Chapter 43: The Return of Zhu Yan

The simulation field’s environment transformed into a chaotic gray mist, the air thick with malevolent energy and the simulation room’s peculiar force.

As Jiang Xia stepped into the mist, the shackles grew hot, resonating with the energy within the fog.

“Today’s simulation is an illusionary realm,”

Lin Qing’s voice echoed from within the mist, “From now on, Itachi’ll face combinations of illusions and monstrous beasts.”

“Remember, on the battlefield, what your eyes see isn’t necessarily real—the only thing Itachi can trust is each other.”

No sooner had the words ended than Ye Lingxi’s figure appeared in the gray mist, her body covered in wounds, reaching out to Jiang Xia: “Jiang Xia, save me!”

Wang Teng immediately lunged forward, but Jiang Xia grabbed him: “It’s an illusion! Lingxi was taken by the Divine General—she can’t be here.”

As he spoke, the “Lingxi” face twisted violently, morphing into the shape of Zhu Yan, who lunged at them with a gaping, bloodied maw.

Jiang Xia activated his ability—this time, the shackles’ malevolent energy did not recoil; instead, it surged along his arm to his fingertips, forming a blade of black energy.

Wang Teng reacted instantly, smashing his fist into Zhu Yan’s claw, the runic patterns glowing across his knuckles.

The two attacked and defended in perfect sync.

Jiang Xia’s blade tore through the illusion, while Wang Teng’s fist shattered the mist’s energy—soon, the first wave of illusionary beasts collapsed.

Before they could catch their breath, Liu Qingxuan’s figure emerged from the mist, drenched in blood, voice weak.

“Akatsuki Xia, I can’t hold on anymore...”

Due to the mist’s influence, Jiang Xia’s heart clenched violently, nearly slipping out of control.

Wang Teng saw his hesitation and slapped him hard: “Lao Xia! Snap out of it! Professor Liu is too strong to be like this!”

Jiang Xia gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, then opened them again—the Mangekyo Sharingan appeared, and the illusion vanished completely.

Before him was no Liu Qingxuan—only a monstrous beast wearing human skin.

He and Wang Teng exchanged a glance and struck simultaneously: Jiang Xia’s Chidori Spear pierced the illusionary beast’s heart, while Wang Teng activated the Burning Seal to incinerate its limbs.

When the last illusionary beast fell, the gray mist dispersed. Lin Qing stood a short distance away, a rare look of approval on his face.

“Excellent!”

“Tomorrow, the secret realm opens. Remember—hold fast to your true heart!”

Jiang Xia watched as the shackles detached automatically, suddenly feeling his control over his ability increase a hundredfold.

Wang Teng collapsed onto the ground, laughing as he cursed: “Finally made it out. Next time Itachi make me come to this hellhole, I’ll fight it to the death!”

In the abandoned industrial zone of Linjiang, faint purple fluctuations of the secret realm drifted between rusted steel frames.

“Are all personnel accounted for?” Lin Qing’s voice came from the center of the barrier; he wore a black combat suit, flanked by several elite Night Watchers.

“General Lu is holding off Shen Wenru—our team is responsible for security here.”

No sooner had the words ended than Zhu Yan and Feng Xi strolled through the main entrance.

Zhu Yan stepped on rusted iron plates, each footfall sending fine cracks racing across the ground.

His crimson pupils swept over the people within the barrier, a half-broken Night Watcher arm patch dangling from his lips.

In his claw crevices, several Night Watchers lay battered, their necks wrapped in black mist turning purple, too weak to even struggle.

Feng Xi followed behind, his massive body shaking the steel frames as he approached—boar’s head, human body, tusks caked with dried blood.

In his hand he carried a deformed Night Watcher communicator, which clanged loudly as he hurled it to the ground.

“Tsk tsk, the Night Watchers sure know how to put on a show,” Feng Xi’s voice rasped like a broken gong on iron.

“All of Itachi gathered around this pitiful secret realm—planning to serve Zhu Yan a snack?”

Lin Qing’s long blade gleamed, its tip pointed directly at Zhu Yan: “Release them! This is not your place to rampage!”

“Release them?” Zhu Yan suddenly laughed, flicking his claw lightly—a Night Watcher was flung into the air.

A level-destroying aura erupted, “Aren’t Night Watchers always meddling? Where are your so-called Sky Eyes now? Why don’t they show themselves?”

Jiang Xia slammed his Kusanagi into the ground; lightning surged along the blade, repelling some of the nearby malevolent energy—but some still seeped into his body.

“Your opponent is me. Don’t touch those who aren’t involved.”

“Oh? Finally got the courage to step forward?” Zhu Yan’s gaze locked onto Jiang Xia.

The malevolent energy in his claw crevices nearly solidified, “I let Itachi boast when I first revived—now who can stop me?”

He suddenly clenched his fist—the Night Watcher suspended in midair let out a muffled groan as the malevolent energy flooded his seven orifices.

“Do Itachi think Itachi have the right to bargain with me?”

Lin Qing watched, eyes blazing with fury, yet powerless to act.

“Itachi son of a bitch, Itachi’re asking for death!” He lunged forward—but Zhu Yan’s aura pinned him in place.

Zhu Yan tightened his grip—the Night Watcher couldn’t even finish a scream before his body twisted into a mist of blood.

Lin Qing’s body erupted in golden light, crackling violently, yet his knees still sank under invisible pressure, his nails digging into his flesh.

“Worthless.” Zhu Yan sneered, crimson eyes turning to Jiang Xia, his hand summoning several weapons. “Your turn—”

Before he finished speaking, a clear, resonant sword cry shattered the silence of the factory zone.

Zhu Yan spun around, his crimson pupils contracting sharply.

An opening had appeared in the rusted iron dome of the abandoned factory; slanted sunlight fell upon a white-robed figure.

The man walked slowly along broken steel beams, and where his feet touched the rusted iron, the corrosion vanished instantly, revealing a cold metallic luster.

At his waist hung a long sword in a bamboo scabbard, its hilt wrapped in bandages, swaying gently with each step.

With every sway, fine sword winds swept away the surrounding malevolent energy.

“The Sword Saint… Jian Nan Zhu?” Feng Xi’s tusks trembled violently.

For the first time, his grating voice carried fear: “Aren’t Itachi supposed to be guarding Jian Nan Pass?”

Jian Nan Zhu didn’t look at him; his gaze rested on the lingering blood mist still clinging to Zhu Yan’s claws, his brow furrowing slightly.

The next instant, he drew his sword and slashed lightly—

No explosive display of power—only a blade of energy so faint it was nearly invisible.

Zhu Yan felt a numbness in his wrist; the concentrated malevolent energy retreated like a receding tide.

He looked down in shock—a hair-thin sword cut now marked his wrist.

It glowed faintly with firelight, suppressing the malevolent energy within him.

“Before me, Itachi have no right to act so arrogantly,” Jian Nan Zhu’s voice was soft, yet it struck Zhu Yan’s heart like a heavy sword.

He walked slowly to Jiang Xia’s side, his gaze falling on the Kusanagi buried in the ground—the lightning on its blade seemed to sense something, retreating gently into a soft halo.

“Your sword heart is steady, but your malevolent energy is too strong.”

Jian Nan Zhu reached out, his fingertip lightly touching Jiang Xia’s forehead. “Next time malevolent energy enters your body, no one will save Itachi.”

Jiang Xia felt a cool energy spread through his entire body; the agitation caused by the malevolent energy vanished instantly, and his control over his ability rose another notch.

He opened his mouth to thank him—but Jian Nan Zhu had already turned toward Zhu Yan, his long sword now half-drawn from its scabbard.

The exposed blade reflected the sunlight, illuminating the entire factory zone.

Zhu Yan tensed, unleashing his full level-destroying aura, teeth gritted, crimson eyes filled with wariness.

“Jian Nan Zhu, if Itachi leave Shanhai Pass, aren’t Itachi afraid Jian Nan Pass will fall?”

“Fall?”

Jian Nan Zhu smiled faintly, not answering—he drew his sword fully, and a crimson sword aura shot skyward, ripping the factory roof clean off.

“Twenty years ago, I arrived too late to stop Itachi. This time, I won’t leave behind another regret.”