Chapter 114: March 15, Guanyin Kills

Om!!

The speed of the opponent’s movement startled Chu Tianshu slightly.

But the blade in his hand flickered, instantly shifting direction, the tip aimed at the opponent’s right rib.

A minor adjustment, yet striking straight at the core.

Duan Zhong’s right hand sought to thrust forward, but his right ribs were the most difficult spot for agile movement.

Before that hand could reach Chu Tianshu, Chu Tianshu’s sword could already pierce through his ribs first.

Yet as Chu Tianshu’s strike took shape, he felt the figure before him unfold to his left.

Duan Zhong’s robe bore many silver embroidery patterns, resembling a gray monk’s robe in style, yet elegant and luxurious.

But as his body tilted, all the embroidery, the gray-white fabric, even his sleeveless right arm, merged into a pale moonlit afterimage.

Under the moonlight, this silent scene could only be described as “unfolding.”

Suddenly, from directly before Chu Tianshu, it unfolded to his left.

What appeared to be a maximum-speed charge could still turn with such agility!

In an instant, Chu Tianshu’s long sword shifted to guard his left shoulder, back, and right side.

The leftward block: sword tip downward; the rearward block: blade spine pressed against his back.

The rightward block: blade horizontal, tip pointing backward, intercepting Duan Zhong’s strike aimed at his right ear.

He raised his hand over his head, executing the sword-guarding motion in one seamless flow—a single technique with three variations.

In this single motion, he blocked three separate thrusts from three different angles.

It seemed he perfectly deflected the assault, yet it was also the opponent’s three consecutive moves that thwarted his counterattacks.

Chu Tianshu’s motion could have instantly become a spinning slash.

But to block the three sharp-angle attacks, the force collisions left him no time to rotate his body, and his sword could not swing outward.

After the three parries, Chu Tianshu’s left foot leapt sideways like thunder, shifting his entire center of gravity leftward, giving his bent right arm room to extend.

Boom!!!

The Three-Seven Divine Sword thrust straight forward; the air at its tip exploded into a faint circular aura, the blade piercing through it.

But Duan Zhong’s figure had already retreated a step to the right in advance.

This thrust extended to its limit, yet failed to catch Duan Zhong, who had moved first.

He slipped between the two white bamboo coffins, suddenly reaching the square’s edge and snatching up a white banner.

The banner’s tail, lifted by the wind, was just beginning to fall.

During Duan Zhong’s previous series of movements, the banner’s motion had appeared painfully slow, still not fully lowered.

But now.

The moment Duan Zhong seized the banner, its dynamic motion erupted into violent chaos.

The pole moved; the banner’s fabric tore through the air, and the air tore through the fabric.

Inch by inch, the cloth along the pole’s trajectory shattered into the open sky.

A cold, dark metallic sheen had spread across the entire pole.

As Duan Zhong twisted his waist and spun back, he thrust the spear to block Chu Tianshu’s follow-up strike.

Clang!!

The sword tip struck the spear’s tip.

Though most of the Three-Seven Divine Sword’s mental force filled Chu Tianshu’s body, the remainder was enough to maintain its edge—cleaving iron like mud.

This sword, driven by Chu Tianshu’s inner sage, outer king strength, failed to pierce the bamboo pole.

Duan Zhong’s eyes glowed crimson, standing out starkly against his entirely moon-white form and aura.

Originally, Duan Zhong’s Asura Path spirit weapon power spread thinner the longer or wider the object it enhanced.

Thus, in prior battles, he had channeled it only into his arms and sleeves.

Now, using the Hell Path to squeeze his potential, his spirit weapon’s power, mutually stimulated, subtly broke through its original boundaries, merging and transforming.

Initially, the six portions of power each served only one effect, unable to shift to others.

Now, all six portions tilted toward the Asura Path’s effect.

Spear and sword, after colliding at the tip, immediately crossed, generating hundreds of afterimages.

The sword’s patterns resembled wood; the spear naturally bore bamboo joints.

Now, their collision spat only shocking steel sparks.

Between them, as if fireworks of gold and red exploded, one after another.

Sword blooms and spear blooms had been competing in offense.

But the spear’s tremors could far exceed the sword’s.

Soon, the spear was no longer merely attacking head-on.

As the spear blooms trembled, they nearly engulfed Chu Tianshu’s entire upper body.

Beyond retraction and thrust, it could strike from either side or descend from above to slash his head.

Chu Tianshu’s offensive had to now incorporate defensive motions.

Yet his swordlight grew smoother and smoother.

He had never systematically studied swordplay; his techniques were all borrowed from fist methods, embedded in the Backfist and Taiji Quan manuals—methods of channeling force through the sword.

But truly, channeling force through external objects, no matter what, was far less fluid than channeling it through limbs.

Thus, though he often held a sword, he wielded it like a steel whip or iron rod.

Now, with his spirit weapon on the blade, it felt as intimate as his own palm.

The fiercer the opponent, the more Chu Tianshu felt transported back to that bamboo grove in the Republic era.

In early training, he had slammed his stiff arms, palms, and fingers violently against thick bamboo stalks.

Slammed with arms, struck with elbows, pounded with fists, chopped with palms, gripped with fingers.

It was through that pain and heat that he deeply understood what “force” truly meant.

Shing!!

When weapons met again, the sword’s hum drowned out the clash.

A bright spark streaked along the spear, leaving a clear sword mark.

The spear’s faint vibration traveled instantly to Duan Zhong’s palm, half a foot ahead, then was smothered into silence.

In that instant, Chu Tianshu surged forward over three feet.

Duan Zhong stepped back sharply, flicked the spear downward toward Chu Tianshu’s shoulder.

Chu Tianshu swept his sword—this strike combined Taiji Whip Hand and Shaolin Long Fist Cross Punch force.

But this force was not channeled through his hand to move the sword, nor even through the entire blade.

It surged violently into one side of the blade, channeling straight to the tip.

The residual mental force on the sword was dragged along, causing one edge to glow like a red-hot iron.

What Chu Tianshu held no longer seemed a blade with volume and thickness, but a razor-sharp, crimson arc.

As weapons crossed, no clash sounded—the spear was cleanly severed.

“No good!!!”

Chu Tianshu roared inwardly, his hair standing on end.

That spear broke too easily.

Duan Zhong had deliberately withdrawn the spirit weapon’s power from the spear’s tip.

Chu Tianshu should have transmitted sufficient force into the remaining spear shaft upon severing it.

But Duan Zhong’s move made the break too effortless, too fast—the rest of the shaft suffered no impact whatsoever.

Damn bamboo spear!

If it were steel, even if its upper limit wasn’t higher than bamboo’s, it would have reacted far more violently when severed.

The broken spear’s tip instantly stabbed toward Chu Tianshu’s heart.

Duan Zhong’s crimson gaze fixed entirely on the spear’s point, grinning with split teeth.

The sharpest tip, cold and dark with metallic sheen, now seemed stained with a bloody, deadly red.

Chu Tianshu’s body couldn’t retreat in time; he nearly opened his mouth.

If the spear had aimed for his throat, he might have had a chance to use Taiji’s neck-tuck technique and catch it with his teeth.

But the heart was too far from his mouth.

In that instant, he could only shift his body slightly, sinking half an inch.

Useless!

Earlier, a slight shift had let him dodge Duan Rusu’s sword—but now, his shift was too small; he couldn’t dodge this spear.

Chiiang!!

The broken spear pierced flesh, entered the chest—but the sound of tearing flesh abruptly changed pitch.

It became a harsh metallic scraping.

The spear’s tip had scraped across something like a steel sphere.

Though it had entered Chu Tianshu’s chest, it did not pierce the thoracic cavity, but slid sideways.

The sharp point carved a long, bloody gash across his body, ending at his left armpit.

Chu Tianshu’s left hand yanked the broken spear free, his body surged forward, his right sword already sweeping out.

The moon-white afterimage sidestepped away.

He dodged and shot over two zhang away.

But half his arm fell to the ground, rolling twice from momentum toward Duan Zhong.

It was his right arm; the five rings on his right hand all emitted the aura of martial souls.

When Duan Zhong stopped, his face turned pale—his right arm severed at the elbow, blood spurting, a sword cut also gashed his right ribs.

Chu Tianshu’s slash had not cut him cleanly at the elbow, nor severed him in two, but it had crippled most of his combat power.

Yet Duan Zhong dared pause only a heartbeat before fleeing in panic.

Boom!!!

A sharp bamboo pole was thrown, piercing his afterimage and embedding deep into the ground.

In the next instant, Chu Tianshu’s figure crossed the pole’s position and chased after him furiously.

“Haidonglai.”

Seeing he was already twenty zhang away, Chu Tianshu suddenly roared and hurled his long sword backward.

The Sanqi Divine Sword spun at high speed, flying toward Haidonglai.

Haidonglai reached out and caught the hilt perfectly.

He could not control the sword’s mental force, but Chu Tianshu had already unleashed all remaining mental energy upon throwing it.

Transparent flames flickered between Haidonglai’s fingers, a rich warmth flooding into his body.

This misaligned physician’s mental force could not cure his illness, but it could suppress his injuries.

“Sword… I seem to be poor with swordplay.”

Haidonglai murmured softly, his gaze slowly turning away, toward the Maitreya Hall.

Guan Changling’s expression shifted slightly.

He had felt his heart sink the moment Duan Zhong fled, but a cornered beast still fights—today might still offer a chance to escape.

“Haidonglai, you think you can scare me again?!”

Guan Changling raised his four-foot-long, broad, curved blade and growled, “You think I’m that easily intimidated?”

His martial soul, Weishengmu, primarily enhanced his poison techniques.

But in battle, it could at least grant him extraordinary observational ability!

Thus he had developed a specialized evasive technique—even against peers, he could always barely dodge vital strikes while killing his opponent.

Haidonglai’s half-dead state…

He was dead meat.

Guan Changling’s peripheral vision also flickered toward the blind man.

The blind man suddenly looked like he would vomit, his cheeks puffing out.

Puff!!

The Blind Man’s Listening Wind Blade brushed lightly against a flint in his sleeve; the sprayed liquor instantly ignited into a burst of flame.

Guan Changling’s eyes stung, and his ears suddenly caught two sounds.

“Kill!!”

One arrogant, one low—different tones, yet layered together.

At this moment, Duan Zhong’s figure had already left the Protector Temple.

He sprinted through the wilderness, his last remaining martial soul keeping red light burning in his eyes, his speed still faster than tigers and leopards.

Lost, lost, lost…

Victory and defeat are common in war—lost is lost!

He could always fully defect to Tubo and become a general.

Even if he lost five martial souls, Duan Zhong’s cultivation level remained; with half a year, he could split and cultivate six new forms from the one soul left.

Only then, five fingers wearing six rings—his middle finger might have to wear two.

Duan Zhong clenched his teeth, dashed through the forest, snapping banana leaves, vines, and branches with his speed.

Before the green hues even hit the ground, another figure crashed through.

Chu Tianshu’s rushing wind scattered them again, leaves drifting farther.

Duan Zhong was grievously wounded, but Chu Tianshu was far from unharmed.

Facing that death-dealing spear, Chu Tianshu’s movement was not blind panic.

He deliberately let his ribs meet the spearhead.

Human ribs exist to protect internal organs.

Chu Tianshu’s ribs were as hard as iron, yet still could not fully block the spear’s force.

But the special trait of the Guanyin Bones was to disperse impact force across the entire skeletal frame the instant it struck.

Chu Tianshu’s Guanyin Bones had reached seventy percent mastery; combined with exploiting the ribs’ natural curvature and bone resonance, he deflected the spearhead—avoiding damage to his heart and lungs.

His current agony came precisely from that deflection.

The pain of broken bones he could endure, but the sensation of the spearhead scraping directly along the bone surface was beyond expectation.

The farther he ran, the worse he felt; the worse he felt, the angrier he grew.

No matter where Duan Zhong ran today, he would beat him to death alive!

The two raced through hills and forests.

As they crossed another range, faint bonfires appeared in the right front.

There was also a hill with no large trees.

Cuiyan Slope!

Duan Zhong’s target was not the slope, but the Green Jade River, not far ahead.

If he jumped into the rushing water, churning mud and turbulent currents,

He had a good chance of shaking off Chu Tianshu, surfacing elsewhere, and escaping alive.

Chu Tianshu had chosen this battleground precisely because he knew the area—he recalled the Green Jade River in an instant.

“No… you… don’t!”

Chu Tianshu gritted his teeth and spat out two words, using the Luo Han Trembling Step, mixing palm thunder as he stomped forward.

Dong dong dong dong!

Those waiting below Cuiyan Slope were mostly martial artists—either awake or light sleepers.

They suddenly heard drumming from the nearby slope and rose to their feet.

At the rear of this group stood a golden-decorated, white-silk palanquin, guarded by over a hundred men.

The white silk was lifted, and Yimouxun looked toward the slope.

“Is this a Tang person… or someone from the Duan family beating drums for encouragement?”

Yimouxun took this duel extremely seriously.

In today’s world, a ruler need not be the supreme expert, but he must have solid martial foundation—otherwise, relying solely on bodyguards would never let him hold his throne.

Yimouxun himself had led troops into battle, excelled in swordplay, and had deep ties with the Diancang Sect—his strength surpassed even the combined power of Diancang’s Three Elders.

But precisely because he was so strong, he knew better than anyone how enviable Duan Zhong’s level truly was.

To touch the true wisdom of Blood Refinement.

Yimouxun hoped Duan Zhong would not win—but also did not truly wish him to lose.

Dong dong dong!!

The drumming, once begun, never paused, rapidly approaching.

Yimouxun snapped from his conflicted thoughts and sensed something wrong.

This area was all hills and forest—how could a drummer move so fast?

Perhaps this wasn’t drumming at all.

From the neighboring forest, a moon-white figure shot forth.

In a few breaths, he crossed the entire valley, ascending Cuiyan Slope.

“Duan Zhong!!”

Not only Yimouxun—many here had sharp eyes and recognized the figure.

Someone nearly shouted “Righteous King,” but the louder drumming drowned him out.

They saw clearly: behind Duan Zhong, rocks along the path were exploding in rapid succession, shards flying.

The “drumming” was the sound of rocks shattering.

It seemed as if a giant demonic shadow, trailing smoke and thunder, with flying debris, had caught up to Duan Zhong.

Boom!!

Duan Zhong turned for one final strike.

Everyone saw the pursuer also thrust out a palm.

The palms collided—Duan Zhong lost balance, his power uneven, his arm visibly snapping.

The pursuer’s advance faltered slightly, then suddenly seized Duan Zhong’s head, spinning around.

Duan Zhong’s head was twisted off; blood spurted from his neck, splattering outward.

“You set an ambush at the Protector Temple? Is this what you call the Righteous King?!”

The man, drenched in blood, carried Duan Zhong’s head and turned to flee.

“His head will be placed before the Buddha.”

“Let the world know who won this battle.”

The mountains echoed with the words left by that man.

From loud, they grew ethereal, the final syllables seeming to rise straight to the clouds.

His head shall be placed before the Buddha!

Tell the world—who won this battle!!

All below the mountain stared at the headless corpse still standing on the slope, unable to speak for a long time.

They had not yet reeled from the meaning of those words—only from Duan Zhong’s defeat, from the actions of that man.

When walking alone, rocks across the mountainside shattered in explosions.

When he departed, the echoes had not yet faded, yet he was already beyond sight.

What kind of power is this?

Yi Muxun gazed at the corpse on the slope, at the moon above, and after a long while, sighed deeply.

“The Tang’s Wu Gong...”

(End of Chapter)