Chapter 90: Fierce Battle!

With a resounding clang, the first blade of spiritual energy, green as a kingfisher’s feather, crashed violently against the seemingly insubstantial pale blue sigil. Yet the effect it wrought was wholly unexpected.

In the next instant, the Soul Devouring Sigil erupted, shattering the first wind blade, and at the same time a fierce soul shockwave exploded from the collision, sweeping outward. The shockwave hindered the two following blades for a moment, and Cold Moon Sky, who stood not far away and already appeared extremely weakened, was caught off guard. Blood spurted from his lips, his face turned even paler, and the look he cast toward Yang Yan, who sat before him, grew ever more venomous and hate-filled.

But Yang Yan paid him no mind. He hadn’t anticipated that, even after reaching the third level of the Spirit-Sensing Realm, his Soul Devouring Sigil would be shattered by the very first wind blade. From this, it was clear—in those three seemingly unremarkable attacks, what terrifying power was truly concealed?

Yang Yan was certain: if any one of those blows landed on him, the only outcome would be death.

In a blink, the second wind blade arrived. Yang Yan summoned the last ten wisps of blue spiritual energy within his vital sea, driving them rapidly toward his fingertip.

“Go!”

He jabbed out with a finger, blue light flashing at the tip, and a beam of blue as thick as his finger shot forth like lightning, colliding headlong with the second green wind blade.

With a piercing ring, the wind blade struck by the blue beam dimmed noticeably. Yang Yan had chosen his angle well—though the attack did not fully neutralize the second wind blade, it skewed its trajectory, making it no longer a threat to him.

But before he could catch his breath, Yang Yan’s pupils contracted in alarm—the third spiritual wind blade was already upon him, less than a yard away.

Too fast!

The attack came like a bolt of lightning, offering no chance to dodge.

“All or nothing!”

A crazed look surfaced on Yang Yan’s face. He understood that after unleashing such a relentless onslaught, Cold Moon Sky was surely spent. If he could withstand this third strike, victory would be his.

With no further reservation, Yang Yan channeled every last trace of water-aligned spiritual energy into the Moonshadow Frost in his right hand. He swung his arm, the blade pointing straight at the incoming green wind blade.

A sharp clang rang out as the tip of the wind blade collided with the sword’s point, sparks flying. Under the tremendous impact, the blade of Moonshadow Frost bent alarmingly.

The force surged through the sword into Yang Yan’s body. His mind buzzed, his organs roiled, and he vomited a mouthful of blood. His right arm felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer—he could barely hold onto his sword.

He bellowed in pain and fury. He knew that if he lost his grip now, even if he survived, he would be grievously wounded.

His feet scraped backward along the ground, gouging two deep furrows. Gritting his teeth against the dizziness threatening to overcome him, he summoned the last vestiges of his soul power, skillfully channeling it through the sword to create ceaseless ripples that battered against the green wind blade’s wild energy.

Low, muffled booms echoed from the sword’s tip, each wave of spiritual force crashing into the wind blade, sapping its strength. Moonshadow Frost trembled in his hands like a silver serpent, barely holding back the surging power.

Yang Yan had pushed his soul and body to their limits. Only his indomitable will kept him upright.

His desperate efforts bore fruit. The final, most dreadful wind blade dimmed at last, its power nearly spent.

But then disaster struck. Forced back by the wind blade, Yang Yan slammed into a tree. The impact left him dazed, and Moonshadow Frost was knocked away from the clashing blades. The faint wind blade, still charged with lethal energy, shot straight for his chest.

In that instant of peril, Yang Yan twisted aside, and the green blade struck his right shoulder.

A metallic clang rang out—the blade had struck his defensive spirit artifact, Blue Scale Soft Armor. But in the next moment, a searing pain lanced through his shoulder as the wind blade tore through the low-grade armor and pierced his flesh.

Blood spurted forth, but the wind blade’s energy was finally exhausted.

The pain jolted Yang Yan’s fading consciousness back to clarity. At the same time, he sensed a dormant, savage power stirring within his spirit core, threatening to overwhelm his mind with icy, murderous frenzy.

“No—I must not let it take control!”

His eyes bloodshot, Yang Yan gritted his teeth and forced his depleted soul power to suppress the killing intent, regaining command over his body.

Power, he desired, but not at the cost of his reason, not if it meant becoming a soulless killer.

A faint rustle sounded in the woods. Each step, though quiet, struck Cold Moon Sky’s heart like a hammer.

Yang Yan, his clothes torn and soaked in blood, approached like a demon from the abyss. A ghastly wound gushed blood down his right shoulder, dripping onto Moonshadow Frost, dyeing the silver blade crimson. With each step, the sword trailed a streak of scarlet across the ground.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer!”

Cold Moon Sky, seeing Yang Yan’s murderous face draw near, was seized by terror. The earlier use of the so-called Fourfold Spirit-Extinguishing Sword had drained him, and the soul shock from Yang Yan’s exploding sigil had left him utterly spent. Unable to rise, he scrambled backward on hands and knees, all pride and arrogance gone.

Yang Yan was far more formidable than he had ever expected.

The Fourfold Spirit-Extinguishing Sword was the hidden trump card of Jade Sword Pavilion, a low-tier Profound-level technique. Yet its true rarity was not its grade, but the fact that it was a set of sword forms, not just a single strike. Liu Zhengqing’s Piercing Dragon Heartbreaker was a spear technique with one move; compared to the fourfold onslaught of the sword forms, it was a world apart.

Each of the four forms built upon the previous, their power multiplying with each strike. Even a fifth-level Spirit-Sensing cultivator would struggle to withstand such a barrage, and yet Yang Yan, at only the third level, had survived—how could Cold Moon Sky remain calm?

“Yang Yan, as long as you spare me, I’ll agree to anything—Soul Hunt points, the Crimson Refining Cauldron, even the sword technique I used—they can all be yours!”

He finally understood: the youth before him, though of similar age, possessed a killing aura he himself lacked, the mark of one who had truly survived life-and-death struggles. Raised in luxury, Cold Moon Sky was helpless before him, as defenseless as an infant.

If he didn’t placate Yang Yan, he would end up just like Xu Shaoguang, already stricken from the ranks of the top hundred.

“These things will be mine once you’re dead.”

With that, Yang Yan strode up to him, eyes cold. Moonshadow Frost flashed with chilling light as he plunged the blade toward Cold Moon Sky’s chest.