Chapter Forty-Four: Slicing Through Layers Upon Layers

Now, there were only two arenas left in the entire hall that hadn’t been trampled by Yang Fan—one belonging to Xie Sihua, and the other to a scrawny young man.

Xie Sihua’s arena was closest to Yang Fan, so he strode over, sword in hand. Xie Sihua hadn’t been challenged for some time, so he’d been watching Yang Fan closely. Seeing Yang Fan charging towards him, Xie Sihua gripped his long staff even tighter.

Xie Sihua knew perfectly well what Yang Fan was capable of. In terms of blood and energy cultivation, their difference was minimal; both possessed strength between twelve hundred and thirteen hundred catties. As for battle techniques, Xie Sihua’s Sky-Soaring Staff and Yang Fan’s Thunderblade were much the same—similar power, similar effectiveness. The last time their battle techniques clashed, both ended up injured, their weapons broken.

Based on these factors, Xie Sihua didn’t fear Yang Fan. Yet, the lightning ability Yang Fan exposed yesterday made Xie Sihua uneasy. He wasn’t sure about Zhou Yiyi’s strength, but watching her suppress Yang Fan with skill yesterday proved she was formidable. Still, that fierce girl was floored by Yang Fan’s “kneel and kowtow”—that was terrifying.

Did that mean facing Yang Fan would only take a “kowtow” to defeat him?

Thoughts raced as Yang Fan approached. There was no chance of escape; fighting was inevitable. Whether he could win was a question he’d have to face.

Yang Fan saw Xie Sihua swinging his staff and charging forward. He drew his sword, gripping it with both hands, and advanced to meet the staff head-on.

Old rivals—just as Xie Sihua knew Yang Fan, Yang Fan remembered well the man who’d battered him into a swollen-faced pig.

The Sky-Soaring Staff was powerful and heavy—Yang Fan had learned that firsthand.

When sword and staff crossed, Yang Fan suddenly released his grip, abandoning his blade. Xie Sihua’s staff struck the now-uncontrolled sword, sending it flying.

In that moment, as old force faded and new force hadn’t yet arisen, Yang Fan, having released his sword, unleashed a punch at Xie Sihua’s exposed chest.

Xie Sihua staggered back three steps, barely steadying himself before a size-43 foot appeared in front of his face.

Yang Fan stomped on Xie Sihua’s face.

Pain exploded in Xie Sihua’s nose, followed by an acid burn so sharp that tears streamed down his face. Clutching his nose, Xie Sihua collapsed to the ground, his face blooming with every imaginable color.

He rolled on the floor, clutching his nose, but this time Yang Fan didn’t just turn and walk away. He ran up and kicked him again and again, cursing as he did: “Bastard, last time you beat me, now you dare? You made my face swell up—so what now, think you’re tough? I’ll beat you to death!”

After a while, even the referees couldn’t watch any longer—it was just too much. They separated Yang Fan and sent him to the next arena.

Originally, the instructor wasn’t sure whether to stop Yang Fan from challenging each arena one by one, but since the leadership on the second floor hadn’t spoken up, their silence was a tacit approval. Since the leadership consented, what was there to hesitate about?

Yang Fan’s anger had cooled considerably after being separated. He picked up his sword, which had been knocked away, and walked toward the last arena.

The scrawny young man saw Yang Fan approaching, gripped his staff at eyebrow height, and charged at him. Among the nine students, he was the first (after Xie Sihua) to dare rush at Yang Fan.

This student was about 1.7 meters tall, thin, with shoulder-length hair. As he charged, his hair flew wildly.

Yang Fan watched the approaching youth, gripping his nearly ruined Miao blade, and stopped in his tracks.

Quickly, the youth reached Yang Fan, sweeping his staff horizontally. Yang Fan raised his sword to block.

A metallic clang echoed as their weapons clashed.

Yang Fan was surprised to have blocked the blow. This youth’s strength was no less than Xie Sihua’s. In other words, he too had reached the mid-stage of a second-rank warrior.

Yang Fan tucked away his disdain. Through this string of challenges, no one had lasted more than a round against him. His mutated eyes made everyone’s movements seem sluggish; their attacks posed little threat.

So, facing this youth, Yang Fan couldn’t help but underestimate him. But that staff strike made him wary.

Wary, but nothing more.

Yang Fan looked at the blocked staff, feeling something amiss but unable to pinpoint it.

As the youth swung his staff again, aiming at Yang Fan’s face, Yang Fan’s heart suddenly jolted.

He remembered—the staff was the same one that ambushed him in the melee! Same material, same pattern.

In the second melee, Yang Fan was ambushed right at the start, dodging and looking for the culprit, only to see Xie Sihua swinging his staff, leading to a misunderstanding and a fight that left both battered.

Later, Yang Fan realized it hadn’t been Xie Sihua, but he never figured out who it was. Days passed, and he stopped thinking about it, but the pattern of the staff that appeared above his head stuck in his memory.

And today, that same staff appeared above him again.

Yang Fan was furious.

A few days ago, the staff hovered overhead, and now it was back. What was this—addicted to bullying?

Yang Fan swept the staff aside with his sword, blood and energy surging.

The youth saw Yang Fan about to erupt. With the advantage of initiative, he spun his staff, creating two shadowy afterimages in the air, his wrist snapping rapidly as he unleashed his battle technique.

Yang Fan ignored it, gripping his sword with both hands, blood and energy rising, wrists taut, unleashing the Ninefold Cleaving Strike.

The youth’s Gale Staff barely touched Yang Fan’s blade before he felt a crushing force bearing down on him.

Yang Fan roared, “One blade shatters the heavens, breaks ninefold barriers!”

This strike, mastered to perfection, could break even the ninefold heavens—let alone the Gale Staff blocking it.

Yang Fan’s blade pressed down on the staff, the staff pressing into the youth’s chest, forcing him back step after step.

Yang Fan’s strength did not wane as he pressed forward.

The youth’s face flushed crimson; he knew that once his strength faltered, he’d be crushed to the ground.

Yang Fan advanced relentlessly, the youth retreating with a red face. At last, the youth sensed Yang Fan’s force weakening, just as he began to hope, Yang Fan roared:

“Wind like sound, energy like still water, breath transforms all things, wind races lightning, turns into a swimming dragon, cleaves through ninefold barriers again and again!”

As Yang Fan’s words fell, his blade surged with fresh power, driving the youth back.

Blood spurted from the youth’s mouth.

He couldn’t hold on.

This force, fiercer than before, was impossible for the frail youth to withstand. He was driven back ten paces before collapsing, his staff snapping in half as he fell.

Yang Fan’s blade also shattered into fragments, its silvery shards reflecting light on the ground, as if proclaiming: Even broken, I have won.

Yang Fan gazed at his broken sword with a pang of regret—he’d gone through three blades in just a few days. That was thirty thousand—heartache indeed.

But this thought didn’t linger.

He walked straight toward the fallen youth.

The arena was silent; no one cared what Yang Fan planned to do next. Everyone was stunned. Had this man truly fought them all—and without using his supernatural abilities, relying solely on martial prowess to defeat every defender?

It felt unreal.

That was everyone’s impression. If Yang Fan were a third-rank warrior, they wouldn’t be surprised; after all, in the cultivator world, gaps in rank are hard to bridge. But Yang Fan was only mid-stage second rank. Even if he were high-stage, to challenge nine opponents of similar strength in succession and defeat most with a single move—that was terrifying.

The senior students wondered if they could achieve what Yang Fan had done. After much thought, they concluded: not to mention defeating them all—even taking down three in a row would be impressive.

Everyone was lost in their own thoughts.

Yang Fan had already mounted the frail youth.

The youth looked up in fear at Yang Fan sitting atop him. What was this guy going to do?

His answer came in the form of a massive fist.

One punch—blood gushed from the youth’s nose.

Second punch—his eyes bruised.

Third punch—his lips swollen.

Fourth punch—a bump swelled on his forehead.

Before the fifth punch could land, the referee, stunned by Yang Fan’s brutality, pulled him off.

Was this kid crazy? He’d already beaten the youth to vomiting blood, yet he kept going, straddling him and pounding away—too much.

That was the referee’s honest thought.

Yang Fan, pulled away, was still indignant, cursing aloud:

“I remember you! You ambushed me in the last elimination round—you’re the one who made me look like a pig!”

The youth lay on the ground, eyes full of grievance. What was this? All for that? Yes, he’d ambushed people in the melee before, but whether he’d ambushed Yang Fan, he couldn’t recall. Besides, melees were free-for-alls anyway.

How could that be a reason for this beating? And Yang Fan had already participated in yesterday’s drawing round, so clearly the ambush hadn’t succeeded.

So why was he so angry?

The youth wondered, but his mouth was swollen, his tongue bitten by his teeth, and it hurt too much to speak. All he could do was listen to Yang Fan’s curses.

Seeing the youth lying there like a dead fish, Yang Fan’s anger only grew. He was now convinced the youth was the one who’d ambushed him.

Although the incident had passed, Yang Fan’s resentment lingered. A few punches had vented some of it, but he was still dissatisfied.

The referee didn’t give Yang Fan another chance, dragging him out of the arena and announcing the competition would continue, with all defenders remaining at their posts.

Yang Fan was kicked upstairs.

Zhang Weiguo had just sent a message to the referee, instructing Yang Fan to go upstairs to find them.

The referee, at a loss over what to do with Yang Fan, was relieved—the vice principal had spoken, so he could now hand off the burden.

Moreover, kicking Yang Fan out felt incredibly satisfying.