Chapter 82 Breaking Through the Formation

The blazing fire of separation burned fiercely, scorching away all turbid impurities, as the black python transformed into a flood dragon. Could destiny truly toy with the hearts of men?

Zhou Qian unleashed his internal strength, his sword's brilliance shining with dazzling radiance. The Ghost Master Sword struck at the flood dragon, while Ren Xie bit his tongue and spat blood, his fingers forming incessant seals, commanding the black serpent to soar skyward.

A thunderous boom erupted as they clashed, waves around them exploded, sending sprays of water flying, and within a ten-foot radius, not a drop remained, the area pressed into a primordial vacuum.

Amid the flying mist, Zhou Qian’s Ghost Master Sword sank inch by inch into the serpent’s head, while the serpent’s fangs embedded themselves in his shoulder, piercing through from front to back. The fierce fire blazed, sending the serpent rolling in agony, black vapor steaming from its body. After all, the black serpent was formed from acquired filth, unable to withstand the purification of innate fire; yet Zhou Qian, being of mortal flesh, also struggled to endure the massive jaws clamping down.

The contest between them was a matter of willpower alone.

At this critical juncture, Zhou Qian remained calm and composed, his spirit, energy, and mind unified. He noticed that Ren Xie was entirely focused on driving the black serpent, and an idea struck him. He feigned a move, suddenly abandoning the Ghost Master Sword and arching back to dodge, leaving two bowl-sized wounds in his shoulder from the serpent’s fangs. In a flash, he lunged, catching Ren Xie off guard, breaking his incantation with a sudden punch, then spun around to kick at his chest—a technique he had only recently picked up from Huang Linfei. The kick scattered Ren Xie’s vital energy, causing him to convulse as the backlash from his own sorcery struck him.

The black serpent, a ferocious beast, upon sensing its master’s weakness, turned to devour him. Its black vapor transformed into fine threads, drilling into Ren Xie’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, draining his essence and blood. His body withered visibly, turning into a shriveled skeleton in moments. The serpent, having absorbed his blood, became even more lustrous and black, its muscles and bones defined, faintly emanating an aura of spiritual brilliance.

The Ghost Master Sword descended from above, flames coiling around it, piercing straight into the serpent’s vital spot, impaling both man and beast together.

Blood foamed from Ren Xie’s mouth as he gurgled with resentment, “You wretch... My master Ku Sangzi will... you will surely...”

Before he could finish, his head fell to the ground, and the black serpent gradually dissipated. Zhou Qian curled his lip, “Running to your master for help when you lose—what a disgrace. If it were my master, he’d curse me bloody for sure!”

Ren Xie, master of the Valley of the Wicked, was dead.

Witnessing their leader’s fall, the various villains of the dark path were instantly demoralized, while the righteous heroes’ spirits surged. Reinforcements from the righteous sects continued to join the fray, and with the ebb and flow of fortune, the villains were routed repeatedly and utterly lost their will to fight. After five hours of brutal battle, with the last villain slain, a cheer erupted from the ranks of the righteous.

This was the Battle of Kanmen. Three hundred sixty-one perished, seventeen were wounded, and six were captured. Of the seventeen bandit clans, nine leaders died, their factions either destroyed or scattered. Henceforth, the underworld was all but extinct.

Yet Zhou Qian and his companions fared little better. During the earlier attack on the inner tomb, over a hundred had died, and now with nearly two hundred more casualties, the martial world suffered losses unseen since the great Hu-Han wars. It could be said that both sides had been gravely wounded.

The righteous gathered in silence. In this battle, who had not lost a brother, friend, master, or disciple? People of the martial world were bold, yet they too felt grief.

“Let me say a word,” Tu Yong, rubbing his right hand—now missing three fingers—shouted, “I fought in that war years ago, and I’ll be blunt: it was far bloodier than today. Fewer still survived…”

“But we drove out the barbarians! No more were Han sons and daughters forced into slavery or prostitution. We fought for thirty years of peace for our children and grandchildren. That’s worth it, damn it!”

“Now the dark path is wiped out! Once we kill Lü Cunwen, we’ll have at least twenty more years of peace! Once you enter the Jianghu, you live with your head hanging from your belt. If you die, you die—there’s no use acting like a woman about it!” His roar snapped everyone from their daze.

“Damn, you all had your fill of fighting. I came late and only chopped off three heads!” grumbled the Iron Saber Warrior, spitting disdainfully.

“Haha, exactly! After this battle, I’ve gained new insight into my saber technique. Other than Wu San, who could kill with a single slash to the throat, there’s hardly anyone in the martial world who can match me,” Mo Shaocong laughed heartily.

“Wu San was killed earlier by the master of the Valley of the Wicked,” someone interjected quietly.

Mo Shaocong paused, then burst into laughter, “So now I’m the number one saber in the martial world?!” His laughter faded, and after a moment of silence, he cursed, “That useless Wu San! Now who will I compete with? Damn it, he’s an embarrassment to saber wielders everywhere! I only learned the saber because of him! Damn it all…”

“And where’s Shi San? That brat still owes me three strings of coins for wine! So ruthless—running from debt all the way to the afterlife! But he’d better remember, in a few decades, I’ll be joining him, and he’ll owe me interest by then…”

“Fuyue, from now on you’ll lead the Kongtong Sect.” Tianming, Shuiyu, and several Kongtong elders gathered together, solemnly passing the sect leader’s sword to Fuyue, the senior disciple.

Lou Yuxiao is dead too? Zhou Qian felt a wave of bewilderment. With such high skills, how could he have died?

“He perished together with Old He of the Blood Saber Sect,” Tu Yong said, coming over to Zhou Qian and grinning. “Those two were lifelong enemies!”

“And Old Wei,” Tu Yong pointed at the Tang Clan, gloating, “That old fox never did a losing deal, but today he’s lost everything—one son dead, the other crippled. Who will inherit the Tang Clan now? Good thing I had the foresight to make Wang Hu stand guard outside the tomb. Otherwise, with his poor skills, he’d have died even faster.”

“Martial uncle, is your hand all right?” Zhou Qian asked after a moment’s silence.

“Shouldn’t I be asking about you?” Tu Yong frowned, pointing at Zhou Qian’s hastily bandaged shoulders.

“I’m not sure,” Zhou Qian replied with a wry smile. “I’ve never been this badly hurt before. I can’t feel my arms at all—worst case, I may never wield a sword again.”

Tu Yong grunted, “It won’t come to that. Old Zhou will have a way for sure!”

There was cursing, silence, and drinking, but not a single tear was shed—they weren’t the sentimental sort here.

“The tiger-flood-sharks are gathering in greater numbers. We must break the formation immediately!” Li Guangzhi said with a frown. Fortunately, he had arrived late; otherwise, with his skills, he might not have survived.

Earlier, the crowd’s killing aura had kept the tiger-flood-sharks at bay, but now, as more gathered, they stirred restlessly. The largest among them was nearly fifty feet long and ten feet wide, as large as a boat.

“That’s the one!” Li Guangzhi’s strange talisman burst into flame with no wind, his tone tinged with delight. “Every formation has a crucial point. The Minor Eight Trigrams Formation is a trapping array, making the core easier to find. Daoist Yuan once gave me a talisman that, when burned, can point to the core. Though it works only on ordinary arrays, it should suffice here!”

“The imperial court does indeed have many oddities,” Tu Yong muttered.

“But how do we slay such a massive beast, especially when it’s among the swarm?”

Everyone hesitated; snatching food from a tiger’s mouth was nothing compared to this. After a pause, someone said, “I do have a rather reckless plan, but it’s risky—especially for you, Young Hero Zhou!”

“Oh?” Zhou Qian was puzzled.

After a whispered explanation, Zhou Qian nodded repeatedly and finally agreed, “Of course, our lives are far more important than the Fire Pearl.”

The plan was to use Zhou Qian’s Fire Pearl, whose flames were fierce and overwhelming, to bait the tiger-flood-shark with a corpse. They would place the Fire Pearl inside a body, and once the beast swallowed it, Zhou Qian would activate the fire within, burning a hole in its stomach, ensuring its demise.

However, this meant Zhou Qian risked losing the Fire Pearl. If the plan failed, so be it; even if it succeeded and the tiger-flood-shark’s carcass sank into the depths, the Fire Pearl would be lost as well.

Zhou Qian, however, cared little for such objects. If this plan could save so many, it was worth the price.

Thus, the less-injured survivors began the operation, gathering corpses—which was no trouble, for after the battle, they far outnumbered the living. The tiger-flood-sharks seemed wary of the lotus leaves on the water, so as long as they stood atop them, they were safe, making the task easier.

After collecting forty or fifty bodies, they began tossing them. At first, the great tiger-flood-shark was cautious, but as the bodies were devoured by its kin and the scent of blood thickened, the beasts grew frantic, vying with one another for a taste.

The group then tossed the body containing the Fire Pearl near the massive shark, keeping other corpses at a distance to entice it. Finally, unable to resist, the huge beast leapt from the water and swallowed the bait whole, appearing quite content.

Now it was Zhou Qian’s turn. Guided by a faint connection, he quickly sensed the Fire Pearl’s location. Focusing his spirit, energy, and essence, he seemed to merge with the Pearl, flames surging within, wild beasts roaring amid the fire. His consciousness expanded, and within that world of fire, he could sense five layers, the rest barren and lifeless. He realized that after suppressing the earth’s yin veins for thousands of years, the Fire Pearl’s internal flames were nearly depleted. To unleash its full power, it would need to be replenished with extraordinary fire.

Without further delay, Zhou Qian poured his own immortal energy into it, causing the sea of fire to boil. On the surface of the Fire Pearl, the rare Bing and Ding fires erupted.

Instantly, the giant tiger-flood-shark writhed in agony, thrashing and sending waves surging, scattering its kin in all directions.

After the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the waters stilled. The beast’s body slowly sank, and the group rejoiced. “I’ll go first!” someone cried, diving into the water and disappearing instantly. The Kanmen was open once more.

Their feelings were complex as they gazed upon the field of carnage, realizing it was merely the entrance to an immortal’s formation. Such was the profundity of immortal arts.

When Zhou Qian awoke from the mist, he checked his arms—there was no improvement. He sighed; according to Li Guangzhi, when the Gate of Life becomes the Gate of Death, illusions become reality, and injuries are irreversible.

Feeling something hard in his bosom, he was startled to find the Fire Pearl still with him. Hadn’t it sunk with the beast? Perhaps only his wounds remained unchanged, while his possessions had returned. Zhou Qian felt as if in a dream—was it real, or not? The ways of the immortals were truly unfathomable...

Others had no such reflections; they turned to Li Guangzhi, who, after this battle, had become something of the martial world’s “military advisor,” and relationships had grown more cordial.

“Even with the map, Lü Cunwen cannot break the Xuanyin Hall right away. We can rest a day or two, waiting for him to break the hall’s wards, then strike in one fell swoop!”

All agreed and went off to find rest—many had not slept for days.

Zhou Qian, however, took his leave of Tu Yong and the others, quietly slipping away—

“The Yin Fiend Sword Finger... One of the few divine arts in the ‘Xuanyin Sword Manual’ that can be mastered without killing…,” Zhou Qian muttered as he raced toward the rift of yin energy—