Inside the elegant carriage, tension hung thick in the air as the sounds of battle raged outside. A young woman dressed in fine silks peered anxiously through a small gap in the curtained window, her delicate features tight with worry. "Mei-Ling, get away from there!" her attendant whispered urgently, pulling at her mistress's sleeve. "If they see you watching, it will only draw their attention!"
"I need to know what's happening, Shu," the young woman replied, though she did allow herself to be drawn back slightly from the window. "All our guards... I heard Chen fall just moments ago. Who is that man fighting for us? He doesn't wear our family colors.
"The attendant shook her head, her own face pale with fear. "Young Mistress, I don't know. Perhaps a cultivator from another family? But he doesn't appear to be anyone from the Zhao clan—I would recognize their insignia.
"Outside, oblivious to the whispered conversation within the carriage, Gù Tiānháo and the scarred bandit leader circled each other warily, each assessing the other's movements with the focused intensity of experienced combatants. The bandit leader's earlier bravado had given way to a more cautious approach as he recognized that his opponent, despite being at a lower cultivation level, had dispatched six of his men with disturbing efficiency. His crimson Qi continued to swirl around him, occasionally forming into claw-like projections that betrayed the demonic nature of his cultivation technique.
"You have some skill," the bandit leader acknowledged, his eyes never leaving Tiānháo's form. "But skill alone won't save you from superior power. Let me show you the difference between the 4th and 5th Levels of Body Refinement.
" With that declaration, he suddenly lunged forward, his right hand forming a claw shape as he executed a technique. "Blood Rending Claw!" he snarled, his fingers leaving trails of crimson energy in the air.
Tiānháo recognized the danger immediately—the technique was designed to tear through defensive Qi and directly damage the target's meridians. Rather than attempting to block, he activated the Shadow Steps, his form blurring as he moved laterally with supernatural speed. The bandit leader's attack missed by mere inches, the crimson energy claws slicing through the space Tiānháo had occupied a heartbeat earlier. Without pausing, Tiānháo countered with the Wind Palm, discharging a concentrated burst of Qi toward his opponent's flank.
The bandit leader twisted with surprising agility, his left arm coming up to deflect the Wind Palm with a swirling shield of crimson energy. The two techniques collided with a thunderous crack, sending ripples of displaced Qi outward that flattened the grass in a three-pace radius. "Not bad," the bandit leader grunted, showing no sign of strain from the exchange. "But merely defensive movements won't win this fight. You'll tire long before I do.
"He was right, and Tiānháo knew it. Despite his efficient meridian network, he was still at a disadvantage in terms of raw power and endurance against a cultivator who had stabilized at the 5th Level. He needed to find an opening, a weakness he could exploit before fatigue began to affect his performance. Maintaining his outward calm, Tiānháo shifted his stance slightly, preparing for his next move.
The bandit leader attacked again, this time with a different technique. "Crimson Serpent Strike!" he called, his Qi forming into a snake-like projection that shot toward Tiānháo with frightening speed. The technique was more versatile than the previous one, the energy serpent changing direction mid-air as it pursued its target. Tiānháo dodged the initial thrust but found the serpent curving to follow him, its jaws open in a silent hiss.
Recognizing that pure evasion wouldn't work against this technique, Tiānháo changed tactics. He abruptly reversed direction, charging directly toward the energy construct with his hunting knife infused with Qi. As the serpent lunged for him, he slashed through its midsection with a precisely timed cut, disrupting the energy pattern that maintained its form. The technique collapsed in a shower of crimson sparks, but Tiānháo had no time to appreciate his success—the bandit leader had used the distraction to close the distance between them, his fist already driving toward Tiānháo's chest.
Tiānháo barely managed to bring his arms up in a defensive cross, channeling Qi to reinforce the block. Even so, the impact was tremendous, sending him skidding backward several paces, his feet carving furrows in the dirt. The bandit leader pressed his advantage, following up with a flurry of strikes, each enhanced with that corrupted crimson Qi. Tiānháo defended as best he could, blocking some blows, dodging others, but unable to find an opening for a meaningful counter.
"What's wrong, boy?" the bandit leader taunted as he drove Tiānháo further back with each exchange. "Where's that confidence now? You're outmatched and you know it.
" His next punch broke through Tiānháo's guard, landing solidly on his shoulder and sending a jolt of corrupted Qi through his meridians. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, as the foreign energy attempted to disrupt his Qi circulation.
Tiānháo grimaced but maintained his focus, using the Nine Cycles technique to rapidly purge the invasive energy before it could cause lasting damage. The momentary distraction cost him, however, as the bandit leader landed another solid hit, this one to his ribs. Tiānháo felt something crack, a sharp pain lancing through his side with each breath. He was being pushed to his limits, and both combatants knew it.
The two remaining guards watched the battle with a mixture of awe and trepidation, knowing they were witnessing a level of combat far beyond their capabilities. One made a move as if to intervene, but his companion held him back. "Don't be a fool," the more experienced guard hissed. "You'll only get in his way—or get yourself killed. Our duty now is to protect the Young Mistress if both of them fall.
"Inside the carriage, the young noblewoman continued to watch through the narrow gap in the curtains, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the window. "He's losing," she whispered, distress evident in her voice. "That bandit is too strong for him. We should have stayed in the city with the full escort, as Father advised.
"Young Mistress, please move away from the window," her attendant pleaded again. "If the worst happens, we must be ready to use the emergency talisman. Your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you.
"Back on the battlefield, Tiānháo found himself pushed to the defensive, each exchange leaving him more battered than the last. The bandit leader's superior cultivation was telling, his attacks growing stronger rather than weaker as the fight progressed. It was as if he drew energy from the conflict itself, his corrupted Qi feeding on the violence—another characteristic of certain demonic cultivation techniques.
"I'm going to enjoy this," the bandit leader growled, his eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation as he sensed victory approaching. "Not many give me a real fight these days. As a reward for your effort, I'll make your death quick... after I break every major bone in your body.
" He launched another attack, this one a spinning kick enhanced with crimson Qi that caught Tiānháo in the chest despite his attempt to dodge.
The impact sent Tiānháo flying backward, his body crashing into a tree trunk with enough force to crack the bark. He slumped to the ground, momentarily stunned, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The bandit leader approached slowly, savoring his apparent victory, crimson energy gathering around his right hand in preparation for a finishing blow.
"Any last words, boy?" he asked, standing over Tiānháo's crumpled form. "A name, perhaps? I like to know who I've killed, especially when they've provided such entertainment.
"Tiānháo raised his head slowly, his eyes meeting the bandit leader's without fear or resignation. Instead, there was calculation in that gaze, and something else—a cold determination that gave the bandit leader momentary pause. "You're right," Tiānháo said, his voice steady despite his injuries. I haven't shown my full abilities yet.
"The bandit leader's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Empty boasts from a defeated opponent. Pathetic.
He raised his hand, crimson energy coalescing into a deadly point. Die with some dignity at least.
Not boasts," Tiānháo replied, his own Qi beginning to surge in a pattern the bandit leader hadn't seen before. "Observation. You rely too heavily on your cultivation level advantage, neglecting fundamental combat principles. Your stance is flawed—too much weight on your right foot. Your meridians show signs of instability from your corrupted cultivation method. And most importantly—" he paused, his Qi suddenly concentrating in his right fist in a dense, swirling pattern, "—you talk too much.
With that final statement, Tiānháo exploded into motion, driving upward from his seemingly defeated position with startling speed. His right fist, now glowing with concentrated Qi, drove toward the bandit leader's chest in a technique he had been saving—the Mountain Shaking Fist, the fourth and most powerful movement of the Divergent Fist. It was a technique he had not yet fully mastered, one that strained his control and meridians to their limits, but in this moment of desperation, it was his best hope.
The bandit leader, caught off guard by Tiānháo's sudden resurgence, attempted to counter with his own technique. "Furious Tiger Fist!" he roared, his crimson Qi forming the spectral image of a tiger's head around his descending fist. The two techniques collided with catastrophic force, creating a shockwave that rippled outward in all directions. A cloud of dust and debris exploded around the combatants, obscuring them from view, while the very ground beneath them cracked from the pressure of their clashing energies.
For a moment, silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the nervous stamping of the carriage horses and the labored breathing of the wounded guards. The dust hung in the air like a shroud, concealing the outcome of that final, desperate exchange. Inside the carriage, the young noblewoman held her breath, her eyes fixed on the slowly settling cloud, waiting to see which of the two combatants would emerge victorious—and whether her fate would be sealed by the outcome.