Chapter 219: Accident

Wang Yu and Zhu Wuyan naturally knew nothing of what had happened over ten li away.

At this moment, one stared at the several shadow puppets the other had summoned, his expression grim; the other gazed at the complete set of magical tools the other had summoned, expressionless, his eyes flicking back and forth over the three revolving bronze mirrors.

"You are the first qi-refining cultivator to hold out this long against me—but I've lost interest in prolonging this." Zhu Wuyan finally tore his gaze from the three bronze mirrors and looked at Wang Yu coldly, then flipped his hand, a black, stubby dagger hilt—its blade reduced to less than half its original length—appearing in his grasp.

He muttered incantations under his breath, gripped the black hilt in one hand, and drove the blade backward straight into his own chest, then yanked it out.

A hissing sound.

A thick gush of bright red essence blood spurted out, then curled like a living thing around the blade, rolling and coalescing.

In Zhu Wuyan's hand now appeared a full three-foot-long blood-red blade, emitting a faint crimson glow, its surface covered densely with black spiritual runes—over fifty or sixty visible at a glance.

Not only that, the three faint shadows standing before him each moved one arm, slicing off their own other arm with a palm like a blade, then catching it cleanly, shaking their wrists.

With a series of sizzling sounds, the severed arms' blood surged and coalesced into three long blood-red blades, their forms nearly identical to the one in Zhu Wuyan's hand.

Second-rank magical tool!

Wang Yu's pupils contracted at the sight.

Generally speaking, qi-refining cultivators could not activate second-rank magical tools; even a single ordinary strike from such a tool could drain half their spiritual energy.

Only those with spiritual energy far exceeding ordinary cultivators, combined with special secret techniques or scriptures—or those wielding rare second-rank tools requiring minimal spiritual energy—could briefly activate such power.

Like the three "second-rank flying knives" he had forged: though only inscribed with the simplest second-rank Nine Seals, their spiritual energy requirement had been reduced to the bare minimum, and each throw consumed only an instant's energy, aided by his immense physical strength and the Point-of-Gold technique, allowing him to wield them normally.

Even so, the seemingly casual act of flinging three flying knives still drained a significant portion of his spiritual energy.

That was why he rarely used the flying knives in ordinary combat.

As Wang Yu thought of this, he glanced again at the blood-red blade in the other's hand—and suddenly had an idea. His hand, hidden in his sleeve, twitched slightly.

Between his fingers, a palm-sized piece of beast hide silently appeared, its surface faintly inscribed with a blurred, blood-red blade-like spiritual pattern.

This was one of the two beast-hide talismans he had taken from the storage pouch of the first Mo Luo Sect disciple he had slain in the secret realm.

Though he did not know its exact power, he recognized it as an artifact beyond the qi-refining realm. Seeing Zhu Wuyan activate a similar-looking tool, he instinctively pulled it out, hoping for an unexpected effect.

Zhu Wuyan could not see Wang Yu's hidden motion, but his arm holding the blood-red blade trembled slightly, while a chorus of demonic whispers echoed in his mind.

"Quick, kill him! I need essence blood, vast amounts of it! Drink enough, and I'll make you invincible—slay Blood Smoke the Elder, exterminate every last eyesore in the world…"

As the demonic whispers filled his ears, Zhu Wuyan—though not experiencing this for the first time—could not help but his eyes turn red, a flash of madness flickering in his pupils. The three-foot blood-red blade in his hand began to twist and blur within its crimson glow, as if ready to break free from his grip and launch itself at his opponent.

Zhu Wuyan stared fixedly at Wang Yu, the madness in his eyes deepening; his grip on the crimson blade tightened further, and his spiritual pressure surged ever higher, as if without limit.

At this moment, Wang Yu had already formed a hand seal. The three bronze mirrors before him, slowly rotating, emitted a humming sound, glowing with blinding crimson light, radiating intense heat, spinning faster and brighter, gradually forming swirling afterimages.

From afar, it looked as if a dozen crimson miniature suns were dancing around Wang Yu, staining the surrounding air a deep red, their spectacle astonishing.

Both clearly understood: the next strike would likely decide victory—or death.

Just then, a series of piercing sounds erupted from deep within the mountains, and the horizon filled with dozens of colorful flying vessels—forty or fifty in all—racing toward them in a flood.

Wang Yu and Zhu Wuyan, both poised to strike, were startled and turned their gazes toward the distant sky.

Within a dozen breaths, the vessels drew nearer, and the figures standing atop them became visible—each wore the robes of the Great Ming's Four Sects.

Wang Yu's heart leapt with relief; Zhu Wuyan's face darkened. Without hesitation, he retracted his blade and slapped a blood-red talisman onto his chest.

The next instant, Zhu Wuyan became a streak of crimson lightning, sweeping up his three shadow puppets, and shot away in the opposite direction, vanishing into a faint crimson glow on the horizon after a few flashes.

Wang Yu touched the beast-hide talisman in his hand, hesitated, then chose not to activate or throw it. He made no move to pursue. Instead, he shook his sleeve—the three Zi-Mu Floating Mirrors, spinning rapidly, dimmed their crimson glow and flew back into his sleeve. Then he raised one hand and beckoned.

The two willow-leaf flying knives, fallen to the ground, leapt up with a *whoosh* and *whoosh*, spiraled once, and returned to his grasp.

Wang Yu looked at the two flying knives in his hand, feeling a faint pang of regret.

He had deliberately delayed recalling them, intending to use the Point-of-Gold technique to secretly strike Zhu Wuyan at a critical moment—but Zhu Wuyan had slipped away instead.

Had he kept those two second-rank flying knives in hand, he might have delayed Zhu Wuyan slightly, giving him time to fully activate the Zi-Mu Floating Mirrors and deliver a crushing blow.

Now, with Zhu Wuyan's terrifying speed and the blood-dash talisman's boost, pursuit was impossible.

But how had so many disciples from the Four Sects emerged from deep within the mountains? What was going on?

Wang Yu shook his head, then turned his gaze once more toward the approaching flying vessels. He formed a hand seal, and white clouds swirling around his body lifted him into the sky, preparing to intercept one of the spiritual vessels and question a disciple of the Four Symbols Sect.