Chapter 255: Fierce Battle

Bai Lang snorted, then with a casual tear ripped off his ragged clothes—keeping his pants, since the garments he wore were easy to tear, and the thighs on his pants weren't a vital target, so they remained largely intact. He had trained in an external hard‑style art, and his opponents knew well that to defeat such a practice one must strike its vulnerable point; otherwise, even if they worked up a sweat, they might not be able to hurt him—Bai Lang now looked miserable, but everyone could tell his vital energy was unharmed; even if a wound was deep enough to show bone, it was merely a superficial injury.

If they were looking for the weak point, at least this guy's upper body would be exposed—because they'd tested it, Bai Lang's martial arts were a seamless whole, truly a top‑grade external hard‑style skill. So they'd have to try lower down; normally for this kind of external training, the weak spot lies in the groin eighty percent of the time—either the perineum or the testicles—altogether, it's a most unfriendly place for an attacker—making a good striking position hard to find.

"I can tell by your looks that you're probably wondering how to strike my testicles, huh?" Bai Lang said bluntly, utterly unconcerned, though the three men and one woman opposite him, all wearing masks, showed no sign of blushing. The muscles on Bai Lang's body began to writhe; those wound‑like mouths were forcibly closed and staunched by him. Controlling muscles is exactly what external divine skills ought to do, and as long as Bai Lang's true qi isn't exhausted and his vital energy isn't lost, the speed at which he heals his wounds will also be quick.

These wounds were all left by opponents of equal rank; on them lay either blade intent, sword intent, or martial true intent. Naturally, this poison wasn't mere snake venom—it also contained a kind of "martial" toxin. To heal the wounds, Bai Lang had to use his own internal force to expel them. Otherwise, not only would the wounds refuse to close, these substances would keep invading his body's meridians like living things—fortunately, they were not internal‑realm experts, so these "intents" weren't truly "alive" and might not be able to absorb Bai Lang's essence and vitality to grow stronger.

In this situation, Bai Lang really couldn't spare any extra internal force to deal with the wounds; he could only forcibly suppress them for now. Speaking of his attacks, they lacked much "intent"—they were purely about inflicting damage, his fist intent being fierce, unyielding, and peerless under heaven. Yet this fist intent didn't make wounds hard to heal; rather, it was utterly sharp, capable of shattering protective aura. Since the wounds had temporarily closed, Bai Lang also needed to flee.

He certainly couldn't kill them, so why not run instead of just standing there? Among the four people before him, the knife‑wielder began to retreat and take up a defensive formation, while the swordsman and the poison‑wielding man and woman immediately assumed their stances—it looked like a coordinated joint‑attack technique... "Two swords...." Bai Lang watched as the woman also drew a sword; once the twin swords were united, they launched an immediate assault.

The masked middle‑aged man also activated the Nine Heavens Palace, tightly locking Bai Lang's breath so he couldn't break free for a moment—the White Tiger phantom was trapped by those heavenly generals and troops, and for now there was truly no way to tear it apart. The twin‑sword united technique was also formidable; Bai Lang had never imagined this move could be so exquisite. Though he used to dismiss such delicate, refined techniques as effeminate, he now saw that such effeminate arts possessed extraordinary subtlety.

The man, who had previously been struck by Bai Lang and didn't look great, now, after the twin swords united, exuded a carefree, graceful air that made Bai Lang feel nauseous and want to vomit. The woman's movements were even more flawlessly beautiful, yet so graceful—almost like a partnered social dance—her actions produced an astonishingly fierce sword technique and sword intent. "This martial art is so beautiful, but using it to stab my testicles—don't you find that utterly shameless?"

Bai Lang was feeling a bit flustered; the knife‑wielding thug was still glaring at him, and he still had to deal with this twin‑sword united technique—even though his current moves were fierce and brutal, they were uncertain to block. Honestly, Bai Lang wasn't entirely sure where his own weak point lay; logically, having cultivated the Golden Bell Shield to this extent, his vulnerable spot should be about one and a half inches, but the problem was that when he first practiced this skill, no one had written down where the weak point was or how to choose it.

And so Bai Lang continued training like that—the opponents he'd met along the way never managed to probe his weak point, and Bai Lang himself had no desire to test where it lay—this weak point was quite fragile; if he accidentally struck it, even if he didn't die, his cultivation would be ruined and it wouldn't be pretty. But as Bai Lang's power grew deeper, and he could roughly judge that his weak point lay in the lower three paths, the Southern Dipper Holy Fist absorbed and shattered the original Golden Bell Shield Divine Skill's this branch, merging and integrating into the Southern Dipper White Tiger Fist...

Even though Bai Lang was an Innate Expert, he couldn't be sure whether his weak point was still a weak point—striking it might kill him or ruin his cultivation. Bai Lang thought of Ao Shaobao's fate; being stabbed from the perineum straight up to the crown of the head would be a horribly miserable death, so he decided better not to try. As soon as he said that, the swordsman's movements showed considerable embarrassment, but the woman instead seemed to gain vigor—she was determined to cut off Bai Lang's testicles.

The knife‑wielding thug was also continually building up power, one hand gripping the knife hilt, the other forming a hand seal—not one of those Buddhist Sect tricks; to Bai Lang it looked like the kind of single‑hand seal used for counting.

Bai Lang had to devote three‑tenths of his attention to the knife‑wielder, two‑tenths to the middle‑aged man, leaving only five‑tenths to spar with the man‑woman duo. His hands clashed with the sharp swords, and by now they were covered in wounds all over—though his bones were harder than gold and iron, so his fingers hadn't been cut off. Bai Lang let out a fierce tiger roar; the wind around his body suddenly expanded. This guy was giving his all, preparing to unleash a hundred and twenty percent of his power, even if it left him exhausted afterward.

Bai Lang's whole body was enveloped by a fierce gale, and the White Tiger phantom likewise was torn to shreds, becoming part of the storm itself. Bai Lang spread his hands left and right, lifting them, and instantly eight tornadoes spiraled outward from his body; these eight tornadoes, amidst their shrill howls, began to rip the nine‑layered palace apart, and before the opponents could launch their attack, Bai Lang forcibly charged straight into the two of them.

Even as the two swords pierced his body, Bai Lang clamped the blades with his muscles, while the internal force within him, carrying wind blades, erupted outward—powerful innate true qi imbued with the White Tiger's sharp, lethal intent surged into those two people, ripping through their bodies in a wild, tearing rush—this couldn't be done, since the opponents were also Innate Experts, and of course they immediately suppressed that qi so the damage wouldn't spread. Yet it effectively caused the man‑woman pair to drop their treasure swords, their motions faltering slightly.

All Bai Lang needed was that single moment; he forced his way past the two's interception, sword still lodged in his body, and lunged at the knife‑wielder...