Duan Lang's transformation stunned the crowd into breathless silence; the sight was utterly uncanny and bizarre.
Crack!
Duan Lang writhed violently within the ice, sending spiderwebs of fractures snaking across its surface. At last, the icy prison exploded into countless shards that scattered across the arena floor.
Duan Qianchou's gaze turned grave. "It seems Gao Han is indeed formidable—he has forced Duan Lang into this state."
As a death warrior of the Duan clan, Duan Lang had not only been made to battle wolves from childhood but also cultivated the Seven Forms of Wolf Transformation, a set of techniques that could only be unleashed while assuming a wolven form.
Duan Lang stepped out of the broken ice, his crimson eyes locked onto Gao Han, brimming with boundless murderous rage and ferocity. He looked as though he would tear Gao Han into a thousand pieces to sate his hatred.
The two stood thirty feet apart, one radiating savage bloodlust and the other unyielding battle intent. The entire crowd held their breath, fixated on the two figures upon the stage.
Duan Lang crouched low, his hands planted on the ground, his posture identical to that of a blood-red wolf. Saliva dripped incessantly from the maw of the wolven head forged from his true essence.
In an instant, Duan Lang pushed off the ground with his legs, leaving a shallow indentation in the steel arena. His body blurred into a shadow and shot toward Gao Han, appearing before him in the blink of an eye.
"Mountain-Rending Slash!"
Only then did Duan Lang swing his clawed hands, crossing them to slash viciously at Gao Han. His glinting talons seemed capable of rending the very void into quarters.
Clang!
Gao Han's battle fervor reached its peak, and he struck upward with a palm infused with one hundred percent of his power—a stroke of divine inspiration.
Bitterness cold erupted from his palm, freezing the surrounding air and slowing Duan Lang's strike for a fleeting instant.
That single moment of hesitation revealed a flaw in Duan Lang's stance. Gao Han's palm struck squarely at the intersection of his crossed arms.
Duan Lang was sent flying backward. Frost coursed through the meridians in his arms, weaving a web-like pattern across his skin from within.
"Flying Stones and Whirling Wind!"
The next four forms could be combined into two ultimate techniques of devastating power. Duan Lang spun midair into a razor-sharp cyclone, charging toward Gao Han once more.
The gale raged across the arena, carving countless gashes into the steel platform with its wind blades.
"Mountain-Soaring Grandeur!"
Gao Han unleashed a palm strike, and a colossal icy hand nearly forty feet wide materialized in the air, crashing down like a small mountain upon Duan Lang's cyclone.
Boom!
The cyclone was crushed flat, and Duan Lang's figure emerged, bracing himself against the icy giant hand as if holding up a pillar. The scarlet true essence forming his wolven claws flickered wildly, growing indistinct, on the verge of shattering under the mountainous pressure.
This was because the frost from Gao Han's earlier strike had wounded the meridians in Duan Lang's arms, disrupting the flow of his true essence.
If his arms went untreated, they would be crippled for good. The meridians would be completely sealed by ice; even if thawed, they would suffer irreversible damage, shattering under the strain of circulating true essence.
Not even an Undying Sovereign could heal such injuries.
"Heaven-Shaking Might!"
Unfathomable power surged from Duan Lang's legs, and he pushed upward violently, halting the descent of the icy hand midair.
Ignoring the searing pain in his arms, he channeled every ounce of his strength. Blocked meridians forced his true essence into smaller, finer pathways, causing blood to trickle from the corners of his mouth. His talons tore at the mountainous icy hand, rending it apart with savage force.
Creak!
A bone-chilling sound echoed where his arms met the ice. The giant hand split in two under Duan Lang's brute strength, yet the frost within it froze the bones in his arms. Unable to withstand the overwhelming force, his finger bones snapped one by one from the tips downward.
Mountain-Soaring Grandeur was the final form of the Cold Mountain Palms, and Gao Han's most powerful technique to date. Though it lacked the speed of his Drawing Sword Strike and the sheer piercing force of his Sword-Shattering Strike, it was unmatched in balance and overall power.
In the end, the icy hand was torn asunder—and Duan Lang's arms were completely shattered. Ice encased his broken bones, leaving his skin merely blue-tinged, appearing intact to onlookers.
Only Duan Lang himself knew that his arms could no longer bend or move, hanging limply at his sides.
"Ghost Wolf Spin!"
Gao Han had expected Duan Lang to concede, but the latter paid no heed to his crippled state and unleashed the seventh and final form of the Wolf Transformation: Ghost Wolf Spin.
Duan Lang leaped high into the air, spinning rapidly on his toes as he barreled toward Gao Han. Scarlet true essence wrapped around his feet, hardening into a fierce protective layer.
Awooo! Awooo! Awooo!
He pierced through the air layer by layer, letting out a blood-curdling shriek that echoed like the wail of a vengeful spirit. Qi Condensation disciples in the stands paled in terror, and young children passing outside the arena burst into tears.
Gao Han remained calm, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Duan Qianchou—if you do not order this wolf to surrender, you shall bear the consequences."
Duan Qianchou's face darkened. "My name is Duan Qianchou. You stand no chance against him. You cannot evade this strike—you are already at your wit's end."
He dismissed Gao Han's warning with contempt. For all Gao Han's growth throughout the tournament, he relied on the same handful of techniques. Even after drawing his sword, he had used it only to block, never unleashing any proper sword forms.
This was not merely Duan Qianchou's opinion; the entire crowd shared it, including Zheng Kong.
None knew that Gao Han had mastered the Seven-Sword Art. Even Zheng Kong believed Gao Han only knew the Sword-Shattering Strike. Though Gao Han possessed sword momentum, which boosted his power by twenty percent, the strike's overall strength remained limited in their eyes.
"Gao Han is doomed!"
"To think the Duan clan would place two disciples in the top six, while the Misty Sect has none. The sect is truly in decline!"
"I wonder how grievously Gao Han will be injured by this strike."
But all that changed the moment Gao Han drew his sword—including Duan Qianchou's arrogance. Gao Han had not lied, and the consequences were more than Duan Qianchou could bear.
Gao Han's aura soared endlessly toward the heavens. Birds flying overhead were cleaved in two by the sheer pressure of his presence.
Gao Han sheathed his Steelpoint Sword, crouched slightly, and rested his right hand on the hilt, his gaze sharp as two peerless swords cutting through the air.
"Seven-Sword Art – Drawing Sword Strike!"
Clang!
Gao Han roared inwardly. This was the first time he had unleashed the Seven-Sword Art in battle, and he eagerly anticipated its true power.
A brilliant flash of sword light streaked across the arena like lightning across the night sky—brief, yet overwhelmingly majestic.
In a mere fraction of a second, the sound of the unsheathed sword rang out, and Gao Han's blade was drawn.
At first glance, the strike seemed to have no effect; Duan Lang's assault continued unabated toward Gao Han.
Duan Qianchou held his breath for a moment, then burst into mocking laughter. "Hah! You think sheer speed alone will save you? Worthless!"
Yet before his words fully left his mouth, the true essence around Duan Lang's feet split cleanly down the middle and vanished into thin air. His feet dropped limply to the ground, severed as naturally as ripe fruit falling from a vine.
Before Gao Han lay a bottomless, straight sword mark, stretching all the way to where Duan Lang had stood moments earlier.
In the next instant, a figure went flying backward, scattering bright red ice crystals into the air before slamming heavily onto the arena floor.
It was Duan Lang. The crystals had fallen from his severed legs, which were frozen solid rather than bleeding.
The meridians within his legs had turned blue, webbed together like a tangled net.
Gao Han knew that Duan Lang's legs were completely crippled from the thighs down.
Silence. The entire arena fell deathly still, devoid of chatter or even whispers. Only Duan Lang's ragged breathing and the whisper of wind across the steel platform could be heard.
Then cries of astonishment erupted from the stands. "Unbelievable! Gao Han has won?!"
"How fast was that sword strike? Did any of you catch it?"
"I saw nothing but a flash of light before his sword was back in its sheath."
"I felt as if the entire world had faded away, leaving only that single sword beam. Am I imagining things?"
Gao Han straightened his posture and smiled faintly, thoroughly satisfied with the power of the Seven-Sword Art's Drawing Sword Strike. Duan Lang had been formidable, driven by a ruthless ferocity that spared neither his enemies nor himself.
High upon the platform, the Spirit Fusion experts exchanged stunned glances. At last, Li Changtian threw back his head and laughed unrestrainedly. Gao Han was even more extraordinary than he had imagined. Even Li Changtian could barely follow the speed of that sword strike, and he doubted he could evade it without activating his movement art.
Evading and blocking were two different matters, of course—there was a vast gap in their cultivation bases.
Gao Han sheathed his sword and glanced toward You Canghai with a calm smile.
You Canghai stood dumbfounded, stripped of the poise befitting a Spirit Fusion expert.
"That is… the Seven-Sword Art! He has mastered it?" The speaker was Zheng Mufeng. Gao Han had borrowed the art from the Zheng clan, so it was only natural that Zheng Mufeng recognized it.
Yet another man recognized the technique: Jian Wuxiang of the Jian clan. "This strike… it bears the hallmarks of an ancient sword art."
Jian Wuxiang stared blankly at Gao Han, replaying the sword strike in his mind and muttering to himself unconsciously.