Three days later, at Howling Wind Ridge.
This was a bizarre mountain. It was neither toweringly high nor majestically undulating. Instead, it resembled a colossal, crouching beast, its back forming a vast, flat plateau of barren bluestone. Up on the peak, the mountain winds howled ceaselessly, violently crashing against the crags to produce shrieks that sounded like the wailing of ghosts—this was the origin of the name "Howling Wind Ridge." Precisely due to this unique topography, both expansive and isolated, Howling Wind Ridge had become a natural arena chosen by many cultivators to settle their grudges.
And today, this place was about to witness a fierce battle between dragons and tigers, one that had attracted the attention of the entire Thanh Province.
By the time Tran Kien arrived, thousands of people had already gathered on the vast plateau. The clamor of the crowd was deafening, drowning out even the howling winds. The masses had spontaneously divided into distinct zones. Closest to the center were the disciples of major sects and aristocratic clans, dressed in immaculate robes and exuding extraordinary bearing. A bit further out were the rogue cultivators and wandering martial artists; their gazes were complex, holding both intense curiosity and deep-seated vigilance. On the outermost periphery were ordinary, curious mortals, drawn here by the prospect of watching "immortals" duel.
Tran Kien did not squeeze into the crowd. He pulled the cowl of his cloak low and quietly scaled a tall crag in the distance, selecting a vantage point that offered a commanding view of the entire scene. He was not here to join the bustle. He was here to observe, to gather intelligence on his enemies.
His gaze swept over the crowd, quickly identifying familiar factions. In one corner stood the disciples of the Azure Cloud Sect, maintaining their inherent arrogance. In another obscure corner, shrouded in the guise of rogue cultivators, were the shadowy figures of the Black Dragon Stronghold, their eyes sinister and bone-chillingly cold.
Clang… clang… clang…
Three rings of a gong echoed out. The crowd instantly fell dead silent. The life-and-death duel was about to begin.
From the east, a figure in white robes lightly flew toward the mountain peak, landing squarely in the center of the arena. It was a young man of about twenty years. His features were incredibly handsome, with sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes. An ancient sword rested on his back, and his entire body radiated a sharp, yet incomparably bright and righteous Sword Qi. He stood there, his back straight as a pine tree, his bearing as ethereal as a banished immortal.
"It's the 'Little Sword God', Thuong Quan Van!"
"Truly worthy of being the genius of the Thuong Quan Clan! At merely twenty years of age, he has already reached the Early Foundation Establishment stage. His future is truly limitless!"
Gasps of admiration and praise echoed endlessly.
Faced with such adulation, Thuong Quan Van merely gave a slight nod. His expression remained placid, neither arrogant nor haughty.
Right at that moment, from the west, a billowing surge of black mist flew over, carrying with it an arrogant, bizarre laughter. The black mist dissipated to reveal another young man. He too wore luxurious brocade robes and possessed a somewhat handsome face, but it was completely ruined by his thin, heartless lips and the wicked, lewd aura that seemed to seep from his very bones. This was Lanh Thien Phong, the Eldest Young Master of Marquis Vinh An's Estate.
Compared to two years ago, he had completely transformed. The weak, foppish silk-pants was gone, replaced by an air of sinister danger. His cultivation base was firmly established at the Mid-Foundation Establishment stage—an entire sub-realm higher than the Little Sword God!
"Thuong Quan Van," Lanh Thien Phong casually fanned himself with a paper folding fan, his tone thoroughly mocking. "So what if you are a genius of the Righteous path? Today, I will show everyone here that your so-called geniuses are nothing but trash before the demonic arts of my Black Dragon Stronghold!"
He made absolutely no attempt to hide the fact that he had taken a master from the Black Dragon Stronghold—an act akin to viciously slapping the faces of the Righteous sects.
Thuong Quan Van frowned, his gaze turning icy. "Lanh Thien Phong, you willingly fall into depravity and act as a running dog for the Demonic path. Today, I, Thuong Quan Van, shall enact justice on behalf of the Heavens, eradicating demons to defend the Dao!"
"Hahaha! Such arrogance!"
The two exchanged no further words. Killing intent and battle lust erupted, clashing in mid-air and producing the sizzle of violently grating spiritual energy.
A grey-robed man flew out from the crowd and loudly declared, "In this life-and-death duel, each is responsible for their own fate! Begin!"
Clang!
Thuong Quan Van was the first to strike. The ancient sword on his back unsheathed itself, transforming into a streak of silver light. Carrying a sharp, pristine Sword Qi, it thrust straight toward Lanh Thien Phong. His sword arts were exquisitely profound, befitting the grand demeanor of a major aristocratic clan.
Lanh Thien Phong sneered. He didn't even try to dodge. He merely waved the paper fan in his hand. From within the fan, dozens, nay, hundreds of pitch-black, spectral phantoms flew out, wailing with deep resentment as they swarmed Thuong Quan Van's flying sword.
"It's the Hundred Ghosts Nightwalk Fan! A Mid-grade Demonic Artifact!" someone cried out in terror.
Surrounded by these resentful specters, the bright and righteous light of Thuong Quan Van's flying sword instantly dimmed, and its speed drastically plummeted.
"Is this the extent of your abilities?" Lanh Thien Phong laughed sinisterly. He snapped his fan shut and shot toward Thuong Quan Van like a giant bat. His right hand transformed into a claw, its five pitch-black fingers wreathed in a corrosive black mist. "Have a taste of my Black Bone Demonic Claw!"
Thuong Quan Van's expression changed. He hastily recalled his flying sword and retreated to defend. However, Lanh Thien Phong had already closed the distance, forcing him entirely onto the passive defensive.
Atop the distant crag, Tran Kien coldly observed it all. He did not care who won or lost. He was merely analyzing.
Lanh Thien Phong's cultivation method clearly belonged to the Black Dragon Stronghold. It was vicious and insidious, specializing in attacking the opponent's divine soul. But his foundation was incredibly weak. Although his spiritual energy was robust, it was highly unstable—clearly forcibly elevated through pills or some secret art. Compared to Tran Kien's own Primordial Qi, despite both being at the Foundation Establishment stage, there was a fundamental, qualitative difference.
As for Thuong Quan Van, his sword arts were profound and his spiritual energy was pure. However, he lacked one crucial thing...
Tran Kien shook his head slightly. He lacks killing intent. His sword is too 'clean', too 'beautiful'. That is a sword meant for performance, not a sword meant for slaughter.
The battle below grew increasingly brutal. Despite his lower cultivation base, Thuong Quan Van managed to hold on by relying on his exquisite sword arts and pure spiritual energy. But anyone with eyes could see that he was being suppressed to the point of suffocation. Defeat was only a matter of time.
"Thuong Quan Van! Go to hell!"
Lanh Thien Phong seemed to have lost all patience. He let out a beastly roar, black mist erupting from his entire body. He no longer used his demonic claw. Instead, from his sleeve, he pulled out an item.
A small, pitch-black banner embroidered with a blood-red eye.
"It's the Blood Soul Banner! How did he acquire such a vile demonic artifact?!" The Sixth Elder of the Azure Cloud Sect shot to his feet in shock.
Lanh Thien Phong waved the banner fiercely. A beam of blood-red light shot forth, transforming into a massive, crimson eye in mid-air. The eye opened, locking its gaze directly onto Thuong Quan Van.
The moment the eye stared at him, Thuong Quan Van's entire body went rigid. He felt his divine soul being violently dragged from his body by an invisible force, inflicting absolute agony.
"It's over," Lanh Thien Phong laughed savagely. He raised his Hundred Ghosts fan, preparing to execute his defenseless opponent.
The crowd watched in horror. Were the Thuong Quan Clan and Duke Dingguo's Estate about to lose a peerless genius?
But at that exact moment, a sharp whoosh—so swift that almost no one could track it—tore through the air from a distant crag.
An ordinary pebble, enveloped by a strand of Primordial Qi and the Thousand Hammers, Hundred Refinements Saber Intent, flew at an unimaginable speed. It did not target Lanh Thien Phong, nor did it target the banner.
It aimed straight for the massive, blood-red eye in mid-air!
CRACK!
A crisp, shattering sound echoed out. The blood-red eye, struck by this sudden, highly condensed attack, instantly shattered into countless specks of crimson light.
PUKE!
His spell broken and his divine soul suffering a vicious backlash, Lanh Thien Phong violently coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood as his body was blasted backward.
Howling Wind Ridge plunged into a deathly silence. Everyone was utterly dumbfounded, looking around in bewilderment, completely oblivious as to what had just transpired.
Only the Sixth Elder of the Azure Cloud Sect and a few other Foundation Establishment experts stared in shock toward the distant crag.
There, a cloaked figure carrying a matte-black saber on his back had stood up at some unknown point.
The fierce mountain wind whipped past, blowing back his cowl to reveal a youthful yet incomparably resolute face.
Tran Kien.
The tiger had finally bared its fangs.