The rain continued to pour, beating down on the basalt cliffs and pooling in the muddy gravel of the sealed canyon.
Fang Lin lay in the muddy water, his chest heaving in shallow, painful gasps. The cracked ribs sent sharp, burning pain through his nervous system with every breath, and the cold water of the pool did little to numb the agony. The hot golden mist from the Vajra Sealing Gilded Net swirled around him, its humid heat stinging the burns on his skin, creating a choking atmosphere that smelled of scorched stone and wet ash.
Above him, the remaining three Early Core Formation elites and the two Mid Core Formation elites moved forward in a loose, predatory line. Their golden subduing staffs were raised, their faces cold and expressionless, and their hands glowed with golden suppression seals.
"Your blood will be the ink for my legend."
Hearing this, Heng Wuchen laughed away mockingly.
"Do not let him recover," one of the Mid elites commanded, his voice sharp and carrying a hint of mockery. "Pin his limbs. Seal his spiritual sea. The sect wants him alive, but they did not say he must be unbroken. This demon thinks that he can carve out a legend from our blood."
They descended toward him, their weapons cutting through the sheet rain.
Fang Lin's eyes remained locked on the hiltless Night Burial Sword lying in the gravel just a few paces away. His spiritual sea was in a state of violent turbulence, the solar Qi from the previous palm strike attempting to burn and tear his pathways. But deep within his soul, the unyielding resolve that had awakened his Mortal Will flared with a cold, stubborn fury. He had not survived the deadly mine, the Broken Ravine, and the grueling time-dilated trials of the Mansion to be dragged back in chains like a common criminal.
This was a life-or-death fight, and there was no room for restraint.
Fang Lin circulated his unique Chaos Qi, drawing it from the deepest, hidden core of his foundation.
Boom!
A sudden, massive shockwave of grey, chaotic energy erupted from his body. The force of the explosion was so violent that it pulverized the surrounding basalt stone, sending a circular wave of shattered gravel, mud, and vaporized rain shooting outward in all directions. The sheer pressure of the chaos energy crackled with faint, grey runes, tearing through the falling rain and dispersing the golden mist in the immediate vicinity depicting his anger and fury. The descending elites were caught completely off guard. Their golden weapons were repelled by the heavy force, and their bodies were thrown back several paces across the wet stone, their boots skidding in the mud.
As the grey dust and steam began to clear, the elites quickly recovered their footing, their eyes narrowing as they looked toward the center of the crater.
Fang Lin was standing.
But his body was no longer normal. His physical form had blurred a little, his skin and robes becoming semi-translucent, shifting like a dark outline or a phantom silhouette. The torrential rain fell directly through his chest and shoulders, leaving no marks on his garments, as if his physical body had ceased to exist in the material plane. He stood as a specter, his eyes glowing with a quiet, cold light.
It was the Chaos Phantom Extreme Physique, its first revolution fully active, granting him the state of Phantom Existence. The agonizing pain in his ribs faded into a distant numbness as his physical form partially merged with the void.
"What... what kind of physique is this?" the leading Mid elite muttered, his face tightening with a sudden, deep unease. "He has no physical mass, yet his Qi is still anchored to the world. This is not a normal concealment art!"
Fang Lin did not give them time to analyze his power.
Moonless Shadow Step!
His phantom figure vanished from the spot.
There was no sound, no ripple in the mud, and no displaced rain. Before the three staggered Early elites could even raise their shields or coordinate their Qi, Fang Lin appeared directly in front of the one in the west position.
The elite reacted by instinct, thrusting his golden subduing staff directly at Fang Lin's chest. The staff, carrying the full force of an Early Core Formation cultivator's Qi, struck Fang Lin's chest.
But there was no sound of impact.
The heavy bronze staff passed directly through Fang Lin's translucent chest, feeling as if it had struck empty air. The elite's balance wavered as his momentum carried him forward, his eyes widening in absolute horror as he realized his strike had met nothing but mist.
Moon-Eating Shadow Blade!
The Night Burial Sword flashed, drawing a silent, dark line through the elite's neck. A clean spray of blood erupted as his head was severed from his shoulders, his body collapsing into the mud.
Fang Lin did not stop. He took another silent step, his phantom body shifting through the air like a drifting outline, completely unaffected by the rain or the mud.
The second Early elite swung his staff in a panicked, horizontal swipe, trying to sweep Fang Lin's legs. The weapon passed directly through Fang Lin's thighs with only a faint, mist-like ripple. In the next micro-second, Fang Lin's sword thrust forward, piercing the elite's forehead and exiting the back of his skull. The dark iron blade carried a cold, absolute intent that extinguished the elite's soul signature instantly.
As the second body fell, Fang Lin shifted again, appearing behind the third Early-Core Formation elite.
The third elite screamed in terror, dropping his staff and trying to leap backward to escape the range of the phantom. But Fang Lin's movement was too fast, his step carrying him through the space with no resistance. The dark iron blade cut through the elite's spine, severing his body in half before he could even touch the cliffs.
In three consecutive, silent steps, the three remaining Early elites had been slaughtered. Their blood stained the rain-washed gravel, their lifeless eyes staring into the dark sky, their weapons sinking into the mud.
The two Mid Core Formation elites stood frozen, their breath catching in their throats. They had never seen such a terrifying technique. Physical attacks could not touch him, and his speed was beyond anything a Spirit Foundation cultivator should possess.
"This is a demonic transformation!" the leading Mid elite shouted, his voice shaking with a mix of fear and fury. "Burn his essence! Activate the pagoda! Do not let him approach!"
The two Mid elites clapped their palms together, blood leaking from their fingers as they burned their own essence to activate their most powerful high-grade Temple seal.
"Solar Pagoda Sealing - Seal!" they roared in unison.
Boom!
The golden mist above them parted violently as a massive, seven-story pagoda made of pure, searing solar light manifested in the sky. The pagoda descended directly above Fang Lin, releasing an intense, purifying heat that caused the surrounding wet stones to crack and sizzle.
The solar light was absolute. As the searing rays of the Solar Pagoda Sealing Seal hit Fang Lin's phantom silhouette, his body began to lose its translucency, forced to solidify by the purifying, Yang-attribute nature of the solar seal. The intense heat began to scorch his skin, and the cracks in his ribs throbbed with a renewed, agonizing pain. His phantom state was cracking under the solar pressure, the boundary between the void and the material world breaking down.
Fang Lin realized he could not dodge the descending pagoda. The local space was locked down, and the solar light covered the entire basin.
He decided to unleash his Frost arts.
Fang Lin circulated the Ethereal Frost Art, drawing upon the pure, freezing Qi from his dantian.
Stillness Deflecting Mirror!
He raised his hand, his eyes reflecting a deep, ice-blue light. A thin, circular shield of absolute cold, glowing with a translucent blue radiance, materialized directly above him.
The searing solar rays from the descending Solar Pagoda Sealing Seal slammed into the blue mirror.
Instead of melting the ice, the solar light was absorbed and deflected by the mirror of absolute cold. The extreme, stillness-inducing cold of the mirror neutralized the heat, sending ripples of blue frost shooting upward along the golden rays, freezing the very light of the pagoda. The solar pagoda groaned, its golden light fracturing as it was locked in a state of absolute stillness, its energy dispersing into the air as harmless blue mist.
With the pagoda neutralized, Fang Lin shifted his feet.
Glacial Drift Step!
His phantom body glided over the wet gravel with extraordinary lightness. As his feet touched the ground, a thick sheet of solid, treacherous ice spread outward from his footsteps, instantly covering the muddy canyon floor.
The two Mid elites, who were channeling their Qi to sustain the remains of the seal, suddenly felt their footing fail. The ground beneath them turned to slick, frictionless ice, causing their stances to waver. The extreme cold from the ice sheet began to creep up their legs, restricting their speed and freezing their boots to the stone.
Before they could break the ice, Fang Lin pointed his fingers at them.
Glacial Needle Piercing!
Ten tiny, nearly invisible needles of concentrated frost Qi shot from his fingertips. They traveled through the air with a faint, high-pitched hiss, cutting through the steam.
The two Mid elites tried to raise their golden Qi shields, but the glacial needles were too small and traveled with too much speed. They pierced directly through the golden barriers, entering the elites' chests and limbs.
The moment the needles entered their bodies, the absolute cold erupted internally.
The two elites froze mid-motion. Their eyes widened as their blood, meridians, and Qi pathways were flash-frozen from the inside out. Translucent blue frost spread rapidly across their skin, turning their faces white, freezing the breath in their throats.
Fang Lin glided past them, the Night Burial Sword drawing a swift, clean horizontal line.
The frozen heads of the two Mid elites shattered as they hit the ice, their headless, frozen bodies collapsing like stone statues.
The Gilded Net above began to flicker, the golden pillars losing their power as the channelers died, leaving only the residual spatial lock active.
Fang Lin stood in the center of the ice field, his breathing heavy, his phantom body flickering as the exhaustion began to take its toll. The extreme consumption of his Chaos Physique and his Frost arts had drained his spiritual sea significantly, but his mind remained sharp. He looked toward the end of the basin.
All six of his companions were dead.
Heng Wuchen stood alone. The Legacy Disciple's hands were clenched so tightly around his bronze staff that his knuckles had turned white. His face, usually a mask of cold discipline, was frozen in a mix of absolute shock, disbelief, and deep fury.
"You... you are a dual-affinity cultivator," Heng Wuchen whispered, his gaze moving from the frozen, shattered corpses of the Mid elites to the dark iron sword in Fang Lin's hand. "Darkness and absolute frost. And that physique... it is not a normal art. It is a legendary physique."
As he stared at the fourteen-year-old youth standing before him, a dark, heavy emotion began to swirl in Heng Wuchen's heart.
He was a Legacy Disciple of the Demon Suppression Temple, a genius who had received the best resources, the best manuals, and the backing of a major power. Yet this rogue cultivator, this "Shen Mo" who came from know where, possessed a combat power and a foundation that surpassed his own. He possessed a legendary physique and an absolute frost art that could freeze solar light.
A deep, burning jealousy seized Heng Wuchen's mind, followed immediately by an overwhelming greed.
"There must be a massive secret behind your battle prowess," Heng Wuchen said, his voice lowering, his eyes burning with a dark, gold fire. "A supreme legacy. A treasure that belongs to the ancient sovereigns. If I capture you alive... if I extract your soul and read your memories, that legacy will be mine. I will rise above the Temple. I will reach the Peak of the continent."
The Legacy Disciple stepped forward.
He did not look at the corpses of his companions. He raised his heavy bronze staff, his Qi erupting in a blinding, golden column that pierced the dark storm clouds. He began to burn his own essence and bloodline, his aura rising sharply as the bronze staff hummed with a terrifying, vibrating force, ready to unleash the Temple's ultimate strike.
Fang Lin tightened his grip on the Night Burial Sword, his eyes cold and calm despite the agonizing pain in his ribs.
The final duel.....was about to begin.
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