Chapter Fifty-Two: Cutting Flesh!

A hundred-foot sword aura collided with the Crimson Flame Divine Dragon. With a thunderous boom, an immense explosion erupted, a sea of flames soared to the heavens, and boundless gales engulfed the battlefield. The dust had yet to settle when a resounding clang of metal rang out from within the tempest and fire.

Zhang San’s eyes blazed crimson, his entire body igniting, steam curling from his brow like a man possessed. Gripping his spear, he thrust a thousand spear shadows, weaving a magnificent yet deadly crimson spear blossom that enveloped Tianling.

Tianling’s gaze remained clear. Her blue sword seemed fused with her arm, and the instant she cleaved forth a hundred-foot gale, it was compressed and refined, condensing into a single yard-long blade, solid as reality itself. Having grown up in the sect, her mastery of combat far surpassed the likes of Zhang San, who had learned his art in the wild.

The yard-long sword wind, sharp and unstoppable, slashed down. The spear blossom burst into a flare of fire, blooming like a rose, yet the sword aura pierced its heart, splitting it in two without losing momentum. Zhang San’s pupils shrank. He braced his spear horizontally, crimson flames surging a hundred feet high.

Clang!

The sword energy struck the spear. The ferocious impact sent Zhang San staggering back, his legs like twin pillars of fire, carving charred furrows across the arena. Only after retreating several dozen yards did he finally halt.

An uproar surged through the stands. After so many days of competition, the spectators were well aware of the combatants’ strengths. Tianling was only at the Earth Hiding Realm, while Zhang San had reached the Human Hiding Realm. Yet, from this exchange, Zhang San was clearly at a disadvantage!

“Zhang San’s strength was built up by forcibly using medicinal aids; he hasn’t even awakened any true divine powers of the Earth or Human Second Realm.”

In Zhou Tian’s chamber, Liu Yan, seated gracefully, parted her red lips. The golden divine flame in her eyes dimmed as she spoke coolly. As one with the Wind and Flame Physique—a master of fire—she could see that Zhang San’s raging flames were bluster, all show and little substance.

“He’s relying solely on his realm to fight. Tianling, on the other hand, has the foundation of the Sect of the Vast Heavens behind her. If this is all he can do, it’s only a matter of time before he loses,” Zhou Zui added. Both were veterans, their battle experience allowing them to read the match with ease.

“Just watch. It won’t be that simple—the people of Great Luo Academy aren’t that foolish,” Zhou Xunchuan mused, seeing the deeper layers behind the apparent chaos.

Zhou Tian listened quietly, wearing an air of confidence, though in truth, he was only a mortal. He possessed no divine arts himself and could only see the surging winds and flames on the stage—nothing more.

Back in the arena—

Zhang San twisted aside to dodge a slicing gale, spearing forth as a crimson flood dragon burst out—horned, wreathed in fiery rings, like a living furnace.

This was no ordinary strike. Even caught off guard, Tianling treated it with caution, wind swirling at her feet as she flicked her sword.

A piercing cry rang out as a cerulean divine bird materialized, entirely formed of gale force, its feathers sharp as blades.

The divine bird clashed with the flood dragon—wind and fire at odds, neither yielding.

Seizing the moment, Zhang San widened the distance and cast a glance at his spear, now marred by a deep fissure—the scar left by Tianling’s initial sword strike.

With a casual toss, he let the spear fall to the arena, where it landed with a crisp clang.

Flames ignited in his palm as he grasped at the air. A subtle marking on his wrist glowed, drawing in crimson radiance. A new spear appeared, its body entirely red, etched with profound patterns from tip to butt. The spearhead’s edges shimmered with gold—an exceedingly rare metal, used sparingly even by the forger of this sacred weapon.

“Now the battle truly begins!”

A bloodthirsty light flashed in Zhang San’s eyes as he leapt forth, grasping the sacred spear. Dazzling firelight erupted, threads of golden flame licking outward, warping the very air—no ordinary fire, but True Fire.

The True Fire flowed from Zhang San’s arm, spreading over his entire body. The flames on him gradually tinged gold, shrinking inwards to form crimson armor inlaid with golden patterns. The power a sacred weapon could grant its wielder was nothing short of terrifying.

It was once said in the Nine Provinces that a sacred weapon was more precious than ten saints. Though exaggerated, it spoke to their rarity.

A thousand-foot spear shadow appeared in midair, wreathed in golden flame, its etched runes visible to the naked eye.

Tianling’s delicate face turned solemn. Her beautiful eyes filled with gravity; she dared not be careless. A golden flash, and a translucent long sword appeared in her hand, its blade coursed with purple lightning—none other than the sacred sword gifted to her by Zhou Ying.

Gripping the sacred sword, Tianling’s petite form erupted with unimaginable might. A towering tornado surged forth, endless blue wind blades swirling within, threads of purple lightning flashing through the vortex—a storm of lightning and wind that blotted out the sky.

The thousand-foot golden spear shadow plunged into the thunderous windstorm.

Boom!

The world rioted—gales roared, lightning churned, golden flames blazed, spear shadows slashed. Even the formation-crafted space of the arena seemed on the verge of shattering as chaos surged.

When the spear shadow and tornado faded, the arena was left a wasteland—lightning, fire, and blades of wind swirling together.

Tianling and Zhang San charged into this devastated realm simultaneously. Spear shadows and sword auras laced with thunder inundated the ground.

Clang! Clang!

A low, resounding collision echoed repeatedly.

Crack!

Tianling’s sacred thunder sword cleaved through the crimson-gold armor on Zhang San’s shoulder, biting deep into the bone. Blood, aflame with firelight, dripped down, half his body seized with spasms as lightning rampaged through his flesh—an additional wound from the sacred sword. Zhang San’s face twisted in pain, but was lit even more by madness.

His left palm, covered in golden flame, seized the sacred sword embedded in his shoulder, while his right hand swept the crimson spear with unstoppable force.

Tianling’s face hardened in shock—she had never expected Zhang San to fight by trading injury for injury. No wonder he hadn’t dodged earlier, letting her strike him down.

Now it was too late to retreat. The sacred sword was momentarily pinned by Zhang San’s grip, and she had no time to withdraw it. Hurriedly, she conjured a shield of blue runes at her waist—the only defense she could muster.

The sacred spear, wreathed in golden True Fire, crashed down. Cracks splintered through the wind shield, shattering in an instant.

Thud!

With a muffled crash, Tianling was sent flying, landing heavily on the stage. Golden flames ignited at her waist where her clothes were torn, exposing snowy skin over which a cluster of golden fire blazed. Unlike ordinary flames, these did not scorch her flesh but burned silently upon her skin.

Tianling spat a mouthful of blood, her face flushed. Gazing at the golden fire on her waist, she raised her sword and, with a swift, ruthless motion, carved out the seared flesh, blood pouring from the wound.