Chapter 217

"I've never heard of the third true disciple of the Demon Luo Sect. But I see no need to record your name, for I don't waste words on the dead." Wang Yu replied calmly, though his heart sank—he knew he had likely encountered one of the most terrifying true disciples of the demonic path within the Jiaolan Secret Realm.

As soon as he spoke, he silently uttered "Overclock," closed his eyes gently, took several deep breaths at a strange frequency, then shook his shoulders. Faint golden mist seeped into his body; his massive frame shrank rapidly to normal size, his skin turning a pale gold, while dark green patterns emerged across his limbs.

Wang Yu suddenly opened his eyes—his pupils turned golden and vertical, then instantly returned to normal. A clear blood-marked symbol appeared between his brows, and thick golden lines surged on both cheeks, resembling two enormous characters: "Wang."

He had finally activated the fully perfected "Black Tiger Death Body" for the second time within the secret realm. The effect was simple: it multiplied all physical attributes—strength, speed, and defense—by several times.

Not only that, he flipped his hand once more, and a long blade of crimson and azure materialized in his grip.

But this time, he merely brushed his palm over the blade, and threads of golden mist oozed from his palm, swiftly coiling around the weapon until the blade turned a brilliant gold.

Seeing this, Zhu Wuyan's expression shifted slightly. He pulled a blood-red pill from his robe and swallowed it. Bloodlight flared across his body, then rapidly faded, blurred, until his entire form became indistinct, his true shape lost to sight.

Wang Yu had already reversed his golden blade and sheathed it at his waist, one hand gripping the hilt, the other rapidly forming hand seals. As he murmured incantations, crimson and azure spiritual patterns appeared on his calves, gathering into radiant clouds above his feet, forming two illusory crimson-and-azure circular wheels.

"Drawblade Technique"

With a low roar, Wang Yu's body instantly transformed into a long crimson-and-azure phantom, shooting forward. In a blur, a golden blade-light flashed across the neck of the faint, indistinct figure.

As the crimson-and-azure phantom vanished, Wang Yu reappeared behind the blood-colored figure, holding the blade in one hand as he turned to face the now-beheaded silhouette. His expression darkened.

"Thud."

The faint, indistinct figure standing in place simply dissolved into the wind—it had been nothing but an afterimage. The real body had already vanished earlier.

At the same time, fierce winds surged around Wang Yu. Within them, a faint streak of light circled him at increasing speed, growing ever faster. Soon, the streak vanished entirely into the wind, which transformed into a towering, blood-red tornado.

A thick stench of blood began to emanate from the vortex, rolling in from all directions, crushing toward Wang Yu.

Seeing this, Wang Yu raised an eyebrow. His arm suddenly thickened, and he slashed downward with all his might.

"Puff." A massive blade-shadow erupted from the blade, flashing into the blood-red wind wall—yet produced no effect.

Wang Yu's lips twitched. He stomped the void once more and shot straight upward.

But from above came Zhu Wuyan's cold voice: "Down!" A faint shadow burst from the wind, diving down from above.

Wang Yu swung his golden blade without hesitation.

"Puff."

The golden blade struck the faint figure squarely—but it felt like cutting through thick leather. Despite the force, it only sank halfway before being violently repelled by some strange force. The shadow then pressed down.

Wang Yu's other arm, sheathed in golden bracers, shot out like lightning.

"Bang."

The faint shadow was struck squarely on the head and shot backward like an arrow, then vanished again into the hurricane.

Wang Yu himself was knocked down by the impact, forced to land back on the original spot. He held the blade in one hand, glancing warily at the empty space above and below, his expression uncertain.

At that moment, Zhu Wuyan's cold voice emerged again from the hurricane:

"Blood Absorption Technique"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than countless blood-colored spiritual markings appeared within the crimson hurricane—each the size of a fist, flickering faintly as if frozen in place.

At the same time, Wang Yu felt a strange suction force emanating from the surrounding void. His blood boiled instantly, surging through his veins and desperately spewing outward from every pore. His skin turned bright red, as if his entire body's blood would explode out at any moment.

No good!

Wang Yu gasped deeply, his muscles rippling. The dark green stripes on his skin thickened slightly. Behind him, the golden tiger head opened its eyes, baring its fangs, growing fiercer.

This finally suppressed the blood's turmoil, causing the crimson hue on his skin to recede significantly, restoring its pale gold.

"Useless. Once the Blood Absorption Technique is activated, no one below Foundation Establishment can resist its power."

Zhu Wuyan's cold voice echoed from within the blood hurricane. The crimson wind wall slowly contracted, and the terrifying suction at its center intensified rapidly.

Hearing this, Wang Yu snorted, glanced at the surrounding blood wall, then suddenly sheathed his blade into his storage pouch. In a flicker, he appeared before the wind wall. The dark green stripes on his arms twisted and writhed, veins bulging violently. He spread his fingers wide—and both arms vanished.

The next instant, piercing shrieks erupted again from the surrounding void—louder and sharper than before!

Dozens of golden handprint phantoms, each several times larger than a human hand, materialized densely before Wang Yu, surging forward like an ocean wave toward the thick wind wall.

At that very moment, a faint figure emerged from the wind wall, swinging its arms to unleash a dense storm of blood-colored fist shadows crashing toward him.

"Boom!"

The golden handprints struck the blood-colored fists and shattered them like dry grass before a storm. Countless golden handprints slammed into the blood-red wind wall.

Thunderous roars echoed as golden light flared everywhere, exploding like countless thunderbolts. Rolling shockwaves tore through the air, ripping open the wind wall.

The terrifying suction that had filled the surrounding void vanished instantly.

Wang Yu moved without hesitation, charging forward—but the faint figure reappeared in the gap, flickered once, then lunged at him with arms wide open.

Wang Yu's eyes flashed with cold light. He crouched low—"Whoosh!"—and leapt sideways, limbs moving in unison. In an instant, six or seven bestial afterimages formed, all lunging toward the faint figure.

The faint figure swung its arms, unleashing another dense barrage of blood-colored fist shadows, engulfing all the afterimages. But one of them suddenly flipped backward, blurred, and appeared with eerie precision behind the figure. His golden-braced arm shot forward like lightning, piercing straight through the figure's chest.

"Puff."

A torrent of bright red fluid gushed from the figure's chest like a waterfall.