An hour later, the tournament resumed. The next bout pitted Gao Han, the tournament's most astonishing dark horse, against Duan Qianchou, the young master of the Duan clan.
High up in the stands, Duan Muhua's face was clouded with fury. He had never imagined Duan Qianchou would fall to Jian Qingtian—a humiliating blow to the Duan clan's reputation as they reemerged onto the stage of power.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, thinking to himself: Though failing to claim first place would mar the Duan clan's prestige, second place would still be tolerable. Besides, once Duan Qianchou defeated Gao Han, he would have another chance to fight Jian Qingtian, and seize the championship then.
He did not count Gao Han as a serious contender at all. He could not believe a mere outer-sect disciple could stand against Duan Qianchou, whom he had personally groomed. As for Jian Qingtian, he must have been trained by Jian Wuxiang himself; otherwise, he could never have bested Duan Qianchou.
What was more, Duan Qianchou still held two more hidden trump cards. He was certain that not even Jian Qingtian could withstand the might of those two techniques.
It was only sheer misfortune that the Whirlwind Nine Kicks had left Duan Qianchou disoriented, allowing Jian Qingtian to seize the opening and knock him off the arena. By then, it had already been too late.
On the arena, You Canghai cleared his throat and announced in a clear, resonant voice: "The hour of rest has passed. Let Gao Han of the Misty Sect and Duan Qianchou of the Duan clan step onto the stage!"
Duan Qianchou had changed into a fresh set of robes—a resplendent golden martial gown. This time, he wore his leg guards openly over his attire, rather than concealing them beneath.
The gleaming golden robe, paired with a purple-gold jade crown that held back his slightly flaxen hair and the black leg guards on his limbs, lent him a bold and heroic bearing.
Gao Han, by contrast, wore a simple white martial robe. His raven-black hair was tied up neatly with a single white silk ribbon. Of the two swords that had once hung at his waist, only one remained, filling him with quiet sorrow. That sword had accompanied him for a long time, and protected by his frosty true essence, it had held its own even against low-grade and mid-grade spiritual weapons.
Yet it had shattered during his berserk state, when he had attacked You Canghai. He still regretted it deeply.
Duan Qianchou pushed off the ground with both feet, shooting toward the arena like a loosed arrow. A blurry streak flashed through the air before he landed steadily on the stage—a testament to his extraordinary mastery of leg techniques.
The distance from the edge of the stands to the arena was over thirty zhang, yet Duan Qianchou had leaped a full hundred zhang in a single bound. His raw strength spoke for itself.
"Junior Brother Gao!"
Gao Han stood up, brushing specks of dust from his robes, and was about to step onto the arena when he heard his name called from behind. He turned to see Nian Hua in the second-tier stands, and looked at him inquiringly.
Nian Hua reached behind his back, drew the sword he carried, and held it forth with both hands. "Junior Brother, this is Crocodile Tooth, one of the ten renowned swords of the Misty Sect. It has been by my side for years. Your sword shattered in yesterday's battle, so I lend this to you. May it bring you victory."
Gao Han stared in astonishment, then felt a surge of admiration for Nian Hua. For the honor of their sect, the man was willing to lend his beloved sword to another—a generosity few could match.
A weapon was to a warrior what a second life was, and some prized their arms even more than their own lives. Yet as Nian Hua offered the sword, Gao Han saw utter sincerity in his eyes, proof that he gave it freely from the heart.
His devotion to the sect's honor filled Gao Han with profound respect, and any lingering unpleasantness between them vanished completely.
Gao Han accepted the sword with both hands, his right hand closing firmly around the hilt.
SHING!
The sword slid from its sheath, revealing an orange blade lined with jagged barbs, just like the fangs of a ferocious crocodile, arranged in neat rows.
The barbs glinted with cold light. Gao Han had no doubt that this blade could tear through any ordinary weapon with effortless ease.
SHING!
He sheathed the sword again and handed it back to Nian Hua, who looked bewildered. "Junior Brother, what is the meaning of this?"
Gao Han smiled faintly. "I am grateful for your kindness, Senior Brother. But this is your cherished sword, and a gentleman does not take what another holds dear. I must decline. If you trust in me, please take it back."
Nian Hua paused for a moment, then nodded firmly. He had failed to trust Gao Han during his fight with Wei Ying, nearly making a grave mistake. This time, he would support him without reservation. "Junior Brother, may fortune favor you."
Gao Han cupped his hands in salute, then blurred and vanished, reappearing on the arena in an instant.
Duan Qianchou glanced at Gao Han with contempt. "What is the point of all this idle chatter? You will have plenty of time to catch up with your companions once you lose. Though…" His expression twisted into a savage snarl, his voice cold as the abyss. "…you will be doing so while lying on the ground."
"Hahaha!" Gao Han knew full well the source of Duan Qianchou's hatred. "I wonder how it felt for you to speak with Duan Lang while he lay crippled?"
Enraged beyond measure, Duan Qianchou unleashed his aura, heavy and imposing as a towering mountain. He surged toward Gao Han, his presence bearing down like a colossal peak.
When he was still a zhang away, he launched himself into the air and slammed his right leg downward toward Gao Han with crushing force.
Gao Han felt as if he stood beneath a falling mountain, the overwhelming aura stealing his breath. He mused inwardly: Truly worthy of the Southern Valley Duan clan—they do possess real prowess.
"Phantom Stride!"
Gao Han's figure vanished in an instant, reappearing beyond the reach of the strike.
BOOM!
Duan Qianchou's right leg slammed into the arena, carving a two-foot-deep imprint into the steel surface.
"Gao Han, is hiding all you can do? You cannot even withstand an ordinary kick from me! Why not surrender quietly, let me cripple your meridians, and run home to whimper?" Duan Qianchou laughed loudly on the stage.
Gao Han's eyes flashed with icy killing intent. "Enough of your noise."
"Roaring Surge!"
A wave of frosty true essence, capable of freezing the very air on the arena, swept toward Duan Qianchou, shattering or icing over every wisp of air in its path.
Seeing Gao Han's incoming palm strike, Duan Qianchou spun his right leg at blistering speed, forming a mountain of leg phantoms to block the frost.
CLANG!
The two forces collided. The frost froze and shattered portions of the leg phantoms, while each shattered phantom weakened the cold energy, until both dissolved into nothingness.
"Earth-Shaking Might! Mountain Stream!"
No sooner had the previous techniques faded than Gao Han struck out with two palms in quick succession, both infused with his soul power, amplifying their might considerably.
Earth-Shaking Might, in particular, shattered the surrounding air into fragments, creating patchworks of vacuum across the arena.
"Ghost Mountain Four Flashes!"
Duan Qianchou saw the overwhelming power of the palm strike and knew it could not be countered without his full strength. He unleashed the Ghost Mountain Four Flashes without hesitation, this time launching all four kicks at once—its power even greater than when he had fought Jian Qingtian.
Four pale white mountain phantoms merged into one, with writhing, ghastly figures shifting across its surface, their forms twisted and ferocious. As the mountain manifested, a bitter wind howled, and mournful wails echoed throughout the arena.
Many low-cultivation disciples paled instantly; some even spat up blood and collapsed unconscious.
BOOM!
The vibrating palm force slammed into the mountain phantom. Many of the ghostly figures were shattered, while more were frozen solid by the bone-piercing frost. Then, with a violent tremor from the palm strike, they cracked apart along with the ice and vanished into thin air.
For all its power, however, the palm force was alone, unable to shatter the combined phantom of the four ghost mountains. Its strength gradually waned, its vibrations growing weaker.
At that moment, Gao Han's Mountain Stream arrived. Perhaps due to the shared infusion of soul power, the two forces fused in mid-air in a strange, unprecedented union, birthing an entirely new technique.
Empowered by Mountain Stream, the palm force of Earth-Shaking Might did not fade—it grew stronger, its vibrations intensifying until they split the arena with cracks, shaking the entire steel platform as if an earthquake had struck.
Beneath the arena, You Canghai, who had sustained the protective barrier with only one-tenth of his power, felt the violent tremors. His expression shifted, for the force shook the barrier violently, threatening to shatter it. He was forced to channel an additional half-tenth of his power to hold it steady.
You Canghai stared at Gao Han in astonishment. This young man at the first layer of True Essence had surprised him time and again. His power had nearly broken through a barrier sustained by one-tenth of his strength—it seemed he had grown even stronger after yesterday's battle.
If the boy entered his Berserk Self Realm again, You Canghai mused, one-tenth of his power would no longer be enough to subdue him.
Of course, the one-tenth power he referred to did not include his soul power or momentum. Otherwise, Gao Han would not withstand even a twentieth of his strength.
An unyielding martial spirit, the ability to battle beyond his realm, mastery of soul power, terrifying strength, a Berserk Self Realm bordering on the Selfless Realm, and above all, frost that could freeze all things… all of this drew You Canghai's rapt attention.
The might of the two fused palms astonished not only You Canghai but Gao Han himself. He had never imagined the two techniques could merge—it had been a complete accident.
The frost on the palm force gradually froze the pale mountain phantom, along with the snarling ghostly figures upon it, trapping them motionless.
BOOM!
A deafening boom erupted, like a firecracker of colossal scale. The frozen mountain phantom shattered into pieces like glass under the vibrating palm force.
The palm strike continued surging toward Duan Qianchou, its combined power even surpassing Gao Han's Mountain-Soaring Grandeur infused with soul power. It had become his strongest technique yet.
Great power came at a great cost, however.
This single strike had consumed a full thirty percent of Gao Han's true essence. The sudden depletion left his body feeling weak and hollow.
Gao Han resolved to uncover the secret of this unexpected fusion, and turn it into a permanent technique of his own.
It was no longer fitting to call it Earth-Shaking Might or Mountain Stream. And so he gave it a new name: Mountain-Rending Strike.
For the power of this palm was enough to split mountains asunder.