Jian Wuxiang's voice was so faint that even masters like Zheng Mufeng failed to catch his words, their attention fixed elsewhere.
All eyes in the arena were glued to Gao Han. That breathtaking sword strike had etched itself into everyone's mind, unforgettable and luminous. They watched as a dazzling new star blazed forth, rising steadily atop the pride and defeat of countless other prodigies.
"Lang!"
Amid the collective fixation on Gao Han, an earth-shaking roar erupted from the stands, its thunderous waves threatening to shatter the spectators' eardrums.
It was Duan Qianchou. Fuming with rage, he darted to the edge of the arena and assaulted the protective barrier with savage fury. His immense power made the shield tremble violently, spiderwebbing with fine cracks at the point of impact.
You Canghai finally snapped back to his senses and hastily declared, "The victor of this round is Gao Han!" He promptly dismissed the barrier.
Duan Qianchou blurred into a gust of wind, rushing to Duan Lang's side in an instant. His trembling hands hovered over his companion's severed legs.
He then turned to Gao Han with eyes blazing with murderous fire, grinding his teeth in hatred. "You are ruthlessly cruel. I will make you pay with your blood!"
Gao Han dismissed Duan Qianchou's threat with utter nonchalance. "I warned you. If he refused to surrender, you would not bear the outcome. Sadly, you would not listen."
Duan Qianchou's body shuddered at the words. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked, and he channeled all his fury into a single punch that slammed into the steel arena.
BOOM!
A deafening, thunderous boom echoed across the grounds.
A clear fist imprint sank into the metal platform, every knuckle sharply defined.
Facing Gao Han with his fist still raised, Duan Qianchou's face twisted with malice. "Do not let me cross paths with you. I will inflict a fate worse than death upon you—suffering a thousand times more terrible than what Lang endures."
Gao Han replied indifferently, "If you have the strength to do so, I shall gladly meet you. But beware: it may be you who begs for death before the end."
Duan Qianchou lifted the unconscious Duan Lang and carried him off the stage. Duan Muhua reacted at once, vanishing from his seat and reappearing beside his grandson in the blink of an eye.
He placed his right hand upon Duan Lang's body, his expression growing grave. Rage then exploded from him as he snarled at Gao Han, "You vile brat! Your cruelty knows no bounds!"
Gao Han felt as if a colossal mountain were crushing down upon him, robbing him of breath and balance. He swayed unsteadily, on the verge of collapsing.
A jolt of terror shot through him. Spirit Fusion experts were unfathomably powerful—their aura alone could pin him beneath an unyielding weight.
He could not fight back, nor did he have the strength to flee.
In the stands, Gao Jianfeng rose to his feet involuntarily, crying out in alarm, "Han'er!" Gao Yong, Gao Zhi, Zheng Kong, and others stood with him, their faces etched with worry.
Li Changtian stood up, preparing to intervene and shield Gao Han. Gao Han was the brother of his personal disciple; if he were to die here, Gao Jianfeng would never allow Gao Yang to remain under his tutelage.
Gao Yang possessed an unparalleled fire-attribute physique, a treasure coveted by every sect under heaven. Fire Cloud Manor, the Misty Sect's bitter rival, specialized in fire-elemental arts—they would snatch Gao Yang up in an instant.
Yet another figure moved faster than he, streaking across the arena like a bolt of sword light. A sharp, overwhelming aura sliced through the oppressive weight bearing down on Gao Han, splitting it in two.
When the crowd beheld the man's face, they were astonished: it was Jian Wuxiang, a man with no apparent connection to Gao Han whatsoever.
Jian Wuxiang glanced at Gao Han with a meaningful look, then sneered coldly at Duan Muhua. "Has the Duan clan sunk so low as to murder a young warrior after his defeat?"
His aura shattered by Jian Wuxiang and stung by the mockery, Duan Muhua's face flushed crimson. He snorted bitterly and turned his gaze back to his grandson, his eyes heavy with concern.
While others knew little of the bond between Duan Qianchou and Duan Lang, Duan Muhua understood it all too well. Duan Lang was a death warrior bred by the Duan clan, who had saved Duan Qianchou's life on countless occasions. Before becoming a death warrior, the two had been close childhood friends.
Duan Lang's entire family had been killed after a failed mission. Knowing his natural talent was too limited to avenge them through regular cultivation, he had willingly become a death warrior, enduring brutal training to unlock his potential. He had finally exacted his revenge and remained by Duan Qianchou's side ever since.
Duan Qianchou had clung to a flicker of hope, but his expression plummeted to despair at Duan Muhua's words.
After studying his grandson closely, Duan Muhua heaved a heavy sigh. "Every bone in his arms is shattered, his meridians frozen beyond repair. He is crippled. The meridians in his legs are equally ruined. Worse still, this frost energy has wounded his very soul. He has been reduced to a mental wreck. He is utterly destroyed."
Even Jian Wuxiang had not imagined Duan Lang's injuries were so catastrophic, nor that Gao Han's ice arts wielded such destructive power.
He had assumed Duan Lang suffered only broken bones, injuries that could be mended. His severed legs might have been fitted with prosthetics. But reality had proved far grimmer: Gao Han's ice had annihilated his meridians and damaged his soul, robbing him of his mind.
Jian Wuxiang could not help a bitter smile. He now regretted intervening on Gao Han's behalf, yet he was even more shocked by the youth's strength.
He had stepped in for a reason: the sword art Gao Han had unleashed fascinated him. It resembled the legendary techniques once wielded by Shan Yu, the Sword God—ancient swordsmanship lost to time.
Yet to antagonize a great power like the Duan clan on such flimsy grounds seemed a reckless trade.
Gao Han himself was surprised to have wounded Duan Lang's soul. Injuring a soul was extraordinarily difficult, for every soul was wrapped in layers of protective energy.
This energy acted as a double-edged sword: it shielded the soul but also blocked practitioners from connecting with it through their true essence.
Gao Han soon understood. His ice-attuned true essence stemmed from the strange ice pearl he had absorbed in the tomb, which inherently possessed the power to harm souls. Moreover, his Drawing Sword Strike had shattered much of the energy shielding Duan Lang's soul sea, allowing the frost to damage his spirit with ease.
Lu Zhengteng had been encased in Gao Han's ice before, yet his soul remained unharmed—precisely because he had not been struck by the Drawing Sword Strike.
The incident was reluctantly laid to rest. Gao Han had not taken Duan Lang's life, and he had indeed warned Duan Qianchou to order Duan Lang's surrender.
But from the loathing burning in Duan Qianchou's eyes, Gao Han knew this was far from over. He felt no remorse, however. Given the chance to choose again, he would act no differently.
Once everyone had returned to their places, You Canghai announced the resumption of the tournament.
Six contestants remained, each seated in a separate position across the vast arena, radiating the poise of sovereigns within their own domains.
"Jian Qingtian of the Jian clan versus Hao Han!"
Hao Han's defenses were nigh unbreakable, leaving Jian Qingtian frustrated. His sword techniques carved only superficial wounds into the body-refining warrior.
Hao Han's body was covered in blood, yet most of the injuries were shallow and harmless, appearing far more grievous than they truly were.
In the end, Jian Qingtian unleashed his ultimate technique: Ten Thousand Forms Return to One.
The strike was eerily understated, yet invisible forces rippled outward from the blade. Lin Xiaoya remembered it all too well—it had been his undoing, and he still could not fathom how he had been struck.
Hao Han turned his back to the sword, lowered his head, and backed straight into the incoming strike.
CLANG!
The two combatants recoiled in opposite directions. Hao Han staggered under the force of the blow, nearly falling to the ground.
The Golden Body Art lived up to its legacy as the signature art of Feng Buping, the Mighty Hero. Jian Qingtian's sword pierced barely an inch into Hao Han's flesh before it could advance no further.
Hao Han simply twisted his body with a carefree chuckle, unperturbed.
Jian Qingtian felt a flicker of helplessness against such impregnable defense. Reflecting on the fight, he realized Hao Han had deliberately turned away when he unleashed his strike—revealing a critical flaw.
His Golden Body Art was incomplete; his rear was his weak point.
Having deduced this, Jian Qingtian raised his sword, channeling a world-rending momentum into the blade before slashing downward.
The entire arena seemed to split in two—this was sword momentum.
Hao Han could not evade in time; the aura had locked him firmly in place.
He raised his hands to catch the sword between his palms. The sharp sword momentum sliced through his hands instantly, leaving two deep, bone-cut wounds on each.
The blade pressed against Hao Han's throat, one of the most vulnerable and hardest-to-temper parts of the human body. Jian Qingtian struck without hesitation.
"Fine. I concede," Hao Han scratched his head and grinned innocently.
Jian Qingtian nodded slightly. "Well fought. Without sword momentum, defeating you would have been nearly impossible."
You Canghai declared Jian Qingtian the victor. The next match: Duan Qianchou versus Yue Ling.
Yue Ling's skill would never have earned her a place in the top six without great fortune. She had faced Lu Zhengfei; had she fought a powerhouse like Nian Hua or Lin Xiaoya, she would have been eliminated long ago.
Duan Qianchou was burning with unspent rage. He assaulted Yue Ling with relentless ferocity, each kick crashing down like a small mountain.
In the end, Duan Qianchou kicked Yue Ling flying off the arena. She spat up a mouthful of blood and fell unconscious. Ding Nuo rushed down from the stands to examine her, his face turning ashen. One-third of her ribs were shattered; she could fight no longer.
After witnessing Duan Lang's fate, however, Ding Nuo counted himself lucky she had not faced Gao Han. The young man's name had become something of a forbidden word.
The final match of the round was Gao Han versus Wensiren. Old foes met, their hatred flaring bright. Wensiren had never imagined Gao Han would advance this far.