Though the Mountain-Rending Strike had taken form, Gao Han knew the technique still demanded meticulous refinement. Its fusion had been a pure accident; only when he could command it at will would it become his genuine trump card.
Until then, it could not serve as his hidden ace, for it bore critical flaws. Most notably, the window before Earth-Shaking Might and Mountain Stream merged was its greatest weakness. Should an opponent's power shatter Earth-Shaking Might in a single blow, Mountain-Rending Strike would collapse on its own.
This unexpected fusion ignited a spark of inspiration in Gao Han. If these two palm arts could intertwine, he wondered, might his ultimate technique, Mountain-Soaring Grandeur, be woven into the mix as well? The resulting strike would become his most devastating move by far.
Facing the surging, ferocious palm force, Duan Qianchou remained eerily composed. His voice steady, he declared, "Gao Han, you are truly formidable—I confess I misjudged you. But you err if you believe this alone can defeat me."
"First Kick: Spring Thunder's Stir!"
As he spoke, Duan Qianchou launched himself high into the air and snapped his right leg toward Gao Han. The gale of his kick tore through the air, crackling like rolling spring thunder, its momentum breathtakingly overwhelming.
The moment the kick landed, spectators with weaker cultivations clamped their hands over their ears, barely escaping grievous harm.
At the highest tier of the stands, Jian Wuxiang narrowed his eyes. "This is not your Duan clan's Mountain-Breaking Kick, is it?"
Duan Muhua let out a cold, disdainful smile. "Of course not. This is the Duan clan's Mortal-Rank secret art: Four Seasons Thunder. Had Qianchou unleashed this against your grandson Jian Qingtian earlier, the Duan clan would stand victorious today."
He then cast a contemptuous glance at Gao Han. "As for him—he will be crippled, without question."
The proclamation sent shockwaves rippling through the entire arena.
What defined a secret art? By its very nature, it was a closely guarded martial technique of unparalleled power, the very core of a faction's heritage.
Thus far, only Fire Cloud Manor, a seven-star powerhouse of the Spirit Kingdom, had held a Mortal-Rank secret art: the Fire Dragon. It was precisely for this reason that the Misty Sect had always ranked just beneath Fire Cloud Manor.
Yet no one had foreseen that another faction would possess such a treasure. Word of this would surely plunge the Spirit Kingdom into bloodshed and turmoil.
"Damnation! What is the Duan clan scheming?" Li Changtian seethed inwardly. Emerging from seclusion with such earth-shaking news—were they bent on roiling the stagnant waters of the Spirit Kingdom?
Mystic-Rank arts could not be wielded to their full potential by True Essence cultivators, but secret arts were a different matter entirely. They amplified the offensive power of any practitioner, and even a Mortal-Rank secret art could prove devastating against Spirit Fusion experts—treasures that would stir envy in even the mightiest of such warriors.
At the mention of a secret art, Hu Zi, Lu Shuang and the others stared in stunned disbelief at Duan Qianchou on the arena. A fierce, greedy light blazed in their eyes, their minds swirling with dangerous thoughts.
Not only Lu Shuang, but Hu Zi and Zheng Xiao too hid undisguised avarice in their gazes; even Zheng Yan and Situ Feng harbored quiet schemes.
Yet the two men soon realized that if Duan Muhua dared speak of it openly, the Duan clan must possess the strength to defend their secret. Prudence urged them to hold back.
Zheng Mufeng glanced questioningly at Situ Wei, who met his gaze in return. The two exchanged a silent, confirming nod, abandoning any thought of seizing the Four Seasons Thunder and settling back to watch the battle below.
Ma Liang had stood to the side with a dark expression, certain he would face death upon returning to Fire Cloud Manor after Wensiren's injuries, his future hanging by a thread.
At Duan Muhua's words, his eyes lit up with hope.
If he reported this news to Manor Master Huo Liantian, he mused, his crimes might be pardoned—and he might even rise in rank.
Fire Cloud Manor was not dominated solely by the Wen clan; he could pledge his loyalty to the manor master instead.
After all, even mighty Fire Cloud Manor held only one Mortal-Rank secret art. With this intelligence, he would be not guilty, but meritorious.
His heart racing with urgency to depart, Ma Liang cupped his hands toward Jian Wuxiang and the other elders. "Honored sirs, as Fire Cloud Manor has no further stake in this tournament, I shall take my leave."
The ten elders cared nothing for a mere True Essence cultivator and ignored him entirely. Ma Liang's face flushed with embarrassment; he fled the arena at once, fuming inwardly: You will all regret this!
In a tavern beyond the arena, an elderly man named Lin narrowed his eyes with a cold glint. "A secret art… it is actually a secret art."
The four men beside him shot to their feet, their auras threatening to break free of restraint. The elder waved a hand, and their suppressed power receded at once.
From the fleeting fluctuations of their aura, the middle-aged beauty and a scholarly man were Spirit Fusion experts, their qi unstable—signs they had recently broken through. The other two were peak True Essence masters, immensely powerful and on the cusp of their own breakthroughs.
The elder shook his head. "If he dares speak of it here, the secret art is surely not on his person. You must understand—the true ruler of the Duan clan is not Duan Muhua, but the old monster behind him."
"But we cannot let such an opportunity slip! Myriad Sword Sect only holds three secret arts ourselves!" the middle-aged beauty exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement.
The elder chuckled softly. "The battle below is most intriguing. Why not stay and watch the show unfold?"
The scholarly man suppressed his eagerness and frowned in confusion. "It is merely a skirmish between two True Essence youths. What is there to see? Duan Qianchou wields a secret art—that boy Gao Han is doomed. The outcome is already decided."
The elder smiled faintly. "It is not so simple as you think. That boy Gao Han is fascinating. A mere first-layer True Essence cultivator who has fought his way to this stage—I wish to see where his limits lie. Say no more. Watch closely."
He silenced the others, fixing his full attention on the arena. None of the Spirit Fusion experts nearby had sensed the auras of these five, a clear sign that Elder Lin's cultivation was far deeper than it appeared.
Duan Qianchou's kick crashed into Gao Han's palm force with world-shattering momentum, its overwhelming power shredding the frost energy bit by bit until it dissipated into thin air.
Yet Gao Han's true essence coated Duan Qianchou's leg in a thin layer of ice, which thickened rapidly, slowing his strike to a laborious crawl.
"Second Kick: Summer Thunder's Fury!"
The aura around Duan Qianchou's leg shifted at once. If the first kick had weighed heavy on the heart, this one struck pure terror into all who beheld it.
Crack!
The ice encasing Duan Qianchou's leg shattered in an explosive burst, a deafening peal like a thunderclap splitting the sky. The kick tore through countless layers of air, roaring like a storm across the arena.
When leg and palm force collided, the sound was deafening. Spectators who had covered their ears felt blood trickle through their fingers, and many more collapsed unconscious.
At last, Gao Han's palm force was overwhelmed and shattered completely.
"Mountain-Soaring Grandeur!"
The momentum of heaven and earth converged into Gao Han's right palm. With a single strike, a colossal ice hand nearly forty feet across materialized, radiating bitter frost that froze the very air.
Even the thunderous aura around Duan Qianchou's leg dimmed, as if the air had grown thick and resistant, no longer fragile and easily torn.
The giant ice hand clawed viciously toward Duan Qianchou mid-air, its massive fingers curling inward as Gao Han clenched his fist. Yet it halted ten feet away from him, unable to advance an inch.
Duan Qianchou's leg had unleashed a forcefield that held the ice hand at bay.
Duan Qianchou suffered greatly nonetheless. The air around him had turned as unyielding as steel, crushing inward, while the bitter cold threatened to freeze his body solid. The true essence in his meridians slowed to a sluggish crawl, numbed by the frost.
"This cannot go on. I must unleash my final technique," Duan Qianchou thought grimly. He had believed Summer Thunder's Fury would hold off the ice palm, but the effort of shattering the Mountain-Rending Strike had sapped its power, leaving him barely able to resist.
"Third Kick: Autumn Thunder's Sorrow!" Crackle!
Duan Qianchou gritted his teeth and lashed out with all his might. A faint sound erupted from within the giant ice hand, which spiderwebbed with cracks before shattering into shards across the arena.
Duan Qianchou's figure emerged as the ice dispersed, the air no longer trapped and heavy. The full terror of his kick was laid bare.
A wave of overwhelming sorrow crashed over Gao Han's heart. He recalled five years of scorn, the mocking words, the disdainful glares.
His chest felt crushed beneath a ten-thousand-catty boulder, agony and unspoken grievance threatening to burst forth.
Gao Han jolted back to his senses, stunned. "This technique is monstrous—it can twist one's state of mind."
"Hahaha! Gao Han, what else have you got? You are dead!" Duan Qianchou roared with laughter mid-air. Gao Han's bizarre sword art had been worrisome, but the boy held no sword now.
Even if he had, it would not matter. Duan Qianchou wore mid-grade leg guards, and the power of his kick could shatter any ordinary low-grade sword.
He thanked his luck that Gao Han had refused Nian Hua's Crocodile Tooth sword.
He never imagined Gao Han might wield a mid-grade weapon. Such swords cost upwards of five million taels of silver, and even if one possessed it, keeping it safe was another matter entirely.
For a first-layer True Essence cultivator to wield a mid-grade sword was unthinkable. Most who carried mid-grade weapons here had borrowed them from masters or uncles.
Only he and Jian Qingtian possessed mid-grade weapons as family heirlooms, not loans.
Five million taels was no trivial sum even for great factions; none would lavish such wealth on a mere third-layer True Essence disciple.
Shing!
The clear ring of a sword being unsheathed cut through the air. A flash of cerulean light blazed forth, so vivid it outshone the very sky itself.
The light streaked forward, piercing Duan Qianchou's right leg in an instant. The arena fell deathly silent, frozen like a painting.
Gao Han held a sword of deep cyan-blue, as vivid as the ocean and as bright as the sky. He held it slanted before him, a three-foot-deep sword mark cutting straight from his position to Duan Qianchou, lined with a thick layer of ice.
Duan Qianchou hung mid-air, his aura coiled around his leg—until a frigid sword qi sliced toward it, cutting through the energy as a red-hot knife cuts through butter.
The aura split apart and faded, leaving a clear gash on his mid-grade leg guard.
The guard had not shattered, but the force of the strike had bruised his leg badly, blood streaming down his calf.
The unrelenting frost slipped past his defenses, surging up his meridians toward his mind. Though the sword's sharpness had been blocked by the leg guard, failing to breach his soul's protections, the cold still ate away at his consciousness.
In the moment before darkness claimed him, Duan Qianchou mumbled three words: "Mid-grade… treasure…"
He fell from the air, caught mid-plunge by the rushing Duan Muhua.
This was the Luoyu Sword, a weapon Gao Han had never before revealed. Though his first-layer True Essence could not fully command the blade, its power remained terrifying.
By all signs, it was a high-grade mid-tier spiritual weapon—else it could never have left a gash in another mid-grade leg guard.