Chapter Sixty-Five: Battle at the Pinnacle of Third Rank!

At this moment, Chen Haoran’s face was full of surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"Cut the nonsense—fight if you want, or get lost if you don't!" Yang Fan feigned arrogance, though he was far from confident inside.

Although Zhou Ting and the others called Chen Haoran a good-for-nothing, even the most useless person reaching the peak of the Third Grade was not to be trifled with. Just in terms of raw physical strength, a Third Grade peak cultivator could probably muster around three thousand pounds of force! Meanwhile, Yang Fan was only at the peak of Second Grade, and even at full power, he could barely manage two thousand pounds. Moreover, his control over strength at his current stage was less than stellar.

Zhou Ting had fallen silent as well. In her mind, Yang Fan was not a reckless person. While she wouldn’t call him wise, he was certainly no fool.

Watching Yang Fan step into the arena, the corners of Chen Haoran’s mouth curled up. This kid was seeking his own demise—he had no one to blame but himself! The academy’s arena rules forbade killing, but crippling someone was another matter.

Yang Fan entered the ring, choosing a platform at random. Xie Sihua staggered past the edge of the platform, her eyes blazing with naked rage and humiliation. As she looked at Yang Fan, her eyes began to redden.

Yang Fan glanced indifferently at her. "You lost, so step aside and watch me get your dignity back! Go sit and watch!"

By now, Chen Haoran had also entered the ring. Hearing Yang Fan’s bravado, he could barely contain his scorn. Did this brat really think he stood a chance? Never mind the difference in strength—just in terms of time spent cultivating, he'd been training for two years, while the kid had, at best, a few months. Who knew if he'd even mastered his martial techniques?

And yet he dared talk big here?

"Kid, enough. The more you brag, the harder you’ll slap your own face later."

"Enough talk. Who gets slapped is still up in the air!"

"Hmph!" Chen Haoran snorted coldly.

The moment he heard that snort, Yang Fan felt a sudden tightness in his abdomen, followed by a surge of excruciating pain. He collapsed instantly. Chen Haoran was already standing over him, grinning.

"You think you can brag with skills like that?"

Lying on the ground, Yang Fan gasped for air, finally catching his breath. Looking up at Chen Haoran, he said, "Impressive—crouching shadow technique plus a sneak attack. Senior Brother Chen, truly magnanimous!"

"Enough talk. Get up and continue. That was just a lesson, not even full strength—just a reminder to show humility before the strong."

Yang Fan clambered up without a word. The moment he rose, his blood surged, focusing in his eyes and arms.

Chen Haoran watched Yang Fan gather his blood and energy, wholly unconcerned. In his eyes, it was nothing more than a dying struggle. The gap in strength was not so easily bridged. To challenge someone above your rank was not unheard of, but it depended on the circumstances. Weak as he might be, he was still a student of the Magic City Cultivation Academy—and there were no weaklings there.

Yang Fan, blood and energy roaring within him, leapt up. In midair, his gaze locked fiercely onto Chen Haoran.

Chen Haoran looked up at him. "Courting death."

As Yang Fan descended, Chen Haoran lifted his leg, a faint purple aura trailing behind, and kicked at him. Yang Fan’s blood-charged fists, taking advantage of the downward momentum, smashed into Chen Haoran’s kicking leg.

The two collided. Chen Haoran withdrew his leg and stood. Yang Fan was sent flying. Blood sprayed across the air. Yang Fan’s palms were torn open at the base of his thumbs.

He’d been careless. Overconfident. That was all Yang Fan felt at that moment.

Staggering as he landed, Yang Fan was inwardly alarmed. It wasn’t as though he’d never fought a Third Grade warrior before—back in Yunnan, in the Ten Thousand Mountains, he’d faced two members of the Dark Realm, one of whom was Third Grade. He’d fought that man head-on and even brought him down. Back then, he hadn’t thought Third Grade was such a big deal.

But now, the pressure Chen Haoran—who Zhou Ting and Zhou Yiyi called a fool—was putting on him was worlds apart from that black-robed man.

Yang Fan hadn’t even steadied himself before Chen Haoran charged in. A fist! Suddenly, a massive fist filled Yang Fan’s vision. At the last possible instant, he jerked his head aside and dodged; the force of the punch rippled across his face, making his muscles tremble.

Chen Haoran was surprised—he’d dodged? But he didn’t dwell on it, chalking it up to luck.

But what happened next left Chen Haoran confused. One punch—missed. Second punch—missed again. A kick—damn it, missed as well!

…

Three or four minutes passed. Chen Haoran had thrown eighteen punches, nine kicks, and spat three times.

By now, Chen Haoran was hunched over, hands on his knees, staring at Yang Fan and panting heavily. Yang Fan looked at Chen Haoran in disgust. This guy had no class—missing his hits and now spitting on the ground! Did he have no dignity as a cultivator?

…

Something was wrong—seriously wrong. But where?

Chen Haoran stared at Yang Fan, utterly baffled.

"Hey, loser, can you still fight? You can’t even aim. I’m standing still and you still can’t hit me! Useless!"

Yang Fan taunted as he racked his brains for a solution. In a contest of endurance, he couldn’t outlast Chen Haoran. The man was a Third Grade peak, with his qi sea open and aura gathered. His energy came from the spiritual energy of heaven and earth—ubiquitous, and though not unlimited, enough to offset some exhaustion.

But for himself, his strength came from his own blood—finite, and could only be replenished through rest or medicine.

In terms of offense, he was weaker than Chen Haoran. In speed, slower. His reflexes were also inferior.

It was a deadlock.

Yang Fan was still thinking when, suddenly, Chen Haoran exploded into action, hoping to catch him off guard. Both of them launched the crouching shadow technique. Two afterimages crossed paths—one was suddenly wreathed in arcs of purple lightning, and, at the moment of contact, the other was shrouded in a faint purple mist.

They passed by each other.

Blood poured from Yang Fan’s seven orifices. Chen Haoran convulsed, barely able to stay upright.

"Careless..." Chen Haoran muttered to himself. Everyone at Magic City Cultivation Academy knew Yang Fan had a special ability, but he hadn’t used it earlier, and Chen had nearly forgotten. Besides, when you burst forth with that martial technique, it was powerful, but nearly impossible to change direction—he’d basically hurled himself headlong into Yang Fan’s lightning.

Yang Fan wasn’t doing well, either. At the moment of impact, Chen Haoran’s full aura had erupted, the force of it injuring Yang Fan’s insides. He could feel his organs shifting, blood pouring from his mouth.

Soon, Chen Haoran stopped convulsing. The current that had been coursing through his body faded, and he turned to look at Yang Fan.

Suddenly—

A numbness at his neck, then a wave of agony. Blow after blow, relentless.

Yang Fan, coughing blood, channeled his blood energy into his palm, slamming it repeatedly into Chen Haoran’s neck. With every strike, he coughed up more blood. He was at his absolute limit. If only he had a weapon—two strikes would be enough to cripple Chen Haoran.

He thought of his long blade, worth thirty-six million, and was filled with regret. Unconsciously, his gaze drifted from Chen Haoran to the stands.

Mu Qingshan, seeing Yang Fan spitting blood and looking his way, shivered. "What the hell’s he looking at me for?" he muttered anxiously.

Xie Sihua, clutching her chest and panting, replied, "No idea, but it can’t be anything good. Think about how you might’ve provoked him!"

"I haven’t! I just got back to the academy—how could I have provoked him?"

…

Chen Haoran was dazed, vision going black. At first, Yang Fan had only used blood energy, but now he was adding lightning. Chen Haoran’s body jerked uncontrollably, his world fading in and out.

Before long—

With a heavy thud, Chen Haoran collapsed, unconscious. Even as he fell, he never imagined he could lose.

A moment later, Yang Fan dropped as well, fainting almost at the same instant.

…

When Yang Fan opened his eyes again, he was back in the familiar infirmary. The familiar Teacher Ouyang Yunlei. The familiar light-based healing ability.

"Awake at last. Teacher Ouyang is amazing—just a little effort and you’re healed!" Zhou Yiyi’s voice drifted to his ears.

"You exaggerate too much, girl," Ouyang Yunlei said with a smile.

"No exaggeration, Teacher Ouyang—you really are incredible!"

"You little thing..." Ouyang Yunlei smiled helplessly. This girl was always like that—her honeyed words never failed.

Yang Fan slowly sat up, casting a plaintive glance at Zhou Yiyi.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing."

"You’re the one who’s sick."

Yang Fan was momentarily speechless. He was sick? From the start she’d been chatting with Ouyang Yunlei and hadn’t even acknowledged him when he woke up. Now, just glancing at her, she called him sick? In the end, wasn’t today’s fight with Chen Haoran all because of her and her sister? If not for them, Chen Haoran would never have singled him out.

He said nothing more to Zhou Yiyi, turning instead to Jiang Xiaoyi and Jiang Chao.

"Hey, how are you two?"

"We’re fine, Brother Yang—just some internal injuries. No big deal!"

"Yeah, Brother Yang, we’re nothing compared to you. You took down a Third Grade peak as a Second Grade peak! That really hit the spot!"

Yang Fan felt deeply satisfied. Though injured, he’d managed to defeat a Third Grade peak while only at the peak of Second Grade. That was a rare feat—among all Second Grade warriors in the land, only a handful could claim the same.

More importantly, he now had a better sense of what a Third Grade peak was capable of. His victory over Chen Haoran was a stroke of luck—a combination of surprise and his opponent’s overconfidence. If Chen Haoran had gone all out from the start, Yang Fan might very well have been beaten badly.

At least, Yang Fan had a realistic view of his own abilities.