Chapter Thirty-Eight: Survival in the Cracks

The sky was filled with colossal swords, and everywhere were the shadows of Su Yizhao. Thirty thousand cultivators watched in utter silence. One by one, the giant swords vanished, the shadows shattered. After the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, all was still.

Su Yizhao’s face was pale; the body cultivator’s gaze was grave.
“Now, am I qualified to join the melee?” Su Yizhao’s chest rose and fell with exertion; two of his silver flying swords lay broken.
Superior-grade mystical weapons, destroyed just like that.
He had no time to mourn them; the four remaining swords hovered before him, forming a canopy. Yet the silver light was far thinner now.

“Excellent!” The soul cultivator beside him was equally solemn—not because of Su Yizhao’s strength, but his potential.
A cultivator at the Five Divine Realm, able to fight a Body cultivator at the Meridian Realm for an incense stick’s time—such potential could not be underestimated.

Xuan Wujie’s regret deepened in his eyes.

No sooner had the soul cultivator uttered his approval than a ripple in the empty air struck toward Su Yizhao’s forehead.
A soul attack, even harder to guard against.

With a hum, the silver canopy spun faster, swords slicing rapidly.
“Break through like a blade through bamboo!” the soul cultivator shouted, unmoving.

Su Yizhao darted aside, cursing inwardly.
Was this a melee?
It was more like a trial by fire!

Fortunately, the body cultivator raised his giant sword and swung fiercely at the soul cultivator.

At last, the three-way battle began.

Su Yizhao scrambled and flew, barely evading the soul cultivator’s attacks. The body and soul cultivators finally faced each other head-on.

But even so, Su Yizhao found no respite.
If anything, his plight grew worse.

Within a thirty-zhang radius, the field was awash with giant swords and shimmering ripples.
He had to fend off sword strikes one moment, soul attacks the next—one slip and he would die.

Thirty thousand cultivators watched, dumbfounded.
Even Xuan Wujie was stunned.

“Mastered Ice Shield, Mastered Leap, Mastered Fireball...!”

A thunderous crash—
A giant sword struck the four- to five-zhang thick ice shield, scattering shards.
Su Yizhao spat blood, his hands forming rapid seals, shadows trailing behind him.

“All master-level spells—what kind of talent is this boy?” Xuan Wujie marveled.

The body and soul cultivators fought with true ferocity, each move stirring waves like crashing tides.
Su Yizhao darted about like a tiny shrimp in the depths of the sea—dodging whenever possible, never taking soul attacks head-on if he could withstand the body cultivator’s giant sword.

Gradually, the two focused on each other, forgetting Su Yizhao’s presence, unleashing their ultimate techniques.

The attention of the thirty thousand spectators shifted away from him.

After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the two combatants paused, gazing at each other intently.

Su Yizhao flickered into view, his face pale, mystical energy depleted, barely able to keep himself aloft.

The silver canopy was long dispersed.

To survive a desperate clash among Six Divine Realm cultivators was a miracle; his exhaustion was only natural.

The three, as if by tacit agreement, returned to their original positions.

As Su Yizhao appeared, thirty thousand pupils contracted sharply.

The body and soul cultivators were battered and gasping for breath.

Yet Su Yizhao bore not a single wound.

How could this be?
Even if his mystical energy was spent, being unharmed was anything but normal!

Neither cultivator spared him a glance, both shouting in unison: “Mountain-Cleaving Slash!” “Soul Pierce!”

Opportunity!

Su Yizhao had never attacked first, but that did not mean he lacked the courage.
His previous misdirections had created just the opening he needed.

And it was enough.

With a thought, spiritual energy erupted from his dantian.

Four streaks of silver flashed—two toward the body cultivator, two toward the soul cultivator.

At that moment, a giant sword pressed above the soul cultivator’s head, the invisible soul pierce hovered over the body cultivator’s forehead.

A fight to the death, both sides risking ruin.

They knew: survive this blow, and they would win; fail, and they would die.

The body cultivator’s eyes widened, swinging his sword at the void’s ripple.

The soul cultivator’s face turned ashen, eyes fixed on the giant sword, pouring all his soul power onto its blade.

The hearts of thirty thousand cultivators seemed to stop.

Just then, four silver flashes appeared.

Under the sunlight, they shone more brilliantly than ever.

Brilliant indeed!

That was the first thought of thirty thousand spectators.

Suddenly, they realized—something was wrong!

Why was there silver light?

Flying swords—silver flying swords!

It was him!

Two sounds of swords piercing flesh rang out.

Blood spurted instantly from the right eye of both cultivators.

Agonizing pain!

With a swift motion and a scream, the giant sword cleaved down, slicing the soul cultivator in half.

The ripple pierced the body cultivator’s forehead, and he toppled over.

All four silver swords soared back, and Su Yizhao turned, flying slowly toward Xuan Wujie.

At the critical moment, his flying swords had pierced both right eyes.

Taken by surprise, the two lost focus for a split second—enough for their attacks to land on each other.

In a heartbeat, the scene spun out of control.

Thirty thousand cultivators stirred in agitation.

When Su Yizhao returned, the disciples of the Mystic Battle Hall parted automatically, no command needed, opening a path for him.

He flew slowly—not by choice, but because he was utterly spent.

His spiritual energy was nearly gone, his mind exhausted.

Only his unyielding willpower kept him going.

Though he was frail, his posture remained upright.

This battle would greatly temper his mind.

Once he recovered, he would surely grow stronger still.

“Brother Yizhao!” Li Xiumoon rushed to his side, supporting him, stuffing pills into his mouth.

Su Yizhao felt darkness close in, and fainted in her arms.

He did not know how much time passed before he was enveloped by a delicate fragrance—the scent unique to Li Xiumoon.

He realized his head rested on something soft—two gentle mounds, shifting slightly beneath him.

“Brother Yizhao!” A blush bloomed on Li Xiumoon’s exquisite face, the sensation in her chest making her squirm.

The land of tenderness—a hero’s grave!

Su Yizhao dared not linger, opening his eyes and weakly asking, “How long has it been?”

“You’re awake?” Li Xiumoon’s excitement was palpable, but she quickly composed herself, pushing him upright.

He glanced at her disheveled robe, the undulating curves beneath it—regretting not waking later.

“Just now—how long have I been out?”

“Three hours!”

“What?” Su Yizhao immediately sat cross-legged, urgently declaring, “I must begin cultivation!”

Tomorrow, he would be the host again; the two sects’ cultivators were no fools. Today’s scheme would not succeed a second time.

Perhaps, tomorrow, the two sects would unite and try to kill him first.

Li Xiumoon’s brows knitted, her eyes full of concern.

A Five Divine Realm cultivator facing two at the Six Divine Realm.

He truly had it tough!

“Where is the Sect Leader? I have conditions to propose!” Su Yizhao looked to the cave entrance; the Mystic Battle Hall disciples had withdrawn, no longer monitoring him.

“You can propose any conditions you wish!” came Xuan Wujie’s voice, startlingly close.

So near?

Li Xiumoon’s fair face blushed once more...