Chapter Fifty-Two: Seizing the Gold Medal
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Su Yizhao extended his right hand.
But there was no golden token in his hand—only a silver flying sword.
“Boy! Ha, you actually dare resist!” The cultivator surnamed Tang laughed as if looking at a fool. “Cripple him!”
Su Yizhao’s mind stirred; in an instant, his figure vanished from where he stood.
Perfection in the Art of Leaping.
Within his spiritual palace, the tiny figure of his soul abruptly rose, fingers moving in a flurry of intricate gestures.
At once, a tangible soul-forged arrow shot out from the spiritual palace.
Perfection in the Ghostly Soul Pierce.
In the sky, silver light flashed, piercing the void in a fleeting moment.
Perfection in the Earth Sword Formula.
In a single breath, he unleashed his full power.
The cultivator surnamed Tang hadn’t even finished speaking; his mouth was still wide with laughter when suddenly a sharp pain stabbed his mind, and he felt a chill at his throat.
None of the other cultivators even had time to blink before they saw half a flying sword embedded in Tang’s throat.
The blade gleamed coldly.
A thin line of blood trickled along the edge.
It had entered through the nape, piercing the windpipe in a heartbeat.
More ruthless still, half the sword remained lodged in the throat, plugging the bleeding windpipe.
So, only a trickle of blood escaped.
Chi Xiangdong rubbed his eyes.
All the cultivators around him did the same, disbelieving.
Was this speed even possible at the Five Divine Spirits stage?
Su Yizhao pressed himself close behind the cultivator surnamed Tang, reaching forward to lightly grip the sword’s exposed blade at the man’s throat.
Only then did Tang react, struggling instinctively.
“Don’t move,” Su Yizhao said softly. “See? You’re bleeding.”
The sword trembled from the movement, and a fresh spurt of blood emerged!
“Who—who are you?” Chi Xiangdong recoiled in terror, flying backward ten yards.
Su Yizhao gently flicked the sword, and blood gushed out in torrents.
“A golden token, and you wanted to cripple me?” He smiled at the surrounding cultivators. “Xiangdong—a good name, but the problem lies with his surname. Fellow Daoists, we’ve been betrayed. What shall we do?”
“You dare harm others? The Central Province is vast, but you’ll find no refuge here!” one of the cultivators couldn’t help but roar.
Su Yizhao frowned, tightened his grip on the sword, and abruptly pulled it free.
“Splurt, splurt...!”
Blood sprayed in an instant.
He released his hold; the cultivator surnamed Tang collapsed to the ground.
“He’s killed Boss Tang! Get him!” The surrounding cultivators, terrified, attacked at once.
Su Yizhao chuckled lightly. “I detest threats most of all.”
His figure flickered—a storm of silver light filled the air.
Within his spiritual palace, the tiny soul figure stood up, fingers weaving rapidly, sending arrow after arrow shooting outward.
Seventeen cultivators attacked simultaneously, their mystical weapons, soul strikes, and giant swords crashing down upon him.
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The figure instantly turned to dust and scattered.
“Squelch, squelch...!”
Chi Xiangdong was so shaken that he unconsciously took step after step backward.
The soul attacks landed in a flash, and all the cultivators froze for a split second; by the time they snapped out of it, silver light had already pierced their foreheads.
The seventeen cultivators still held the postures of casting their spells.
But in the same instant, blood welled from their brows, their bodies slackened, and they fell.
Their summoned mystical weapons clattered to the ground after them.
“Thud, thud, thud...!”
As the bodies fell, a robed figure in green appeared behind them, smiling faintly at Chi Xiangdong.
The ten cultivators who had traveled with Chi were utterly dumbfounded.
The three who had provoked Su Yizhao earlier now found their legs weak as water.
Who was this man?
Could a gold-badge enforcer of the Profound Qi Sect truly be so terrifying?
“Anyone else?” Su Yizhao asked, hands clasped behind his back. “Anyone else want to take my golden token?”
A breath, then another.
No one dared to answer!
With a gentle gesture, eighteen storage rings flew into his hand.
“People—aren’t they the most dangerous of all? Dust returns to dust, earth to earth. Rest easy now.” A small fireball appeared at his fingertips; he blew softly, and the flame leapt onto the corpses.
“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...!”
A dozen breaths later, only eighteen heaps of ash remained on the ground.
The vast world was once again reduced to just eleven of them, as if that ship, those eighteen cultivators, had never existed.
“To my knowledge, there’s no particular danger in this forest, Fellow Daoist Chi. Shall we proceed?” Su Yizhao repeated his earlier question.
Chi Xiangdong, cowed by his gaze, retreated step by step.
The other ten cultivators trembled all over. Who would have thought such a monster lurked within their ranks?
And they’d traveled together for two whole years!
Su Yizhao beckoned to Chi Xiangdong, inviting him forward.
Chi Xiangdong seemed unable to control his body and, step by step, approached.
What level was this?
Seventh Divine Spirits?
The ten others stared, wide-eyed.
Yes—only a Seventh Divine Spirit stage expert could annihilate eighteen at the Sixth level in an instant.
Chi Xiangdong seemed still dazed, his eyes glassy, moving forward without spirit.
When he was ten feet away, a sudden change occurred.
Chi Xiangdong struck out with a sudden punch.
From ten feet away, his fist landed instantly.
Without surprise, his fist thudded into Su Yizhao’s chest.
“Haha! I’m dead either way—might as well take you with me!” Chi Xiangdong bellowed, triumphant at his strike.
But suddenly, his expression changed drastically.
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His fist had passed through Su Yizhao’s chest, yet it felt as if he had punched empty air.
The Su Yizhao before him smiled faintly, then vanished in an instant.
“A—an illusion? Impossible!” Chi Xiangdong whipped his head around in panic.
Su Yizhao stood behind him once more, smiling again.
These past two years had not been wasted after all.
Unable to advance his cultivation, he had devoted himself to perfecting his spells.
He had forcibly honed the Fifth-Tier Art of Leaping to perfection.
A fifth-tier spell!
Without insight into the Dao, there could be no true mastery of techniques.
How many in this world could perfect a fifth-tier spell?
“I don’t believe it!” Chi Xiangdong’s eyes flared red; like a madman, he darted forward, fists flying.
Su Yizhao wanted to try taking a punch head-on.
He really did.
After all, it wasn’t quite fair to keep bullying him with perfected spells!
So, gathering all his magical power into his right fist, bracing himself on his right foot, he struck with full force.
A glimmer of joy flashed in Chi Xiangdong’s bloodshot eyes.
In the void, a ripple shimmered in a flash.
A flying sword shot forth with deadly speed.
Qi, body, and soul—he finally unleashed all three together.
Amidst the howling wind, the two fists collided with a thunderous crash.
“Boom!”
Su Yizhao felt searing pain in his right hand as an immense force surged through.
The power followed his right fist, twisting into his arm.
“Crack, crack, crack...!”
His right arm felt as if it were being torn apart by the void, his sleeve shredding to tatters.
“Bang!”
The force reached his shoulder; it was as if he’d been struck by a giant hammer. He spat blood and was hurled backward.
At the same time, within his spiritual palace, the soul miniature stared unblinkingly at the silver-gray arrow hurtling toward him, channeling all his soul power into his shield.
“Thud!”
A muffled crash; the shield shuddered under the massive force, and the soul miniature collapsed in an instant.
Simultaneously, a flying sword turned to a streak of light, chasing the airborne Su Yizhao, aiming for his forehead in a flash.
In that split-second between lightning and thunder, the tables turned completely.
The ten cultivators nearby stood like statues. Not only their gaze, but even their thoughts, could no longer keep pace with the shifting tides of battle.
At this moment, all they knew was—within a heartbeat, one of these two would die!