Chapter 80: Truly Letting Go!

Chapter 80: Truly All Out! (First Update)

After staunching his bleeding and swallowing a restorative elixir, Fan Lanzhou’s condition improved slightly. A hint of color returned to his face as he fixed his gaze on Feng Wanhai, who was still bound by the Binding Sand, and summoned back his Ancient Path Sword.

He did not rush to withdraw the Binding Sand for another round. Instead, Fan Lanzhou sat cross-legged to recover his strength.

Seeing Fan Lanzhou’s posture, everyone knew this battle would not end quickly.

The disciples under Ning Jiuyi grew indignant; they felt Fan Lanzhou’s actions smacked of trickery—using a binding technique to force a pause and recover his strength. They also worried that Feng Wanhai would exhaust too much of his energy trying to break free from Fan Lanzhou’s artifact, leaving him too weak to continue even if he escaped.

“If you’re too afraid to fight, Fan Lanzhou, then surrender now! Resorting to such trapping techniques to recover—what skill is that?” one of Ning Jiuyi’s disciples shouted.

“Elders, isn’t such conduct cheating?” another called out.

Some of Ning Jiuyi’s supporters began to boo.

Yet most of the disciples understood the ruthless logic of the cultivation world and merely watched coldly. If Feng Wanhai couldn’t break free from another’s artifact, was it reasonable to expect his opponent to release him? That made no sense.

The elders, including Daoist Tianhe, remained silent.

Seeing the elders unmoved, their own supporters cheering, and with their master not intervening, those disciples’ jeers grew ever louder.

But someone like Fan Lanzhou paid them not the slightest attention.

“Enough—quiet!” A sudden, thunderous shout erupted from the sandstorm. Though Feng Wanhai was trapped, he was fully aware of the commotion outside.

He wanted victory, but pride still burned within him; he did not want to win with the help of his fellow disciples’ noisy interference.

“Watch closely! I’ll show you how I break his artifact!” Feng Wanhai’s voice roared like a mad tiger, fierce and bold, earning him a measure of respect from peers and elders alike.

Amidst the swirling yellow sand, his massive silhouette stood firm by means of a gravity art. After a few breaths, he sheathed his sword and simultaneously began casting a spell with both hands.

Lightning storms burst into being around him, bolts of forked electricity crashing down and wreathing him in a thunderous aura as if he were the very son of thunder.

As the lightning multiplied, Feng Wanhai’s hand seals shifted, drawing the electric bolts together into a cone of seething energy. He drove this lightning drill into a section of the sandstorm.

Boom—!

Thunderous explosions shook the sky.

To the naked eye, it was clear that, guided by the force of his lightning, Feng Wanhai was tunneling outward, little by little.

Though he had not yet broken free, Fan Lanzhou, watching with cold concentration, grew more solemn.

A short while later, a powerful shout rang out.

Feng Wanhai exploded free, scattering the Binding Sand in all directions, the fragments falling to the ground in faintly glowing motes.

Swish!

Fan Lanzhou did not even glance at the dispersed sand. As his opponent broke out, he leapt into the air, wielding his Ancient Path Sword and unleashing the Starfall Sword Art—inheritance of the Unmoving Peak.

Fierce and unyielding, Fan Lanzhou’s scholarly elegance vanished. He gritted his teeth and let out a low growl, transformed into a different man. More and more cultivators saw in him the shadow of another—someone who had left, but whose spirit endured in the Unmoving Peak’s legacy.

Fan Lanzhou, head down and feet up, plunged toward Feng Wanhai like a falling star, his sword radiating boundless light. A phantom sword, dozens of meters long, materialized around him; in this moment, he seemed fused with the very sword itself.

Feng Wanhai had anticipated Fan Lanzhou’s attack. With a swift motion, he hurled a silver thunder orb from his waist and shot away in a bolt of light.

“Thunderstrike Seed!” exclaimed Master Chunyu Qian, the Sword Immortal of Alchemy, his face changing as he saw the silver sphere. The other elders showed their surprise as well.

Whatever the Thunderstrike Seed was, no one had time to intervene.

Boom!

A deafening explosion erupted.

At the heart of the blast, a silver radiance blossomed like a star’s detonation, blinding nearly all the cultivators present.

Fang Junmei and his companions were likewise blinded, yet they heard, once again, Fan Lanzhou’s agonized cry.

Not good!

Their spiritual senses swept out, revealing Fan Lanzhou, blood-soaked and battered, his robes in tatters, his handsome face battered to the bone and blood, resembling a skeleton. His Ancient Path Sword had fallen far away, its light nearly extinguished, severely damaged.

Feng Wanhai was also blown aside, but his injuries were lighter; after tapping a few points on his body, he charged at Fan Lanzhou again.

Fan Lanzhou’s blood-reddened eyes quickly focused. He knew that if he could not retaliate now, death was certain. Yet the pain wracking his body was excruciating beyond words.

“Second Brother—get up!”

At that moment, Linghu Jinjiu and Yang Xiaoman leapt to their feet, shouting encouragement.

They knew Fan Lanzhou would not yield; since that was so, let him fight—to surpass his limits.

“Get up, get up…” Fang Junmei clenched his fists, the memory of being Chunyu Qian’s test subject flashing through his mind. He suddenly felt that if Fan Lanzhou survived today, he would be utterly transformed—becoming an even greater cultivator.

At that very moment, countless cultivators found their hearts turning toward Fan Lanzhou. They guessed that the silver thunder orb Feng Wanhai had used must have been given to him by Ning Jiuyi to reverse the battle—a deadly artifact, excessive to use on Fan Lanzhou.

Feng Wanhai drew ever closer, sensing the tension in the air. He loosed his flying sword, followed by a barrage of lightning.

Fan Lanzhou panted in agony, but his mind was oddly calm, hearing every sound around him.

He heard Linghu Jinjiu and Yang Xiaoman calling his name, heard Fang Junmei’s fists cracking, and even saw two pairs of eyes watching him—one kind and gentle, the other fierce as a god—transmitting an unyielding resolve.

With a dragon’s roar, Fan Lanzhou, battered and broken, stood again, blood pouring from his body.

Not only did he stand, but with a swift motion at his waist, he seized another sword and charged at the oncoming Feng Wanhai.

Azure light burst forth—again the Starfall Sword Art!

A thunderous cheer erupted—for Fan Lanzhou. A cultivator who refuses to yield earns respect wherever he goes.

Clang!

The broadsword flew.

Crash!

The lightning shattered.

Boom!

They clashed anew, this time relying on sword arts alone, with no devastating treasures—pure, direct contest.

“Junior Brother Ning, after this battle, regardless of the outcome, you will report to the Punishment Hall.” Daoist Tianhe’s voice, cold and stern, rang out from the high platform. He gave no reason, but all guessed it was because of that Thunderstrike Seed.

“Yes,” replied Ning Jiuyi without protest. His eyes showed not the slightest resentment—perhaps he had anticipated this, and as long as his goal was achieved, a punishment meant little. The old fox knew well that without ruthless tricks, Feng Wanhai would have little chance against Fan Lanzhou, even wounded.

Nearby cultivators wondered what exactly the Thunderstrike Seed was.

Fang Junmei and his friends were curious as well, but kept their focus on the battlefield.

In terms of sword technique, the Starfall Sword Art was superior to Feng Wanhai’s Thunderous Sword; thus, after a few exchanges, Feng Wanhai was soon wounded.

But he knew Fan Lanzhou, heavily injured, was at the end of his strength. If he could endure, his chance would come.

So though at a disadvantage, he did not surrender, defending and evading as best he could.

For a time, Fan Lanzhou could do nothing decisive.

Seeing this, Ning Jiuyi and his disciples smiled. Feng Wanhai, though rough, was no fool—if he wanted merely to drag things out, he could.

But their satisfaction did not last long before dread overtook them.

A wild wind howled.

After closing in on Feng Wanhai, Fan Lanzhou drew another batch of Binding Sand from his storage pouch.

This time, the sand enveloped not only Feng Wanhai but himself as well.

Both were swallowed by the storm—Fan Lanzhou had burned his bridges; Feng Wanhai had nowhere left to run.

“If you have another Thunderstrike Seed, use it! Blow us both to bits if you can!” Fan Lanzhou roared, launching the Starfall Sword Art once more.

Feng Wanhai’s face tightened, a sense of dread rising within him. For all his ferocity, at this moment, he dared not meet Fan Lanzhou’s bloodied face and blade-sharp eyes.

The two clashed violently in the storm, blade to blade, though Feng Wanhai could no longer evade as before.

Blood spurted from Feng Wanhai’s arms, but Fan Lanzhou was even more grievously wounded—a sword light pierced his abdomen. Yet still he fought, every strike carrying the madness of mutual destruction.

In moments, he was a man of blood.

“Has Fan Lanzhou gone mad? Is he throwing his life away?” someone murmured, eyes wide with shock.

But what else could a gravely injured man do but fight with everything he had?

Fang Junmei and his friends’ eyes reddened; they could barely watch.

This was their senior brother—the leader of Unmoving Peak—fulfilling his vow, defending their peak’s honor with his life.

At that moment, all the elders, even Daoist Tianhe, were moved. What a man—Fan Lanzhou!

“Junior Brother Ning, Fan Lanzhou is fighting with his life. Will you yield on Wanhai’s behalf? If this continues, and your disciple is killed, even I may be too late to stop it,” Daoist Tianhe asked Ning Jiuyi again.

Ning Jiuyi’s gaze was dark and silent, fixed on Feng Wanhai. He saw it clearly—fear was spreading in Feng Wanhai’s eyes.

His disciple, always proud, cold, and fierce—was afraid!

Daoist Tianhe’s eyes gleamed.

Just then, two shrieks echoed.

Fan Lanzhou, sacrificing his own arm to a sword blow, pierced Feng Wanhai’s right chest—matching the wound he had himself suffered. Blood gushed from both.

At this point, Yang Xiaoman, the gentlest of heart, could hold back no longer; tears streamed down her face.

Fan Lanzhou, his arm severed, roared even louder, dragging his ruined body toward Feng Wanhai again.

This time, his sword aimed straight for Feng Wanhai’s head—driven by bloodlust, Fan Lanzhou seemed to lose all reason, intent on killing his foe.

“I concede!” Feng Wanhai wailed, terror in his eyes as he looked at Fan Lanzhou.

“Wanhai concedes!” Ning Jiuyi finally called out. No matter what, losing this battle did not mean losing everything—Unmoving Peak had only put one into the semifinals.

“Lanzhou, stop!” From the high platform, seven or eight elders surged toward the battlefield.

Fan Lanzhou halted his strike mid-air, hovering above as the sandstorm dispersed.

With a crash, Feng Wanhai fell to the ground, lacking even the strength to stand.

Fan Lanzhou gazed at him, his eyes resolute as a god’s. After a breath or two, he too lost consciousness, collapsing onto the shattered earth.

Thus ended this titanic struggle.

Compared to Gu Xijin’s assured victory in his final match, perhaps this was truly the focal battle—the true soul of the Core Formation division.