"What kind of skill is this?"
As Qian Mingxuan was once again sent hurtling backward, the brows of the young talents from various immortal factions furrowed ever more deeply.
"Could it be some kind of mental assault?"
"No, that doesn't seem right. His eyes have remained sharp and focused; he's shown no signs of confusion."
"Perhaps he's been poisoned?"
"Impossible. The Saint Body has been purified by the heavens and earth, rendering it impervious to any toxins."
They pondered many possibilities, yet none suspected the true answer lay in the Law of Time, a concept so foreign to them that it was disregarded outright.
"Qian Mingxuan, you've got to put up more of a fight!" someone muttered. "Victory isn't the goal right now; just find out what he's hiding!"
Whether stirred by the expectations of the onlookers or simply unwilling to lose face, Qian Mingxuan emerged from the wall once again, transformed. He still looked disheveled, but now his entire body was enveloped in a holy radiance, a picture of divine sanctity.
"The Law of Light?"
"He's got this under control!" murmured the crowd with renewed confidence.
Even Qian Mingxuan, wielding this divine power, wore a look of supreme confidence. Laws were something only saints could master; deploying one virtually guaranteed his dominance over any half-saint adversary. He had hesitated before, disliking the notion of a saint striking a half-saint, let alone using such a formidable force. Yet he knew that defeat would be an even greater disgrace.
"Young Master Cao, it would be wise to retreat. This is not a blow you can withstand."
Cao Wenbin sneered, his disdain evident. "If I've already embedded you into the wall twice, then I can certainly do it a third time. Go ahead—show me what you're capable of."
Such arrogance!
With his goodwill spurned, Qian Mingxuan said no more, merely extending his right hand. Before him materialized a colossal sword, gleaming with holy power, spanning at least five meters.
"Sword of Judgment, strike!"
In a flash, the holy blade surged forward, powered by all the hopes of those watching. Yet, halfway to its target, its power inexplicably waned, diminishing steadily until, by the time it reached Cao Wenbin, only a shadow of its might remained.
And then—
Boom.
With no suspense, the sword, already hollowed out, shattered under Cao Wenbin's counterstrike.
"Impossible!" Qian Mingxuan was livid. And he wasn't alone; the others looked on in sheer disbelief. None could discern the source of Cao Wenbin's power.
"Again!" someone shouted. "He must reveal his hand after enough attempts!"
Yet what they failed to grasp was that Cao Wenbin, having other matters to attend to, had no intention of giving Qian Mingxuan further chances. With a swift move, he closed the gap and delivered a series of crushing blows.
In truth, Cao Wenbin's grasp of the Law of Time was tenuous at best; he could manage little more than a few seconds' pause or slight reversal. But even a rudimentary mastery of Time could effortlessly overmatch other Laws. And besides, wasn't Qian Mingxuan himself, an early-stage saint, also merely an apprentice to his craft?
When Cao Wenbin finally departed, leaving Qian Mingxuan battered, the would-be hero's breath came shallow, his once-arrogant frame broken, his right arm shattered in multiple places, exposed bone gleaming through the mangled flesh.
"Since you won't choose, I'll decide for you," Cao Wenbin said, closing the door behind him. "May it be to your satisfaction."
The words had barely left his lips when Qian Mingxuan spat blood once more. Just as he struggled to rise, the door swung open again, and there was Cao Wenbin, with Fang Zhihua following close behind.
The sight was innocuous enough; with the matter settled, they were simply leaving. But in that moment, Qian Mingxuan's gaze drifted, catching a glimpse of Fang Zhihua's bare legs.
He froze, heart momentarily seizing.
There was nothing unusual about her legs—perfectly smooth, unadorned. But that very absence filled him with a deep pang of regret. Earlier that day, he had seen her. At that time, she had been wearing silk stockings. But now…
"Cao Wenbin, I will never forgive you!" he roared, unaware that his beloved "goddess" was glaring at him with barely concealed resentment.
"This fool. Useless, utterly useless!" she fumed inwardly. "A single pair of stockings was all it would have taken! Now…"
As her face flushed with frustration, she failed to realize that even without such an incident, Cao Wenbin would hardly have passed up the opportunity.
Later that night.
The moon was dark, and the wind was high.
Yet inside Luo Fancheng's secluded chamber, light flickered, laughter occasionally drifting out into the night.
"Heaven truly smiles upon me!" he muttered. "A drink is in order!"
Staring at the mid-grade imperial artifact in his hands, Luo Fancheng's face was pale, yet his eyes gleamed with exhilaration. Initially, his plan had been to sacrifice only a low-grade artifact—resources were scarce, after all, and he could ill afford to squander them. Yet as soon as he had completed the offering, his system had activated a critical upgrade, turning his sacrifice into a mid-grade artifact.
"If only I could get this lucky every time!" he mused.
But joy often tempts fate. As he reveled in his newfound treasure, a dart carrying a small pouch whizzed past his scalp, embedding itself in the wall.
"Who's there!" he shouted, alert and apprehensive. No one answered, and, weakened as he was, he dared not pursue. Instead, he approached the dart cautiously, inspecting it.
"Hmm, there's something inside…"
Curious, he opened the pouch, his expression shifting from curiosity to barely-contained rage as he beheld its contents.
"No matter who you are or how you acquired this, you must die for it."
"Auntie…"