Translator: TheBrokenPen Editor : Dhael Ligerkeys Lu Ye breaking his previous pattern and attacking his opponent right off the bat was something no one expected to happen. At the same time, many amongst the Thousand Demon Ridge side began to wonder if he was losing his composure and rationale at the impending arrival of death… Both challenger and target traded furious blows, their weapons gnashing and gnawing at each other with the same rage and rancor as their owners whenever they met amid the din of their clashes. Hu Ping not only was a Combat Cultivator, but he was also a user of the saber, although his saber was shorter in length, but broader in width—the conventional manner which was how sabers were forged. Hailing from a Tier-Three sect, Hu Ping might not have Lu Ye’s flair in being able to fight enemies beyond his rank, even so, few could match him in both skill and strength. Especially his epic style of fighting which illustrated his preference to overwhelm his opponents through force and momentum. If Lu Ye’s aggressive style paralleled that of a vicious and destructive gale, then his was as violent and fierce as a storm. Yet in this duel against Lu Ye, he discovered that despite being one rank higher, he just couldn’t fully unleash his repertoire of deadliness and force to its fullest. His opponent’s saber might have broken, but Lu Ye’s own strength and speed were not what his like could easily counter. Right after the first few blows they traded, Hu Ping began to realize that he was losing ground. He was gradually being forced backward and the back of his palm was feeling numb and sore every time their weapons collided with each other like the flesh and skin were going to break. He was not fighting a mere Fifth-Order opponent. This was a beast. A raging beast lunging and mauling its claws at him. {What in Heaven’s name is this kind of pressure?!], he thought. With a deafening clank from which another exchange of blows elicited, Hu Ping found himself staggering rearward again. Only this time, not only did the force nearly fling his weapon out of his grasp, but he also nearly fell. He tried to steady himself, but he couldn’t. Planting his foot into something greasy, he slipped. Too many had died in the ring and every one of those predecessors of his who had spilled their blood on Goldentip each had a part in dyeing the crest red, and because of that, Hu Ping, who stepped into the ring for the first time found himself undermined by this. As the cold glint of steel arced dangerously near, Hu Ping desperately tried to keep himself upright while he swung his weapon forth to meet it. Yet before he could parry away the blow, the enemy saber deftly whizzed past his own and pounced straight into him. It was too late for any hopes of defending himself. In a streak of reckless abandon, Hu Ping, who had had his fair share of fighting to the death himself, decided to just return to Lu Ye the favor by veering his saber at Lu Ye’s throat as well. Barely ten seconds had lapsed since the round began, but that did not stop both combatants from trying to turn the heat up and the crowds were thrilled. Unfazed, Hu Ping had little fear in Lu Ye’s broken saber. He was confident that it could do him no harm. It might have been of remarkable quality in its best days, but now broken, he strongly doubted if it could do anything at all. On the flip side, he was certain that if his blow to Lu Ye’s throat was fast enough, then he could end this duel so long as his opponent did not manage to activate his defensive Glyph in time! As expected, just as the edge of his saber was about to cleave into Lu Ye’s throat, a shield-like glyph appeared out of nowhere. But Hu Ping wasn’t going to stop. He drove his saber further as much as he could in a bid to try to exhaust his opponent’s Spiritual Power as much as he could. But what made him stop was a stab of pain coming from his chest. The tang of blood and warmth from the liquid indicated that he was bleeding, and the wound was real. Hu Ping immediately pulled off his attack and using the momentum of his thrust, he vaulted himself backward instead to dislodge. He lowered his gaze and was shocked to find a gash on his chest almost a foot long, and the brigandine that he wore on the inside of his tunic was ripped open with its magical glow all but faded! Feeling a sensation of numbness on his scalp, Hu Ping failed to comprehend what was going on. Half the reason he dared to take a blow from Lu Ye while he delivered one of his own was because of his brigandine. The leather armor, enchanted with magic, was supposed to defend him against a blow from a broken weapon with whatever magical properties it carried severely crippled. Many a time it was this leather brigandine that had saved him from certain death and helped to turn the tide of the battles he had fought before. Yet this time, his brigandine not only failed to protect him, but it was also torn apart instead. [Isn’t his saber broken?! Why is it still so dangerous?!] A myriad of thoughts flashed through his mind. But there was no time to think. Lu Ye wasn’t giving him any time to; he was already on him before he even noticed it. The blade of the broken saber blazed with a reddish luster, bearing down on Hu Ping who defiantly raised both his voice and his weapon in response to the broken weapon’s terrible splendor. The bedlam of battle once again resounded. Both men locked each other into another rapid round of savage blows but Hu Ping no longer retained his former composure. That allowed the opening Lu Ye needed to gain control of this fight. In contrast, Hu Ping was beginning to realize that the tide was not in his favor and his defenses were slowly crumbling against Lu Ye’s relentless onslaught. He did not last long. Barely twenty seconds later, Hu Ping stiffened all of a sudden, his saber held aloft. Despite his tries, he just couldn’t seem to summon any strength to swing his weapon. Until he looked down at his own chest with horror. The broken blade of Lu Ye’s saber was buried in his chest, right where the brigandine was torn open. Standing so close to each other, their eyes met. Lu Ye held his foe in a long, hard stare and breathed, “I am Lu Ye! Lu Ye of the Crimson Blood Sect!” With one last kick from him, Hu Ping crashed to the ground. Motionless and dead. A puffed-out Lu Ye limped weakly back to where he was before the fight began and sat down, stuffing another Spirit Pill into his mouth before he lowered his head and rested. Nothing but silence perfused the air. No one moved until Hu Ping’s senior strode carefully into the ring to examine him and he confirmed it—Hu Ping was already as dead as a doornail. Furtive whispers began to rise in waves, slowly rising into a crescendo of raucous chatters… Hu Ping was defeated! Just when the Thousand Demon Ridge side believed that victory was as certain as the sun that rises in the east, Hu Ping was killed! Every single Cultivator of the Thousand Demon Ridge side had been waiting for this war to end. They expected it. They knew it. Only they were wrong. None of them believed that Lu Ye could ever slay Hu Ping in such cold blood when it was supposed to be the other way around. Few realized that Hu Ping was killed after taking just two blows from Lu Ye. He too had managed to deliver two blows, although both were nullified by Lu Ye’s use of Glyph: Protection. With his death, Hu Ping had proven something else: Lu Ye’s saber might be broken, but its deadliness waned not one bit at all. The other challenger, Zi’An, hardly looked anywhere near amused. In fact, he was pale with fright, silently gratefully that Lu Ye chose Hu Ping first or it would be him who was dead instead of Hu Ping. Just when everyone believed that the beast was declawed, it once again displayed its predatory lethality. Zi’An watched the quiet man sitting alone in the ring who was so tired he could barely lift his head. His very person swayed like a man who was teetering on the brink of collapse. Zi’An inhaled a long, deep breath. Hu Ping might have been killed, but the status quo was very much the same. It was up to him now. If he lost, then the hopes of the whole Thousand Demon Ridge faction would rest on the shoulders of the last man who was not only weaker than Hu Ping but him as well… One could argue that their mission to have Lu Ye slain was as good as lost… Therefore, Zi’An knew very well that he could not lose. And to achieve that, he needed to make sure that Lu Ye could never hit him. That saber of his was just too powerful and unstoppable. Yet, Zi’An had but only one conundrum: he too was also a Combat Cultivator. As Cultivators who were masters of close-quarters combat, he at the same time was compelled to acknowledge that not getting hit at all was a virtual impossibility. [Gods, what have I landed myself into?!] But before he could come up with a plan, a voice from the Thousand Demon Ridge side hollered, “Time’s up!” Li Baxian shot a scathing glare at the one who called out loudly. The candle that marked the duration of Lu Ye’s respite burned until the last of its wick and Lu Ye, who had kept his head lowered to rest, once again looked up. With more than thousands of eyes watching him, he clambered up again, just like before, and hobbled his way back to the center of the ring with his broken saber in hand. The corners of the eyelids of a good many Thousand Demon Ridge Cultivators twitched uncontrollably. Premonition told them that Lu Ye, while he looked so weak and frail, was every bit the semblance of a man who was going to collapse due to fatigue. But they knew better. What happened just last round was truth enough; [give him his weapon and point him to where his opponent is, and Lu Ye would be as ferocious as a predator once again], they knew. For forty rounds he had endured and no one in the five-thousand-man audience would dare doubt him—at least not anymore. No one knew nor understood what will and what resolve fueled him, that even in such feebleness and failing of might, Lu Ye still steadfastly stepped into that blood-swaddled ring without fail and yet remained victorious. Zi’An stepped forward and announced his own name and that of the sect he belonged to. But Lu Ye could barely hear a word he said. His hearing was nothing if not a cascade of incessant buzzing because of his extreme weariness. Nevertheless, it mattered not to him; he was sure that Sister Wei Yang would remember it for him. Rumble! The Spiritual Power of both men erupted as they charged at each other in tacit unison as if they had a mutual understanding. Undaunted by Lu Ye’s incredible valor, Zi’An had not the slightest intention of being on the defense. As Combat Cultivators, they knew best of all that offense would always be the best defense. Two figures flitted back and forth like a pair of wraiths in a ghastly dance of blurry whirl, their weapons clashing and grinding into each other like a pair of beasts locking their horns into each other and eliciting bursts of angry sparks. On desperate tenterhooks, the entire Thousand Demon Ridge mob held its breath. Each and every single one of them was aware of one pressing fact: lose this round and they would lose the war. As much as they were aware that there was one last challenger left: a Blackfyre Cultist, barely anyone could stake any shred of hope that the Cultist would prevail against Lu Ye. With power and strength weaker than Hu Ping and even Zi’An, no one expected him to survive. Three seconds, five seconds, then ten, twenty, and finally fifty… Thousand Demon Ridge Cultivators who had their eyes peeled on the duel finally exhaled with relief. Zi’An had managed to hold on! [As expected of one with the pedigree of a Tier-Three sect!], some mused. None of Lu Ye’s earlier challengers had been able to weather Lu Ye’s onslaught for so long while being able to maintain his own ground. Few had been able to hold on, but not without running around the ring in circles like moronic halfwits! If those fools thought they could deplete Lu Ye’s Spiritual Powers that way, they were shown how wrong they had been when Lu Ye finally ended the fights by ending their lives, paving the way for his becoming a minor legend. Only Zi’An was the only challenger who could give Lu Ye a run for his money. If he were to be victorious, he would one day become a great Cultivator in the future. The adrenaline rush was restoring more and more clarity to Lu Ye, although the buzzing noise and sporadic moments of blurriness to his sight lingered. But the sheer stress from the hails of blows raining down on him plus his senses were telling him that he was up against an opponent with strength and speed that could well match his! Lu Ye knew what to do: he needed to settle this fight fast. To prolong this fight would be tantamount to suicide. His Spiritual Power was on the verge of being fully drained and there was no way he would ever hold on after that if his opponent could still fight while he couldn’t. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, another blow came straight at him. Instead of evading, he drove his saber straight into his opponent in a ruthless response. That Lu Ye would dare to take a direct hit from him was something that shocked Zi’An greatly. While he was open to the idea of trading blows, he did not intend to trade injuries with Lu Ye. If there was anything that those deaths before him had taught him, that would be to never foolishly underestimate the deadliness of Lu Ye’s weapon. [That is no weapon that a low-tier Cultivator should have!], he yelled deep down inside with anguish. Zi’An ducked frantically. But at the same time, the decision turned out to be a maneuver that he might regret because it threw his tempo off balance. The fight that started off as a battle of equal strength and speed immediately became lopsided the moment he balked, and the loss of his aggressiveness prevented him from being able to wrestle back control. In just a couple of seconds, Lu Ye pressed his advantage by delivering a flurry of seven to eight attacks. The blows either missed or were parried away, but it was enough. He had effectively regained the initiative and was slowly piling the pressure upon his opponent. Zi’An had fought enough battles to know that this could not go on, but just when he was raking his mind for solutions, he heard a metallic crack and the weight on his hand vanished. His gaze panned down and to his absolute horror, his weapon was broken! For forty rounds, Lu Ye’s opponents had been trying to destroy his weapon. The same thought had never occurred to Lu Ye to disarm his challengers before. The strengths of Glyph: Sharp Edge and the innate sturdiness of his weapon itself had made sure that most of his opponents either died quick or surrendered just in time before the fatal blow came. He did not even have to think about other ways of winning. Until now. For the first time after forty rounds, Lu Ye found himself up against an opponent who could give him a real challenge. The steel of their weapons met and collided in the most brutal ways imaginable in their fierce duel, causing Lu Ye to wonder if his opponent’s weapon could still snap even if he did not use Glyph: Sharp Edge. The saber swung down and engendered a macabre spray of red.