Chapter Eighty-Two: I Am the Victor!

Chapter Eighty-Two: I Am the Victor! (Double-Length)

After the great battle that day, there followed three days of rest.

At this stage, the number of serious injuries had increased dramatically—not only among those from the Unmoving Peak, but among all cultivators who, in their bid for a good ranking, had become bloodthirsty and relentless.

Especially among the remaining few outer disciples, perhaps inspired by Fan Lanzhou’s fighting style, they too began to fight with abandon, leading inevitably to mutual destruction.

Faced with such circumstances, the Celestial River Daoist had no choice but to grant the competitors three days of respite.

When the battle dispersed, Linghu Jinjiao and his companion returned to the Unmoving Peak.

Fan Lanzhou had already awakened. Though his complexion was still as pale as death and his face was marred with wounds, his spirits were fairly good, buoyed by his entry into the final four.

Yang Xiaoman and Linghu Jinjiao entered the house and exchanged a few words with Fan Lanzhou and the remaining Fang Junmei.

Fan Lanzhou only glanced at their injuries before curtly instructing them to return and recover.

“Junmei, you go as well. I don’t like others seeing me like this,” Fan Lanzhou rasped, his voice unusually hoarse, though his brow showed no sign of gloom.

Despite his scholarly appearance, when it came to resilience, he was admirable beyond measure—perhaps another legacy instilled by the Dragon Brocade Master.

Fang Junmei was momentarily stunned, then nodded and left.

Outside, unsure what to do with himself, he simply pulled out the Grand Yan Storm Sword Manual and began studying it again.

…

Three days slipped by in a blink.

Today, the Floating Dust Division’s matches continued—quarterfinals, eight into four. Regardless of subsequent rankings, today would decide whether Unmoving Peak could retain its mountain.

The first few matches need not be recounted.

After an hour, it was finally Linghu Jinjiao’s turn to take the stage. His opponent: Duan Qingkuang, the most promising talent of White Cloud Peak.

Duan Qingkuang appeared as a youth of twenty-five or twenty-six, bearing an ancient sword on his back. Tall and handsome, clad in a green robe, he stood as though carved from flawless jade.

Although he had been rigorously trained by Gu Xijin, his brow still retained that wild, untamed character of his youth. His eyebrows were long and fine, slanting upward; the crooked smile at his lips made one itch to punch him.

Stepping to the center of the square, Duan Qingkuang rested his hands behind his head, swaying lazily, chewing on something and acting thoroughly nonchalant.

“Senior Linghu, to be frank, I greatly admire Senior Fan’s resolve and sincerely hope your Unmoving Peak can retain its position. But for the final reward, I must block your path today.”

This man, only at the mid-floating dust stage, dared to speak so confidently to Linghu Jinjiao, who was at the late stage. If not arrogance, it must be extraordinary skill.

From afar, both Celestial River Daoist and Gu Xijin shook their heads in silence at his demeanor.

Yet many female cultivators’ eyes brightened, revealing infatuation. No matter what, a handsome, powerful, and well-connected man would always be the darling of women.

Linghu Jinjiao, hearing this, remained silent, his face grim as he drew his usual sword—a mid-grade treasure named Wild Sand, shining with golden light.

Seeing Linghu Jinjiao’s demeanor, Yang Xiaoman, who stood alone, shook her head unconsciously. This was not his usual state.

Compared to the seemingly carefree Duan Qingkuang, Linghu Jinjiao had, from the very start, lost the psychological advantage.

For cultivators, the mind is paramount. With his heart unsettled, how could Linghu Jinjiao hope to win?

Without further ado, Linghu Jinjiao and Duan Qingkuang soon began their battle.

…

Figures clashed and separated.

Sword shadows flashed across heaven and earth.

Linghu Jinjiao unleashed his signature Drunken Dragon Sword Technique. Hundreds of sword lights condensed into a dragon, swaying drunkenly, elusive and unpredictable.

Duan Qingkuang, however, wielded the Small Celestial Cycle Square-Circle Sword Technique, bestowed by Gu Xijin, on behalf of the Celestial River Daoist.

This sword art, in defense, drew circles with sword light, impenetrable. In attack, it shifted to squares; square sword lights shot forth, striking the massive light barrier enveloping the arena with thunderous explosions, their destructive power far beyond ordinary sword arts.

This perfectly balanced offensive-defensive technique was Gu Xijin’s refined creation, praised even by the Celestial River Daoist as a new pinnacle of swordsmanship. In the Peach Blossom Sword Sect, only Gu Xijin and Duan Qingkuang had mastered it.

Boom!

Boom!

Within moments of battle, Linghu Jinjiao fell behind. The Drunken Dragon was shattered, its form dissipating.

“Senior Linghu, you’re famous for holding back—time to reveal your trump card!” Duan Qingkuang laughed raucously. Everything seemed to go according to his words. Linghu Jinjiao’s eyes flashed coldly, stubbornly refusing to change tactics, persisting with the Drunken Dragon Sword, seeking an opening.

Bang bang bang—

Another chaotic exchange.

“If you won’t show it, I’ll force you to!” Duan Qingkuang sneered. “The sect’s Small Celestial Cycle Square-Circle Sword Technique peaks at Seven Squares and Seven Circles. Mine, however, reaches Eleven Squares and Eleven Circles. Let’s see how long you last!”

With that, Duan Qingkuang’s sword lights spun.

Square beams shot forth, this time not in ones or twos, but eight, nested together, forming a bizarre net that enveloped the dragon.

Linghu Jinjiao, now riding atop the Drunken Dragon, manipulated sword lights in response. At the moment of collision, the eight nested squares split apart like nimble birds, circling to strike the dragon.

Linghu Jinjiao’s eyes blazed as he danced his sword at blinding speed.

Bang bang—sparks exploded.

“Good! Now face my Nine Squares!”

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Duan Qingkuang praised loudly, then unleashed nine squares.

Linghu Jinjiao endured once more.

After nine, came ten.

Boom!

Finally, with a thunderous blast, the sword dragon was pulverized. Linghu Jinjiao was sent flying, blood spraying from his mouth.

Duan Qingkuang showed no mercy, darting forward, not wielding his sword but slamming out a fiery red palm. Catching the wind, it instantly expanded to dozens of feet across, its overwhelming force and searing heat whipping up a roaring gale.

At last, Linghu Jinjiao reached for his storage pouch.

With a flick, a swarm of emerald-green needle-like treasures flew out—over a hundred, forming a poisonous mist that chilled all who saw it.

Duan Qingkuang withdrew his flaming palm, his sword drawing circles, nine halos concentric around him.

Bang bang—

Sparks flew everywhere.

The green needles, though numerous, were blocked flawlessly; not a single one struck him.

The needles returned and attacked again, but still could not break through.

Though Duan Qingkuang made a series of moves, his speed barely slowed as he pressed his attack.

Yet this bought Linghu Jinjiao precious time. Gritting his teeth, he dodged aside. Knowing the Drunken Dragon Sword was ineffective, he finally began pulling out other trump cards.

After the green needles came dozens of palm-sized, giant yellow wasps, exuding the aura of spirit beasts, buzzing outward.

Ugh—

Seeing these bizarre wasps, a wave of disgust swept through the female cultivators, including Yang Xiaoman. Linghu Jinjiao, already a rough character, saw his standing with women plummet once again.

After the wasps, Linghu Jinjiao produced a small bronze bell—a mid-grade treasure.

Clang! Clang!

He flicked it, and the bell issued deep chimes, sending tangible waves of ash-gray sound toward Duan Qingkuang.

Unleashing so many techniques simultaneously stunned the crowd, amazed by Linghu Jinjiao’s formidable spiritual power. Was it truly so strong, or was he gambling everything to decide the match swiftly?

Duan Qingkuang was bold beyond measure. Not only was he unfazed, his eyes shone brightly as he laughed, “Interesting! I’ve always wanted to duel you Unmoving Peak fellows. Senior Linghu, show me all your tricks!”

As he spoke, he countered in kind.

First, yellow light flashed over his skin, forming a protective membrane.

His sword battled the flying formations; with a sweep of his waist, he produced a yellow cloth pouch—a mid-grade treasure.

“Collect!”

With a shout, Duan Qingkuang opened the pouch. A gust of yellow wind swept out, sucking the strange wasps away like leaves.

Then he turned the pouch on the green needles.

But a pained moan escaped him—the bell’s soundwaves began to assault him. Even with the yellow membrane’s protection, he could not withstand it.

The bell’s sonic attack was powerful and strange; Duan Qingkuang’s flesh began to crack and bleed, as though slashed by a thousand blades, though his clothes remained unscathed.

Soon, blood seeped from his seven orifices, staining his body red.

Yet he gritted his teeth, first collecting the green needles, then recalling his sword and charging Linghu Jinjiao again.

He had no solution to the bell’s power except to defeat Linghu Jinjiao as quickly as possible.

Linghu Jinjiao dodged.

Duan Qingkuang unleashed his ultimate Eleven Squares; a storm of square sword lights flew everywhere. Linghu Jinjiao, already wounded, struggled to wield the bell, and was soon slashed all over, his injuries worse than Duan Qingkuang’s.

“Senior Linghu, show me your next trick!” Duan Qingkuang roared, chasing relentlessly.

His determination was first-rate; his face twisted in pain, yet his eyes blazed with mad, fervent fighting spirit.

Had he endured Chunyu Qian’s six trials, his performance would surely rival Fang Junmei’s.

Linghu Jinjiao’s face remained grim, his gaze flickering.

Did he have more tricks?

Yes.

But some were not easily revealed. For a moment, he hesitated. The image of Fan Lanzhou’s broken, one-armed form floated in his mind, struggle and conflict flashing in his eyes.

Rip!

Rip!

More wounds, more blood sprayed.

The battle had become a test of will—who would collapse first?

…

After another dozen breaths, sensing Duan Qingkuang’s growing frenzy and his own worsening state, Linghu Jinjiao finally acted.

Whoosh!

He reached for his waist, hurling out two balls of pitch-black light.

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Buzz—

The two beads vibrated violently with a piercing sound, accompanied by shrill, agonizing screams, as if the souls of two demons were sealed within.

Hearing this, many low-ranked cultivators felt stabbing headache, as if their skulls would split open, clutching their heads and crying out.

“Demon Prison Beads!”

In the highest ranks, elders cried out. The quick-witted immediately cast soundproof barriers around the battlefield.

“Brother Tianhe, I recall Demon Prison Beads are so cruel that our sects long ago ceased making them, correct?” asked Silverfish Fairy of the Celestial Bird Palace.

Celestial River Daoist nodded, “Though no longer made, remnants may exist. If he used the souls of demon cultivators, I cannot hold it against him.”

“To use such a treasure against demon cultivators, one must either be extreme by nature or bear a deep grudge. This Linghu Jinjiao seems bold—could he have such enmity?”

Celestial River Daoist said no more, his gaze deep and somber upon Linghu Jinjiao.

“The disciples of Master Cuotuo—each one is more troublesome than the last…”

…

The Demon Prison Beads were crafted by artifact masters as hollow, strange pearls. If one’s opponent’s soul was sealed inside and refined, they became sinister treasures.

The stronger the soul within, the greater the bead’s power.

So cruel and vicious, righteous cultivators no longer used them. Who would have expected the bold Linghu Jinjiao to possess such a thing?

On the battlefield, the wailing of ghosts pierced the air.

Even Duan Qingkuang, gifted and talented, felt as if his eardrums were splitting, his soul suffering knife-like agony.

If the bell’s sound attacked his flesh, the Demon Prison Beads’ waves assaulted his spirit.

“Ah—!”

A beast-like roar of pain escaped Duan Qingkuang; the suave, elegant cultivator now appeared savage and monstrous.

Both body and soul attacked.

Linghu Jinjiao truly had hidden fearsome methods.

Those who recognized the Demon Prison Beads looked at him with complex expressions—this boisterous lover of wine might have a ruthless, extreme side best not provoked.

Yang Xiaoman gazed deeply at Linghu Jinjiao.

Fan Lanzhou and Fang Junmei were absent; had they been present, who knows what they would think?

…

Bang bang bang—

Thunderous explosions erupted; the battle was now chaos.

Neither the bell nor the beads could be countered by Duan Qingkuang’s treasures. Victory depended on knocking Linghu Jinjiao unconscious or forcing him to yield before succumbing himself.

Linghu Jinjiao faced the same dilemma: could he endure longer than his opponent?

The battle was now pure endurance.

Whoosh whoosh—

Square sword lights howled through the sky.

Duan Qingkuang went mad, unleashing the Small Celestial Cycle Square-Circle Sword Technique; Linghu Jinjiao, equally frenzied, wielded his treasures.

Both men’s injuries worsened, blood pouring out, their figures nearly swallowed by swirling dust.

…

Half a tea’s time passed. Suddenly, both the bell and ghostly wails ceased!

Everyone’s eyes flashed to the battlefield.

The dust settled.

Linghu Jinjiao lay blood-soaked and motionless on the ground, while Duan Qingkuang stood beside him, equally drenched in blood.

“I am the victor! Hahaha—”

Duan Qingkuang’s wild laughter rang out as he raised his twin swords, looking toward Gu Xijin, his battle spirit undimmed, as if he could fight for another three days and nights if Linghu Jinjiao remained standing.

Cheers erupted from White Cloud Peak.

Gu Xijin nodded.

The cultivators from Ning Jiuyi’s side breathed a long sigh of relief—they had finally blocked one of Unmoving Peak’s members from the final four.

Next, it was up to Yang Xiaoman!

From Unmoving Peak, Yang Xiaoman hurried to the center, first checking Linghu Jinjiao’s wounds. Seeing that he suffered only flesh injuries and spiritual exhaustion, she breathed a sigh of relief.

While tending his wounds, she glanced at Duan Qingkuang.

“Junior Duan, I’ll be waiting for you in the battle for first place!”

Yang Xiaoman’s edge was revealed!