Chapter 33

The barrier of Zhuyan shattered without resistance, and the battle between the Night Watchers and the Cult of the Evil God came to an abrupt halt.

Every pair of eyes locked onto the massive, deep crater gouged into the earth.

When they saw what lay at the bottom of the crater, all were stunned—the wounded Zhuyan lay motionless, barely breathing.

A gaping, bloody wound marred its chest, black blood soaking into the surrounding soil.

Nearby, Jiang Xia slumped against the crater wall, drenched in blood; the Grass-Cutting Sword was planted beside him in the earth, its blade still trembling faintly.

Yet his eyes burned with unyielding battle lust, fixed unwaveringly on Zhuyan, showing not a trace of retreat.

“This… this is impossible!” Shen Wenru gasped, his voice trembling.

What was Zhuyan? A destruction-class beast, a crucial piece in the Cult of the Evil God’s plan.

Even if it had just been revived and was only at the Fourth Realm, its physical prowess and hidden cards should never have allowed a human to reduce it to this state!

The Night Watchers erupted in chaos, soldiers exchanging stunned glances, faces etched with disbelief.

“Just now… was it Jiang Xia inside there?”

“He actually beat that monster into this condition? That’s a Saint-level demon even a Wu Zong or Wang Hou might not have defeated!”

“Look at his injuries… how many brutal battles did he endure to earn this?”

The four deans of the Wenda Academy turned their gazes toward the crater; Liu Qingxuan’s copper coin hung suspended midair, motionless.

He squinted at Jiang Xia at the bottom of the pit, his voice carrying a faint, barely perceptible shock: “This kid… actually pulled it off.”

Li Chengru’s wolf-hair brush still dripped fresh ink; he gazed at Jiang Xia’s muscles and meridians on the verge of snapping, silently sighing at the strength of his will.

Zhao Xianhai gripped his bamboo slips tighter, eyes filled with admiration: “To overcome a stronger foe, fearless of death—this is the blood of humanity!”

Wu Qiong, holding the white jade ruler, gave a slight nod: “This youth has limitless potential.”

Meanwhile, Fengxi, restrained by Liu Qingxuan and Li Chengru, seized the moment of distraction to silently gather demonic energy in his palm.

Jiang Xia seemed to sense the gazes around him; he struggled to lift his head, forcing a crooked, grimace-like smile toward Wang Teng and Ye Lingxi.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a surge of coppery sweetness rose in his throat—he coughed up another mouthful of blood.

Wang Teng rushed to the crater’s edge, ready to leap down and pull him up, but Jiang Xia raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t… I’m fine…,” his voice was faint, yet resolute, “Zhuyan isn’t dead… we can’t let it escape.”

Before he finished speaking, a blade-like air slash shot suddenly from above, hurtling toward the crater’s depths!

As the crowd cried out, Fengxi’s tooth-studded face appeared at the crater’s rim, his massive claw slashing through demonic wind toward Jiang Xia.

Jiang Xia’s pupils contracted—he struggled to reach for the Grass-Cutting Sword beside him.

But his meridians had already shattered; his arm lifted only to collapse heavily back down.

Wang Teng roared and slashed his blade at Fengxi’s claw, but the demonic energy blasted him backward in a series of staggered steps.

“Hmph, thank Itachi all for your distraction.”

Fengxi’s laugh was coarse and grating; his other claw snatched up the dying Zhuyan and turned, vanishing in a streak of shadow toward the distant forest.

Liu Qingxuan’s copper coin shot forward instantly—but only grazed Fengxi’s arm, leaving a faint white mark.

Li Chengru’s wolf-hair brush flicked rapidly, ink forming binding chains in midair.

But it was too late—they watched helplessly as the shadow vanished into the dense woods.

Jiang Xia lay at the crater’s bottom, stretching out his hand—his fingertips brushed only a wisp of cold demonic energy.

He clenched his teeth so hard his gums bled; finally, he collapsed heavily against the crater wall, blood mist spraying across the soil before him.

Wang Teng rushed to his side, trembling as he supported Jiang Xia’s back—only to find his body burning with unnatural heat.

Those eyes, once blazing with battle lust, now fixed on the direction Fengxi had fled, filled with unquenchable frustration.

The four deans of the Wenda Academy stood at the crater’s edge, their faces dark as storm clouds.

Zhao Xianhai tightened his grip on the bamboo slips: “They had a contingency plan all along—Fengxi is taking Zhuyan to hide it.”

Wu Qiong tapped his white jade ruler lightly against his palm, voice grave: “We must send pursuit immediately. Zhuyan must not be allowed to recover—otherwise, the human lands will be drowned in blood again.”

Shen Wenru glared at the retreating backs of the two demons, cursed under his breath, then tore open rifts around him to withdraw the Cult of the Evil God’s followers.

Seeing the cult depart, Lin Qing moved to pursue—but Lu Wujiu blocked him.

“Ignore them. Clear the battlefield. Support the other Night Watcher detachments!”

Lu Wujiu’s voice, steady as iron, instantly silenced the chaos.

His gaze swept over the blood-soaked ground, broken weapons, and shattered earth: “The cult’s main force has retreated, Zhuyan is gravely wounded—our priority now is holding the line.”

Lin Qing gripped his long blade tightly; blood droplets fell from its edge onto the ground. He stared at the rift where Shen Wenru and the others had vanished, then gritted his teeth and nodded: “Understood!”

He spun around and roared: “Logistics team, clear the battlefield and treat the wounded! All combat units, reinforce the other detachments—move!”

Upon receiving the order, the Night Watchers, moments ago frozen in shock, sprang into motion—organized, efficient, and swift.

Ye Lingxi leapt into the crater, carefully avoiding Jiang Xia’s blood, and pulled a healing potion from her pouch.

She tipped it into Jiang Xia’s mouth; watching his still-burning body, her eyes reddened: “Hold on, Jiang Xia. Itachi’ve done enough.”

Wang Teng stood silently beside him, his rune markings glowing across his body as he scanned the surroundings for any lingering threats.

Liu Qingxuan slowly retracted his suspended copper coin, his gaze settling on Jiang Xia.

His tone returned to its usual calm, yet a trace of complexity lingered: “This child is too badly wounded—ordinary remedies won’t work. We need another solution.”

Zhou Zheng stepped forward, knelt beside Jiang Xia, and placed his hand over his body.

“Holy Healing—Substitution!”

A flash of holy light—Jiang Xia’s shattered meridians and wounds instantly transferred to Zhou Zheng.

Three seconds later, all injuries transferred to Zhou Zheng had fully healed.

Everyone present, except Night Watchers who had seen this before and Liu Qingxuan and Li Chengru, stared in stunned silence.

The holy light faded; Zhou Zheng slowly withdrew his hand, expression serene—as if he had never borne wounds capable of killing a Wu Zong.

Wu Qiong gripped his white jade ruler tightly, his gaze piercing Zhou Zheng: “This healer’s secrets run deeper than Jiang Xia’s.”

Zhao Xianhai, clutching his bamboo slips, mused: “Holy Healing—Substitution… This is the legendary forbidden ability: [Fate Transfer].”

“This technique risks self-retribution if misused—it’s useless for oneself, yet the strongest support ability for allies.”

“But… this self-healing ability? I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

Zhou Zheng rose, brushed nonexistent dust from his robes, and bowed to Zhao Xianhai.

“Dean, your insight is sharp. My talent is unusual—I possess two abilities.”

“Besides [Fate Transfer], I have another that allows rapid self-healing.”

Zhao Xianhai nodded, returning the bow: “Your talent, young man, is exceptional—even within Shanhai Pass.”