Chapter 413 – Opening the Heavenly Eye, The Truth Behind The Ancient Ghost Street - Part 1

Lu Xuanxian’s combat read 5,670~61,084 (???~122,169?).

Right now, though, the ghost Lu Xuanxian sat squarely at 122,169.

He was almost certainly the heroic soul bound to the Emperor’s legendary sword, the guardian who appeared whenever the Son of Heaven’s life was in danger.

Unfortunately for him, the opponent was Li Yuan, who was also a genuine monster.

It was impossible for Lu Xuanxian to face off against Li Yuan and also hope to protect the Emperor’s life.

Had Li Yuan not shown up, no matter how many fourth rank assassins the world produced, Lu Xuanxian would have swatted them away.

Li Yuan’s own combat power was 4,530~104,572. On paper, he fell short of the ghost.

Yet what Li Yuan needed right now was a proper battle, one fierce enough to fuse his ancestral seal with his Yang flame and push him into fourth rank.

Lu Xuanxian could not have arrived at a better moment.

In the last two years, Li Yuan had also honed his soul and blended it with Yin Qi, giving him a razor-sharp feel for the flow of energy. He could read an opponent’s move, their strength—everything—and use the lightest touch to fell an enemy far stronger than himself.

That subtle power let Li Yuan topple the seventh rank rider of Ocean Province’s armored cavalry, and with the strength of an ordinary sixth rank fight a fifth rank battle maniac like Xie Feng to a standstill.

If there ever were such a thing, it would definitely be called soft power.

However, who exactly was Lu Xuanxian? If Li Yuan was right, he was the man who, a thousand years ago, kept the mortal realm under his heel—the undisputed number-one of his era, the Martial God who browbeat an entire generation.

A Martial God was master of every martial art, He could copy a skill the instant an opponent used it, beating them with their own style. His battle lust was blazing, and his arrogance was unmatched.

With pure skill, Li Yuan could crush the Ocean Province armored cavalry, and he could crush Xie Feng. But could anyone crash a Martial God?

No one knew.

Li Yuan’s clash with Lu Xuanxian moments ago lasted only a heartbeat, yet that single heartbeat was brutal beyond words.

So, what would happen if the two truly fought to a finish?

At Li Yuan’s neck, countless tiny buds of flesh writhed and sprouted, knitting a new head.

Beneath the ghost Lu Xuanxian’s sternum, the same was happening,

That said, Li Yuan was healing a shade faster.

An idea flashed through Li Yuan’s mind. He gripped his blade, vanished like a wisp of smoke, and left the vicinity of Dawn Manor behind.

The ghost, unconcerned with battlefields, drifted after him. For a fourth rank being, missing a head or a leg scarcely affected movement or sight. It merely put him in a less-than-ideal fighting mood.

One ahead, one behind, they soon reached a primeval forest devoid of all life.

The ghost’s abdomen was almost rebuilt. Snow-white ribs were knitting together, and below them cords of flesh like long earthworms puffed outward, weaving and twining back in.

Li Yuan’s skull had already grown back, though strips of raw flesh still coiled around it, making him look like a skeleton wearing a half-finished mask of meat.

The pair seemed grievously injured, yet for beings of their level it was no worse than a paper cut on an ordinary man’s hand.

“Here, then?” Lu Xuanxian asked. “Any farther and we’ll bump into a decent-sized ghost domain.”

“Here is fine,” Li Yuan replied.

They left it at that, no small talk, no bravado. Each was quietly looking forward to the coming clash. The loneliness of a thousand-year-old number-one meeting the fresh hunger of a man on the brink of a breakthrough. The Emperor who should have been the main reason for their feud was now little more than the spark that lit the fuse.

Lu Xuanxian did not waste breath on a cliche line like,

How dare you slay your sovereign!

Li Yuan felt no urge to ask,

Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here?

Such questions were pointless between monsters who spoke a purer language—combat.

“Shall we start with pure skill?” Lu Xuanxian suddenly suggested. “Cap the strength at seventh rank?”

Li Yuan answered with action, raising his blade and pulling his force inward. Held in check, he was seventh rank; one real swing would let the tranquil sea break into dragon’s breath.

Lu Xuanxian twirled his halberd a couple of times, loose and easy.

Neither man sprinted nor lunged. They strolled toward each other as though meeting for.

Lu Xuanxian was gliding in mid-air, and Li Yuan strode on the ground.

In the next instant, steel kissed steel, and blade met halberd.

Li Yuan’s slashes were feather-light; Lu Xuanxian’s halberd was blindingly fast. Each of the grand general’s strikes sank into fluff, each of Li Yuan’s counters met an unbreakable guard. From a distance the two looked like demons with too many arms, their limbs painting after-images across the sky.

It looked like speed, but it was the summit of skill, maintaining flawless form at impossible tempo. Anyone else on this continent would last no time at all against either man. For them, it was merely a warm-up, muscles loosening while severed flesh knitted itself whole.

Lu Xuanxian assumed they would spar like this until both bodies were fully rebuilt, then escalate. He assumed wrong.

Li Yuan’s head was still a bleached skull when, mid-swing, he warned almost politely, “I’m going all in now.”

And then he did.

The blade flashed; Dragon’s Breath roared. Wide, ruthless arcs erupted into searing crimson shockwaves that tore outward in every direction.

Lu Xuanxian’s halberd flared open to block two such waves, then he was forced back, heels skimming the ground.

Dragon’s Breath could be parried, yes, but only if one poured every ounce of focus into defense. In that instant, it was not the greatest threat. The real danger lay in whatever Li Yuan chose to follow it with, now that he was done waiting.

Unless Li Yuan pulled off another suicidal trade like the one a moment ago, Dragon’s Breath alone would never crack that wall of defense.

No sooner had Li Yuan launched his attack than Lu Xuanxian struck a dramatic opening pose. His ink-black hair flared behind him, and he bared his fangs in a savage grin that promised carnage.

Li Yuan had fought Qin Hancheng previously. He knew it was possible to manifest a

scene

by planting a Yin-Yang seed inside a domain.

If someone like Qing Hancheng could do it, surely the Martial God could as well.

Lu Xuanxian could indeed. Even as that thought flickered across Li Yuan’s mind, a desolate battlefield unfolded within a 300-meter radius of the man. There were broken blades, spears, swords, and pikes stabbed into the ground at crazy angles, and shattered shields and pieces of armor strewn about like dried leaves.

Every weapon was chipped, every edge rusty brown.

In Lu Xuanxian’s pupils swam countless little white shadows, tadpole-shaped and frantic. These were flickers of soul energy much like Li Yuan’s own but far weaker, reminiscent of Qing Hancheng’s Wither Growth Sword.

A heartbeat later, Lu Xuanxian dipped his halberd.

The graveyard of arms answered as one.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Blades, shafts, and spearheads shot skyward, orbiting Lu Xuanxian like a constellation before sweeping behind his back.

Clack, clack, clack!

There they clicked together and spun, weaving ring after ring of weapons as thick and ancient as the growth rings of a giant tree.

Each ring spanned hundreds of feet, turning ponderously, radiating a weight that dwarfed both duelists until they seemed no bigger than ants.

And every single weapon in those rings carried the full force of a normal strike from Lu Xuanxian. If unleashed at once, it would be as though hundreds if not thousands of Lu Xuanxians struck together. Not even a six-armed, three-headed Li Yuan could survive that.

But Li Yuan had not been idle. The moment the battlefield appeared, he began the move he had wanted to use outside the Xie residence in Brightmoon Prefecture but had ultimately shelved.

Li Yuan had hesitated at that time. Now, though, the enemy was right at his doorstep. His heart was set.

Previously, he’d tried to draw on the Yin energy from the General’s Temple. The ghost of the general refused, so Li Yuan withdrew to avoid a clash.

Today, Li Yuan wanted to borrow Yan Yu’s Yin energy instead.

Would she mind? Li Yuan never doubted her. Deep beneath the vast earth, in beds of ancient soil, a colossal reservoir of Yin energy linked this place to the distant black market ghost domain. Richer even than that of the blood red General’s Temple’s, it awaited his call.

With a single thought, Li Yuan used that single wisp of Yan Yu’s essence as a hook and began hauling the underground torrent toward him.

He had rehearsed this moment in his mind, and within secluded cultivation, more times than he could count.

The Taiji diagram, the twin fishes of Yin and Yang, flashed across his inner vision.

The Yang flame roared inside his heart, and the wish of Yin energy crowned his very soul.

From the depths, the dark energy spiraled up, sculpting his soul the way a master carver coaxed form from wood, madly enlarging every obsession, every specialty that made Li Yuan who he was.