Chapter 895: Martial Fortune

A cold wind howls, the snowfield stretches for a thousand li, and the world is shrouded in desolation.

Ye Zhi Long drops to one knee, the black‑gold spear drives deep into the frozen ground, its shaft trembling incessantly, emitting a low dragon's roar.

He is drenched in blood, his left arm broken at the shoulder, the wound wrapped in crimson True Essence, barely stemming the outward flow of blood. His eyes are bloodshot, yet he still stares fixedly toward the direction Yan Buji fled, jaw clenched, a suppressed low growl rolling in his throat.

Yang Lan had intended to leave with the two Elders, but seeing Ye Zhi Long's dire state, just as he was about to act, he stopped in astonishment:

"…He actually refined it?"

"Brother Ye, you should return to recuperate for a while."

Ye Zhi Long grins, his mouth full of fresh blood making him look especially ferocious: "No problem, just a minor wound."

The two Elders snort coldly: "Arrogant! Had we not arrived, did you think you still had a life?"

Ye Zhi Long gives no reply, merely rising slowly, his right hand gripping the spear tightly. Crimson True Essence surges around him, flickering in the wind and snow like flames.

Though gravely wounded and near death, that unyielding Martial Dao will makes the three Xianxu cultivators present feel a secret dread.

"My path, I walk it myself."

He turns and strides forward, each step leaving a crimson, plum‑like blood mark on the snow. Yang Lan watches his back, about to speak but stops, finally letting out a light sigh.

After some time, an abandoned ancient temple.

Ye Zhi Long sits cross‑legged before a ruined statue, his severed arm encased in crimson True Essence, flesh slowly writhing.

He pulls the severed arm from his chest, presses it onto the wound; true will burns like flame, forcibly reconnecting the broken meridians.

"Ugh!!"

The excruciating pain makes veins bulge on his forehead, yet he clenches his teeth, forcing the scream of pain back down his throat. Martial Dao cultivation is about defying fate; the mere pain of a broken arm cannot make him submit.

The black‑gold spear lies horizontally before his knee, its scaled shaft faintly glowing as if echoing its master's will. Ye Zhi Long closes his eyes and looks inward; crimson True Essence in his dantian churns, vaguely coalescing into a blood‑colored spear phantom—this is the nascent form of his Reformation of Heaven's Mandate true will.

"Da Mo Wuji… Yan Buji…" he murmurs, "You may defeat me for a moment, but you can never defeat me for a lifetime! One day, I will defeat you!"

Suddenly, his earlobes twitch as he senses someone approaching the temple.

"Who?" Ye Zhi Long snaps his eyes open, the spear already gripped in his hand.

The temple doors are pushed open, a stooped figure shuffles in, a ragged beggar. The beggar's beard and hair are all white, his face crisscrossed with wrinkles, yet his eyes shine bright as stars, as if they can see into a person's heart.

"Young man, your killing intent is too heavy." The beggar grins, showing a few yellow teeth: "Old man here is just passing by, looking for a bowl of rice."

Ye Zhi Long does not lower his guard: "In this desolate mountain wilderness, where does a beggar come from?"

The old beggar says nothing, his gaze fixed on the severed arm, clicking his tongue in wonder: "Connecting a severed limb with Martial Dao True Origin? Interesting."

"Who exactly are you?"

The old beggar laughs heartily, then his form flickers, appearing before Ye Zhi Long like a phantom; his gaunt finger lightly taps Ye's forehead.

"Buzz!"

Ye Zhi Long feels his mind roar, countless Martial Dao insights flooding in like tides. He sees, in the vast starry sky, a spear light cleaving the heavens; on endless battlefields, a lone spearman confronting ten thousand troops; in the river of ages, countless warriors marching forward, all in pursuit of the supreme Martial Dao…

"This is…"

The old beggar withdraws his finger, smiling: "When I was young, I too was as obsessed with a single spear as you are. Unfortunately, I never managed to take that final step."

He turns and walks toward the temple doors, his back bearing a hint of desolation: "Kid, remember! The summit of Martial Dao has never been a solitary path."

Before his words finish, the old beggar's figure has already vanished, as if he never appeared.

Ye Zhi Long stands dumbfounded, a speck of golden light at his brow slowly merging into the Reformation of Heaven's Mandate true will. He suddenly realizes that the old beggar is far from ordinary, perhaps a hidden world's supreme Martial Dao master!

"It's not a solitary path…"

He grips the spear tightly, his eyes burning with greater battle intent. Crimson True Essence at the severed arm surges, flesh and blood visibly regrowing and reconnecting.

Just a year later.

Ye Zhi Long stands at the edge of a ten‑thousand‑foot cliff, his left arm fully restored and even tougher than before. He wields the black‑gold spear, its tip breathing crimson True Essence, and carves a line of large characters onto the cliff face!

"Martial Dao is boundless, Heaven's Mandate can be reformed!"

Ye Zhi Long feels his power surpass his former self, and cannot help but laugh.

Elsewhere.

Yan Buji sits cross‑legged, the Swallow Desire Pot hovering before him, its patterns writhing and emitting an eerie glow. The runes on his bronze arm flicker, resonating with the pot's aura.

"Strange… why is my Martial Dao fortune fading?"

He closes his eyes to sense, and the information from the Swallow Desire Pot makes him snap his eyes open:

"So that's it! Da Mo Wuji's battle with Ye Zhi Long was never about killing, but about seizing Martial Dao fortune!"

Martial Dao fortune is the foundation of a warrior's cultivation in the world. The strong clash, the victor seizes the fortune, the loser loses influence. Though Ye Zhi Long was defeated by Da Mo Wuji, he counter‑attacked in the dire situation, forcibly tearing a portion of fortune from the Martial Dao seed, which caused Yan Buji's own Martial Dao fortune to inexplicably wane when he ambushed.

"Heh… what a pity," Yan Buji sneers, "I have already refined the Essence Method, the Martial Dao path is severed, further contest is futile."

He looks down at his bronze arm, covered with bizarre runes, proof of his comprehension of the Law of Fortune.

Since Martial Dao fortune has no fate with him, he will discard it completely!

"Refine!"

He suddenly activates the Swallow Desire Pot, golden threads spouting from its mouth—these are the remnants of his Martial Dao fortune within his body!

The pot's patterns twist, turning into strands of Law of Fortune runes that ravenously devour the golden threads. Yan Buji's aura shifts accordingly, the originally cold, bloody killing intent gradually retracting, replaced by a profound, unfathomable Law Fluctuation.

"The Martial Dao is dead, the Law of Fortune must stand!"

Space around him subtly warps, the runes on his bronze arm glow, faint tiny spatial fissures flicker then vanish. The Swallow Desire Pot hovers overhead, its law energy circulating, causing the cave's ambient spirit energy to stir restlessly.

Yan Buji made a bold decision: to refine his own Martial Fortune through the Law of Fortune, since Martial Dao fortune is essentially a manifestation of the Law of Fortune. By converting martial fortune into law, he resolves that he will no longer rely on this fortune to contend with others; moreover, Yan Buji cannot use Martial Fortune to boost his own strength—at best it merely improves his luck.

But after the failed ambush on Ye Zhi Long, he realized that with both parties possessing Martial Fortune and a Da Mo Wuji also in the fray, the fortune would not benefit him; instead it would grant pure martial cultivators a massive advantage!

Thus, it is better to refine it directly!