Read Novel Full Chapter 158: Five-Year Tournament (3)
Chapter 158: Five-Year Tournament (3)
"The Blood-Iron Body of the Military Branch..." commented the leader of the Shadow Branch, his voice neutral.
"The cultivation technique does not merely harden the skin. It infuses blood Qi into the muscles, tendons, and bones, making them temporarily denser than forged iron. A technique that demands an innate affinity with blood in order not to destroy one’s own body."
The other leaders did not reply, they simply kept their eyes fixed on the arena.
Lin Mo stepped back, staggering, his arm numb up to the elbow. The horror he felt in his arm was palpable. His best technique had been negated with a single strike. The disparity was monstrous, just as he had imagined.
Desperate, his mind spun. He could not compete head-on with brute strength.
He thought of some other way to attack. With a hoarse cry, he raised his own blade and made a quick, deep cut across his palm.
Blood gushed out, but instead of dripping, he held it in the air with his cultivated Qi, forcing it to separate into dozens of droplets that elongated, forming thin, jagged needles of coagulated blood. The blood turned black, emanating a dark crimson energy.
"Rain of Profane Blood Needles!" he shouted the name, trying to give weight to the desperate attack.
The needles quivered in the air, unstable, but pointed toward Bai Zhu.
In the stands, one of the leaders closed his eyes for a second.
’Foolish.’ That was his thought and the thought of many others watching.
Bai Zhu observed the forming blood needles. For the first time, an expression other than disdain appeared on his face.
A mixture of genuine incredulity and profound contempt. He did not even move to defend himself.
When the needles shot toward him, hissing through the air with a wet, ominous sound, they simply stopped.
They stopped in midair, an arm’s length from him, as if they had collided with a solid wall of will.
Bai Zhu let out a sigh that was almost a growl of frustration.
"You are completely hopeless... aren’t you?" His voice thundered, filled with a didactic disgust.
"You truly intend to offer your blood, your very vitality, to an opponent like me? In front of someone who commands what you can barely begin to understand?"
Lin Mo froze, blood dripping from his cut hand, his face a mask of growing confusion and horror.
Dong Zhen, from the platform, watched with an impenetrable gaze.
’This is the most basic lesson.’ He thought, without a shred of pity.
Suffering a wound on a battlefield against those who master blood intent was already a horrible situation.
Then, to wound oneself and attempt to use that blood to attack Bai Zhu, who understood blood intent, was the same as handing the knife to one’s own executioner.
Bai Zhu raised his right hand, palm facing the paralyzed needles. He made no dramatic gesture. He simply closed his fingers slightly.
Lin Mo’s blood needles trembled. Their forced, opaque black color dissolved, replaced by a deep, vibrant crimson, the same shade as the pulsating veins on Bai Zhu’s body.
Lin Mo’s connection to his own blood was severed immediately, with no visible effort.
"Take it back." Bai Zhu spat.
The needles, now infused with a fierce blood intent and Bai Zhu’s pure, dense blood Qi, rotated in place and shot back.
But not like a simple reflection, they accelerated to a speed that made the air hiss, each one aiming with surgical precision.
Lin Mo screamed, trying to raise a Qi barrier, but his control was in shambles, his spirit shaken. The needles did not care about the barrier.
They did not pierce his skin, instead, at the last instant, they sharpened into points so fine they became almost a breath and penetrated directly through the pores, infiltrating his blood vessels and nerve endings.
The scream that followed was short, sharp, and filled with a kind of agony that was not merely physical but deep.
It was the pain of having his body violated from within and his own blood turned against him. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsed violently, and he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
A thread of saliva tinged with red slid from his mouth. He was completely unconscious, or perhaps something worse.
The arena fell into an absolute silence. The only sound was Bai Zhu’s heavy, satisfied breathing, the prominent veins on his body slowly receding, returning to their normal state.
Dong Zhen waited three seconds, then announced.
"Winner of the first battle. Bai Zhu, of the Military Branch. Next combatants, prepare to enter the arena."
Dong Zhen then watched as the servants dragged Lin Mo away. Bai Zhu’s brutal efficiency was worthy of the military branch, but a subtle unease lingered in his mind.
’Well executed.’ he thought.
’But what does this say about our foundation? In the past, at least all those sent to the tournament possessed a deeper understanding of blood, of intent...’
’The fights were more balanced. Now, it is like a wolf slaughtering a lamb.’
The quality of talents... was indeed declining with each generation. That made the bet on Kyrian even more crucial.
His gaze drifted to where Kyrian stood among the other participants, the young man with cold crimson eyes who observed the scene with an impassive expression.
No shock, no fear, only a silent analysis.
Kyrian watched the fight with curiosity. He wanted to see how others used blood Qi and blood intent to fight.
Then, Dong Zhen’s voice rose again.
"Second match." he announced, his voice silencing the murmurs that had started to rise.
"Li Fen, of the Shadow Branch, against Gao Jin, of the Military Branch. Enter the arena."
The two youths separated from the group and descended the steps toward the stone circle.
Gao Jin, sturdy as a tree trunk, carried a war hammer with a head of dark stone. His expression was serious but determined. He was one of the four without innate affinity with blood, his blood Qi came solely from his cultivation technique, unlike Bai Zhu and the others. But he seemed more mentally prepared than Lin Mo.
Li Fen, on the other hand, glided into the arena with silent grace. Her clothes were a darker red, almost black in the folds. Her narrow eyes assessed Gao Jin with clinical interest.
As if she were evaluating a corpse.
The arena stands, still saturated with the energy of the previous battle, seemed to contract in anticipation. Everyone wondered.
Would this be another demonstration of supremacy? Or would Gao Jin surprise them?