Chapter 34: Defeated All Champions!

“What did you just say?”

With Fang Can’s provocation, a single stone stirred a thousand waves; the surrounding senior disciples’ gazes instantly turned hostile.

One man taking on hundreds in the entire training ground?

Even Yang Lie, the instructor who had trained his entire life and barely reached Xuanguan Fifth Layer, couldn’t guarantee such a feat.

Though they didn’t know how Fang Can had advanced so fast in seven days, it certainly hadn’t exceeded Xuanguan Second Layer.

Since there was no massive gap between them, his boast of facing a hundred was far too arrogant.

Thinking this, they suppressed their shock at Fang Can’s strength and stepped forward together, surrounding him completely, as if ready to mob him at the slightest provocation.

“Can’t you seniors hear?” Fang Can tossed Li Qunfan’s body aside like garbage, then clasped his fists and said:

“I’d like to test my own mettle, so I humbly ask all senior brothers for guidance.”

“Brother-disciple sparring has no limit on numbers; please all offer your wisdom.”

“Good, good, good—I admit you might be a genius, but you’re far too arrogant.” A massive, burly man, two meters tall, strode out from the crowd.

“I’m Ye Qin. No one else needs to step in—I’ll face you alone.” The giant’s eyes held contempt.

You country bumpkin, you really think sneaking up and taking down a Li makes you a master? Wait until you beat the strongest one before you talk.

As he assumed his stance, Ye Qin formed the opening posture of the Sixty-Six Tiger Devouring Fist, and faintly, everyone seemed to hear the roar of tigers in the forest.

Seeing Ye Qin’s opening posture, everyone involuntarily held their breath, for he had already infused his true intent into the technique.

If an attack carries artistic spirit, and the opponent lacks it, their aura is inherently weakened, leaving their mind vulnerable to defeat.

“Then please, senior brother, instruct me.” Seeing the man’s motion, Fang Can mirrored the same opening posture.

Yet though the movements were identical, the crowd felt a disorientation—as if a real tiger crouched low, ready to pounce.

Yes, true intent is merely a crude imitation of heart-image, less than one percent of its aura.

To clash true intent against heart-image is like a mantis trying to stop a cart; even though Fang Can hadn’t even manifested heart-image, in the clash of aura, Ye Qin was already at a Xiantian disadvantage.

‘His understanding of this fist art is deeper than mine.’

Ye Qin couldn’t believe it, but since the match had begun, hesitation would only increase his chance of defeat.

“Boom!”

With the aura of a tiger in mortal combat, Ye Qin stomped the ground hard; the blue bricks shattered beneath his feet as he lunged forward like a true tiger.

Fang Can made no move to dodge; his right hand shot out like a claw, anticipating the attack, seizing Ye Qin’s thick wrist and redirecting his force.

By the time Ye Qin realized what had happened, he was spinning through the air like a top, then slammed face-first into the blue bricks by Fang Can’s palm gripping his head.

‘Who am I? Where am I? How did I lose?’

His face buried in the bricks, Ye Qin felt his skin burning—whether from pain or rage, he didn’t even understand how he’d lost.

‘I’m stronger than him—how is this possible?’ Ye Qin stood up, doubting reality, and assumed his stance again: “Again!”

Fang Can ignored him, continuing to clasp his fists: “Who else among the senior brothers wishes to challenge me? Whether one-on-one or a mob, I accept.”

“I will!” A tall, slender man stepped forward: “Brother, you’ve got some skill, but I don’t use Tiger Devouring Fist—you can’t rely on familiarity to gain the upper hand.”

“Then please, senior brother, instruct me.” As Fang Can spoke, he stepped back one pace; a thick, tree-trunk-like leg slashed upward like a cleaver.

“Ssshh!”

In an instant, the man’s toe gouged the ground, leaving a visible slash in the blue bricks.

Had Fang Can not evaded at precisely the right moment, his groin to dantian would have been sliced open.

‘Leg technique? Good—I know a bit too.’ Fang Can smiled and kicked out simultaneously, striking the man’s knee as he retracted his leg, startling the opponent into hastily defending.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The collision of their legs sent explosive shocks through the air; the pure leg technique duel stunned the onlookers.

“Did I see that right? They’re using leg technique.”

“Yes—that’s the Fiery Blade Leg Art. This newcomer not only outmatches Ye Qin in fist technique, but his leg technique is equally unmatched.”

The onlookers were astonished, but the senior brother in combat was even more horrified.

In this pure leg duel, every one of Fang Can’s kicks struck his exact weakness, leaving him powerless despite his overwhelming strength.

The intense leg exchange lasted only four or five seconds before Fang Can seized an opening and stomped down hard.

With a dull thud, Fang Can stood on the man’s knee joint, forcing the leg-technique senior to kneel, unable to rise.

Fang Can stepped back two paces and bowed with a smile: “Senior brother, I yield to you.”

The defeated man, fully aware of his inferiority, said nothing and vanished into the crowd.

This time, without Fang Can speaking, a man grabbed a longsword: “Brother, I only know sword art—how is your sword skill?”

“A little. Very little.” Fang Can replied calmly.

In the next instant, Yang Lie, watching from the crowd, tossed him a sword: “Catch.”

Catching the sword, Fang Can slowly drew the scabbard slightly; a sharp, icy gleam flashed into view.

"Three feet, three inches, three fen long, with an icy gleam, weighing six jin four liang—barely qualifies as a good sword," Fang Can assessed.

Without further words, two blades flashed simultaneously; though the sun blazed overhead, the surrounding disciples felt a chilling cold.

Between bare hands and armed combat lies a vast wall; before reaching the path to transcendence, warriors remain flesh and blood, forced to dodge the piercing sword qi.

“Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!”

All saw the two swords whirling so densely they formed an impenetrable wall—no water could pass through, with at least ten collisions per second.

“Ssshh! Ssshh! Ssshh!”

As sword qi crisscrossed, disciples standing one or two meters away had their clothing slashed repeatedly, forcing them to retreat further.

Again, the battle lasted only seconds; Fang Can sheathed his sword and stepped back: “Senior brother, thirteen strikes.”

Only then did the crowd realize: Fang Can’s blade had sliced thirteen precise openings in their robes—at the neck, heart, wrist tendons, ankle tendons.

Looking at Fang Can’s pristine Tiger Devouring Gate uniform, the man grimly bowed with his sword: “I yield.”

“Any other senior brother wish to instruct me?” Fang Can smiled, planting his sword point-down beside him:

“No matter what Wu Gong, no matter what weapon.”

“Whether one-on-one or a mob, I accept.”

“Because this is the moment your gap with me is smallest.”

“The moment your chance to defeat me is greatest.”

“Miss this chance, and from today on, you’ll only look up at my back, struggling to follow the path I’ve forged.”

(End of Chapter)