Chapter 584: Pity the Spectators

TING!

The dagger wielded by the youth struck first, but shattered against the golden light, blood gushing from his forehead, unable to advance an inch.

THUD.

The brute’s fist, as large as a sandbag, slammed into the golden light—but the light stood firm as a mountain.

Instead, the force rebounded, hurling him backward in staggered steps, leaving inch-deep footprints in the ground.

His chest seared with agony; his throat turned sweet with rising blood—he had been violently injured, his five viscera and six bowels shattered.

“What an terrifying Golden Light Spell!”

The brute forcibly swallowed the rising blood, his eyes heavy with dread, nearly solidifying into tangible weight.

The dagger youth’s movements also faltered—could such a master truly be defeated by them?

“The Golden Light Spell is indeed extraordinary.”

The spectators, however, showed little shock; instead, they wore expressions of “as expected.”

The Golden Light Spell is a divine art, second only to the Five Thunder Orthodoxy within the Celestial Master’s Mansion.

But the Five Thunder Orthodoxy is passed only among successive Celestial Masters; even half of its thunder scripture,

is granted only to high-ranking masters of profound cultivation, no more than three or four per generation.

Thus, most disciples of the Celestial Master’s Mansion diligently refine the Golden Light Spell.

The Celestial Master’s Mansion’s formidable reputation stems not only from the Celestial Masters and their high masters as pillars,

but also from the disciples who cultivate the Golden Light Spell—whose contributions are indispensable, making the spell truly extraordinary.

In truth, according to their understanding, after millennia of compilation, revision, and consolidation by generations of Celestial Master’s Mansion disciples,

the Golden Light Spell has become vast and profound; if one could refine it to its highest depths,

It would be no less powerful than the true scriptures and divine arts of great sects, reserved solely for direct lineage and true disciples.

“These two are going to lose.”

One cultivates spirit-object manipulation, wielding his dagger as if it were an extension of his arm;

the other specializes in body tempering—though his body isn’t as unbreakable as a diamond, it is as hard as refined iron, internally and externally unified, truly remarkable.

Too bad they’ve met this high disciple of the Celestial Master’s Mansion—terrible luck indeed.”

The onlookers among the cultivators made their judgment, feeling deeply sorry for the two.

Had they not faced Zhang Jie, this disciple of the Celestial Master’s Mansion, these two, though not expecting to reach the top four,

could easily have entered the top twenty or thirty—undeniably among the elite of the younger generation in the cultivator world.

Too bad—terrible luck indeed.

“You hold the front, I’ll look for an opening from behind!”

In the arena, the dagger youth also realized the slim chance of victory,

yet refused to surrender; after a brief thought, he shouted out his proposal.

They could lose—but they must fight with honor!

The brute said nothing, but his body swelled further, clearly activating some secret technique.

BOOM!

His legs, swollen like elephant trunks, crashed down, kicking up a storm of dust,

transforming into a rampaging rhinoceros, or a thundering tank,

determined to crush Zhang Jie and the yellow-robed Daoist boy shielding him into paste.

At the same time, the dagger youth closed his eyes, pouring all his focus into the dagger fused with his spirit.

The dagger moved like a butterfly, twisting and darting through the air, silent, without a whisper of wind,

slipping silently into Zhang Jie’s blind spot behind him, its blade shimmering with unstable spiritual energy,

like a venomous snake flicking its tongue—waiting for the perfect moment

to strike with its exposed fangs, delivering a fatal bite to Zhang Jie.

The spectators, swept up by the tension, stared intently at the arena,

eager to see how Zhang Jie would counter this combined, multi-directional assault.

“He’ll still rely on the Golden Light Spell to endure.”

An elder familiar with the Golden Light Spell stroked his beard and smiled.

“Indeed. As the saying goes: one strike brings vigor, a second brings decline, a third brings exhaustion. These two fighters cannot sustain their assault.

If he can withstand this initial onslaught, victory is all but secured.

And this Zhang Jie clearly possesses deep mastery of the Golden Light Spell.”

His companion nodded in deep agreement.

As a Daoist sect focused on cultivation and inner peace, the Celestial Master’s Mansion’s Golden Light Spell is not famed for offensive power,

but for defense—used to protect body and Dao.

Of course, this does not mean the Golden Light Spell is merely a turtle shell; as a Daoist method of dual cultivation of life and spirit,

once perfected, though lacking the miraculous effects of spirit-object manipulation or divine talismans,

every movement carries the weight of a thousand jin, every punch and kick possesses immense power.

In his youth, the old Celestial Master’s palm, fueled by Golden Light Spell cultivation,

had been undefeated in the cultivator world; even today’s elders and clan heads speak of it in hushed tones.

But can this young contestant now compare to the old Celestial Master—even in his youth?

But can the young competitors before us compare even to the Young Heavenly Master?

Thus, continuing to defend, blunting their momentum, then striking back when the moment is right—this is the superior strategy.

“Brother Zhang, you hold the line—I’ll show you my technique!”

In the arena, the yellow-robed Daoist boy, Huang Ming, was also stirred by the tense, fierce atmosphere, eager to act,

his fingers forming seals, lips murmuring incantations, ready to unleash his Quanzhen Longmen sect’s marvelous art.

“Huang younger brother, no need for such trouble.”

Though surrounded front and back, seemingly on the brink, Zhang Jie merely smiled, drawing the golden light back into his body,

standing directly facing the charging brute and the dagger lurking in his blind spot behind.

“Perfect opportunity!”

Though unsure why Zhang Jie had withdrawn the Golden Light Spell, both the dagger youth and the brute’s eyes lit up.

“Why did he withdraw the Golden Light Spell?”

Those watching from the arena’s edge also looked baffled.

Withdrawing the Golden Light Spell now—wasn’t that throwing away a sure advantage?

To cancel the Golden Light Spell now would be to squander this excellent situation.

“Hmm, could Zhang Jie be preparing to forfeit?”

Someone, struck by a thought, spoke thoughtfully.

“Huh, that explanation makes sense.”

A few quick-witted individuals nodded—yes, it did.

Zhang Jie had already demonstrated his extraordinary strength; now withdrawing would

also show the Celestial Master’s Mansion’s integrity—if he stepped down,

the only Celestial Master’s Mansion disciple remaining in the Luo Tian Da Jiao would be Lingyu Zhenren.

Then who could accuse the Celestial Master’s Mansion of rigging the match?

And with Lingyu Zhenren’s strength and reputation, he stands equal to Zhuge Qing of the Zhuge Clan,

the finest disciple of the Fire Virtue Sect—the so-called Little Fire God who supposedly mastered the Fire Virtue Sect’s Fire Manipulation Secret Scripture—

and even surpasses them among the top-tier seeds.

With him, the championship of the Luo Tian Da Jiao is nearly already in the Celestial Master’s Mansion’s grasp.

Most crucially, the champion becomes the Celestial Master’s successor. Even setting aside whether the Celestial Master’s Mansion itself would accept it,

the Zhuge Clan, Fire Virtue Sect, Wudang, and other great sects would never allow it.

This is a two-fold advantage—truly brilliant!

This is a two-fold gain—truly brilliant!

Xiao Bai Mao Feng Xingtong watched anxiously as Zhang Jie teetered on the brink.

He held great affection for this senior who had defended him against Wang Bing.

“You don’t seem worried at all?”

He turned to Zhang Chulan, lounging casually on the steps, a dogtail grass dangling from his mouth, utterly relaxed.

With Wang Bing as a shared enemy, his bond with Zhang Chulan had grown stronger; they had come to watch together.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

“Relax, relax.”

Zhang Chulan stretched his waist, adjusting his posture for comfort, showing not a trace of concern:

Zhang Chulan twisted his waist, stretched out, and adjusted his posture for greater comfort, showing not a trace of worry:

Zhang Jie’s strength—Feng Xingtong, who’d just met him, didn’t know; but Zhang Chulan did.

Zhang Jie’s cultivation level, the newly acquainted Whitehair Feng Xingtong didn’t know, but how could he not know?

With Zhang Jie’s strength, let alone not using the Golden Light Spell, he seriously doubted that even if Zhang Jie simply stood there,

Even if the other two competitors struck, they could not break his defense.