Chapter 32: Fierce Battle

In the forest.

Wang Yu sprinted between the trees, limbs straining as if a true wolf in full flight—each leap sent clods of earth spraying, covering two or three zhang in distance.

The trees ahead suddenly vanished, revealing an open patch of ground; he halted instinctively, standing tall.

There, on the open ground, the young Huang couple had just leapt down from a blue jade lotus, blocking his path.

“Two fellow cultivators, must we truly fight?” Wang Yu held his iron essence blade horizontally before him, gazing at the pair with grave expression.

Facing two Qi Condensation fourth- and fifth-layer cultivators, to claim he felt no fear or tension would be a lie.

Their artifacts and cultivation levels were far superior to his.

“Wang brother, what choice do we have now? If you live, my wife and I won’t survive today,” the young Huang man said flatly, then flicked his sleeve—the silver slender sword slid into his hand.

On the other side, the young woman sighed and urged:

“Wang brother, you haven’t even condensed your spiritual root—you’re merely a pseudo-cultivator. You can never be our match. Better one dies than two. Kill yourself, and you’ll be reborn sooner. We’ll leave your body whole, bury you properly.”

Her voice was soft, but her words were cruel; Wang Yu nearly lunged to slash her where she stood.

“Dream on. You want to live? I don’t want to die. If you want my life, come take it.” Wang Yu suppressed his rage, instantly forming a hand seal, muttering incantations—but the spell imprint in his spiritual sea failed to coalesce, turning his face pale.

“Enough talk. Fight.”

The Huang man had grown impatient and strode forward, tossing a green talisman upward—immediately, a green sword shadow hovered above his head.

He flicked his wrist again; the silver slender sword slashed once, launching a semi-transparent wind blade.

“Swoosh.” “Swoosh.”

The green sword shadow mirrored the slender sword’s motion, launching another palm-sized wind blade toward Wang Yu.

Wang Yu startled, leaping sideways several steps, barely evading both wind blades.

At that moment, the Huang man’s silver slender sword had already slashed eight or nine times.

Dozens of wind blades howled toward him.

Wang Yu drew a deep breath, dropped low, planting hands and feet on the ground, and began leaping and bounding at astonishing speed—each movement barely avoiding the wind blades at impossible angles.

Body Tempering Art!

Seeing this, the Huang man realized something, his face darkening; his sword movements slowed.

The young woman, surprised, furrowed her brows, then raised one hand, revealing a blue token, muttering incantations.

The token glowed intensely blue; glistening ice spikes began forming before her, multiplying rapidly—within moments, seven or eight hovered in the air.

“Damn.”

Wang Yu silently cursed, freezing mid-motion, rising upright, and whirling his long blade into a whirlwind as he charged the nearest Huang man.

The Huang man sneered, slashing wildly with his slender sword like a rainstorm.

A dense swarm of wind blades shrieked through the air, rushing forth in a tide.

“Clang! Clang!”

Wang Yu felt his iron essence blade tremble violently in his grip—each impact struck like a sledgehammer; his palms burned, and he nearly dropped the blade.

At the same moment, the young woman cried out sharply, thrusting her token forward—ice spikes shot forth in a crystalline line straight for Wang Yu.

Wang Yu’s heart tightened; he slashed his iron essence blade forward several times, then swiftly brought it horizontally across his chest—the move was a technique from the Rending Wind Sword Art, forced into execution with his long blade.

“Boom! Boom!” Half the ice spikes shattered under his blows; the other half were blocked by the blade—but each impact forced him back a step.

Before he could relax, he suddenly shivered, his hands numb, his body sluggish.

He realized then—the shattered ice spikes had transformed into a chilling aura that now enveloped him.

“Ha!”

The Huang man laughed, and the green sword shadow above his head vanished.

Yet he paid it no mind, striding forward, flicking his slender sword—creating countless sword shadows that engulfed Wang Yu.

“Overclock.”

Wang Yu silently murmured without hesitation.

His senses exploded in intensity; everything around slowed to a crawl, his mind entered hyper-mode, and his control over every muscle in his body surged—his mobility instantly restored.

He exploded with his legs, launching himself backward five or six zhang like a crossbow bolt, then jammed his long blade into his waist, crouched low, gripped the hilt with his left hand, and fixed his gaze on the Huang man.

The Huang man paused, stunned—but quickly sneered, muttering incantations, flicking his sleeve—a dry straw doll flew out.

“Boom.”

The doll landed, then dissolved into writhing yellow light, reforming into another Huang man—identical attire, identical silver slender sword in hand.

The two Huang men flashed back and forth seven or eight times, then split left and right, swinging their swords as they charged Wang Yu—indistinguishable, true or false.

The young woman held her token aloft, muttering again; its glow intensified.

At the same moment, Wang Yu let out a low growl.

“Drawcut.”

“Swoosh.”

He shot toward the left Huang man without hesitation—a massive blade-light blazed into existence.

“Crash.”

The long blade slammed into the man’s neck—but was halted by a sudden blue light shield; yet the immense force behind the strike still shoved him backward.

The shield dimpled inward under the blade’s edge, its glow flickering wildly, faintly resonating with the young woman’s token.

The young woman shrieked, pouring her internal Qi frantically into the token.

The other Huang man’s body erupted in flame, then dissolved like a bubble—leaving only a charred straw doll on the ground.

The Huang man barely steadied himself, his face twisted with fury and shock; a flash of rage crossed his features, and he roared, thrusting his slender sword like lightning at Wang Yu’s face.

Wang Yu didn’t hesitate—his right hand shot out faster, gripping the sword’s blade, fingers squeezing hard, twisting it backward until it became a twisted spiral—his palm unharmed.

The Huang man felt searing heat in his palm; the sword slipped free—but from his other hand, a gleaming short sword silently appeared, stabbing fiercely toward Wang Yu’s abdomen.

Wang Yu roared, his arm gripping the long blade suddenly thickening, the blade driving forward with brutal force.

“Crack.” “Crack.”

The blue shield shattered under the pressure; a flash of cold light—and a head rolled to the ground, a geyser of blood spouting skyward.

The headless body swayed, then collapsed silently.

“Huang Lang!”

The young woman screamed, a blood-curdling cry.

But under Overclock control, Wang Yu felt no emotion—he stomped again, charging toward her with his blade.

She cursed endlessly, her token flashing blue, launching wave after wave of ice spikes—but Wang Yu twisted and dodged, evading each one.

In a few swift steps, he stood before her, swinging his long blade—a flash of cold light swept toward her.

She gasped, flinging her sleeve—out flew a yellow ribbon that wrapped around the unsuspecting Wang Yu, trapping him; a cruel smile twisted her beautiful face, and she formed a hand seal, hurling her blue token with all her might.

“Boom.”

The token exploded into a storm of ice needles, firing at the trapped Wang Yu.