at the early Three Talents stage. Though she was a maiden, her moves were practiced and precise, clearly someone who had seen real combat.

Yet, this level of skill posed no real threat to Yan Chen. Midway through the Three Talents stage himself, he deftly avoided several of Song Ya’s unusual weapon attacks, then closed in, unleashing a burst of upper-grade Dark-tier martial arts that shattered her defensive weapon.

Everyone knew that hunters and their weapons were one. Deprived of her weapon, a hunter was like a tiger with its fangs pulled—her fighting strength plummeted, leaving her vulnerable even to cultivators of other disciplines from a lower stage.

So, when Song Ya’s weapon was destroyed and Yan Chen pressed in before she could draw another, his sword already hovered inches from her chest.

Though Song Ya was a woman, she was forthright. Realizing her chance of victory was gone, she conceded straightaway, refusing to struggle pointlessly.

The result was clear—Yan Chen triumphed. With a flourish, he sheathed his sword and saluted Song Ya before leaping down gracefully from the Assembly Platform.

“How was that? Not bad, right?” Yan Chen asked Ye Zihan with a smile, still nettled by the earlier jibe about losing to a girl, now a little smug in his victory.

“Not bad,” Ye Zihan replied. “But there are some even more impressive matches up there.” His eyes remained fixed on a particular spot atop the platform.

Yan Chen pursed his lips and followed Ye Zihan’s gaze. On the right side of the platform, in the fifth zone, two young men clashed with weapons in hand, their battle fierce and unrelenting.

“Sen Fengjue?” Yan Chen was surprised. Looking closer, he saw that Sen Fengjue’s opponent was a youth dressed in black, wielding a massive demon-blade. His attacks were wild and overpowering, forcing even Sen Fengjue onto the defensive.

“Who’s that in black?”

Yan Chen racked his memory but found no recollection of the black-clad youth. How could an unknown fighter hold his own against Sen Fengjue—and perhaps even have the upper hand?

“No idea,” Ye Zihan said, shaking his head. He had only recently entered the Mortal Realm and could not know the young man’s identity.

“He’s from the Hall of Phantasms,” came Hong Yan’s voice in Ye Zihan’s mind.

“The way this black-clad boy channels his source energy is identical to the Phantom Deity Technique, though the method of generating source energy seems a bit different.”

Ye Zihan was stunned. He focused closely on the youth’s aura, and indeed, he found it uncannily similar to his own—the flow, the speed, even the rhythm of breathing were identical!

Ye Zihan’s expression changed abruptly. There was no doubt; this youth must be from the Hall of Phantasms—and now he had a lead to follow.

“After the tournament ends, seek him out alone,” Hong Yan’s voice was steady and unruffled.

Ye Zihan nodded quietly, his gaze fixed once more on the black-clad youth.

“Thousandfold Waves!”

At that moment, the youth shouted, extending his hands to either side, the broad demon-blade sweeping in a wide arc before him. As the blade completed its semicircle, a vast surge of energy erupted, forming a crashing wave before Feng Ba.

“Trickery!” Sen Fengjue snorted, raising his folding fan and tracing a cross in the air. The cross flared with blinding light, its form expanding rapidly.

“Cross Break!”

“Go!”

Both shouted in unison. The youth formed a seal before his chest, then thrust his palm outward, intensifying the surging tide that rolled toward Sen Fengjue.

At the same instant, Sen Fengjue swung his arm upward, sending the cross directly into the oncoming energy wave.

Boom!

The cross, wreathed in radiant light, plunged into the heart of the energy tide. Wherever it passed, the wave split open—but rather than dissipate, the two halves curled back, converging once more.

The tide spread in all directions, surrounding the cross at its center and rising higher, eventually engulfing it.

The cross remained unmoved amid the onslaught, its light suddenly contracting, color deepening, then pulsing violently before bursting forth.

As the pattern exploded, the energy around it turned chaotic, the surging waves roiling wildly. The black-clad youth frowned—could this cross truly withstand the full force of the tide?

Sen Fengjue’s lips curled into a cold smile. Bringing his palms together, folding fan wedged between his fingers, he struck fiercely before his chest. “Detonate!”

As if in response, the cross began to spin, faster and faster, its light scattering with dizzying speed. Suddenly, a deafening blast sounded as it exploded.

The ensuing shockwave rattled the energy tide, which wavered and threatened to dissipate entirely.

Indeed, in moments, the tide was vanquished, fading away.

The cross, though dimmed and depleted, shot toward the black-clad youth under Sen Fengjue’s command.

The youth said nothing. He gripped his demon-blade with both hands, and as the cross reached him, he struck down with brutal force.

Clang!

The blade crashed against the cross. The youth’s hands trembled, but gritting his teeth, he forced a torrent of source energy into the weapon, pressing the cross downward and redirecting it to the ground.

Bang!

Dust billowed as the cross slammed into the Assembly Platform’s floor, gouging a large crater even in the iron-hard tricolored stone.

“It’s over.” Amid the swirling dust, Sen Fengjue’s form flickered, appearing behind the youth, folding fan snapping open as he slashed for the youth’s neck.

Sensing the rush of wind behind him, the youth cursed inwardly. His numbed hands couldn’t lift his blade in time, so he jerked his head aside.

Quick as he was, he was a split second too slow. The razor edge of the paper fan grazed his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

He kicked off the floor, retreating several yards. Reaching to his neck, his fingers came away sticky with blood.

“No wonder you’re from the Sen family—you do have some skill.”

He slipped his bloodied fingers into his mouth, licking them clean, then flashed a wicked grin. A red gleam flickered in his eyes.

In a swift motion, he reversed his grip on the demon-blade, plunging it into the ground, and began forming a complex seal with both hands.

Sen Fengjue tightened his grip on his fan. That last strike should have incapacitated his foe. Seeing the youth preparing another technique, he grew more cautious.

“Spatial Lock!”

Seal complete, the youth fixed Sen Fengjue with a twisted smile.

Before Sen Fengjue could react, his body froze as if shackled by invisible chains.

“What’s going on?!”

He was aghast—he couldn’t move at all. Summoning his source energy, he struggled to break free.

“It’s useless. This martial art is upper-grade Night-tier. The spatial shackles it creates can’t be broken in less than half a stick of incense,” the youth said, hefting his demon-blade in one hand. “But obviously, I won’t give you that long.”

He extended his left hand. With a powerful pull, a forceful suction dragged Sen Fengjue helplessly toward him.

“This time, it really is over.” Drawing Sen Fengjue in, the youth raised his blade and brought it down with a mighty swing.

A spray of blood erupted.

Sen Fengjue, mid-stage Three Talents, had no escape. The demon-blade struck true.

Drip. Drip.

Scarlet blood splashed onto the ground—some from Sen Fengjue, some from the blade. His eyes widened with disbelief, stunned that he’d been felled by a single, unforeseen move before he could unleash his full strength.

“Well fought!”

Most of those below had been captivated by this battle. When they saw Sen Fengjue collapse, cut down by the black-clad youth, they were stunned into silence. After a long pause, a thunderous roar of cheers and applause erupted, shaking the very air.