Chapter 22: Deciding the Fate of the World

A hiss—

He moved like lightning, drifting forward, a great spear in one hand sweeping with the force to shatter an army, the other hand reaching out, summoning a sudden vortex.

Netherworld Technique!

Agonized screams resounded, endless and unbroken. Streams of pure essence surged forth, pouring along his arm, replenishing both flesh and spirit. In just a few breaths, his strength was completely restored. The two springs of power beneath his feet swelled, the walls of space within those wells trembling as if they might expand once more.

Amid this renewal of body and mind, Du Gu Bieli's form shuddered. The second stage of his Tenfold Body Refinement Technique finally broke through its last barrier, reaching its peak.

Once he fully opened all his springs of power, comprehended the essence of uniting his strength into one, and forcefully shattered the intangible shackles of the second stage, he would transcend realms and become a Commander!

Du Gu Bieli’s movements slowed slightly, but grew even more formidable; his strength was steady, his blows never wasted. Each sweep of the spear claimed a life. Blows that landed on his flesh—fists and kicks—he deliberately ignored; at this level, such attacks could not break bone or sinew, resulting at most in a staggering step. Only blades and swords, sharp weapons, required caution—for he was not yet iron-boned or invulnerable, and still of mortal flesh.

His spear moved like a swimming dragon, his fists like the wind; his battle power surged, shaking the heavens.

In a single step, corpses lay strewn. In a blink, blood sprayed in torrents.

When man is devoid of compassion, he becomes the most ruthless creature under heaven, bar none.

The shrill wails of the dying, their final moments of helplessness and despair, the blood rain drifting across his vision, the reek of viscera piling up and covering half the arena, and the mounds of ashen remains—all assaulted the senses with overwhelming force.

Panic and fear took root and spread like a plague.

After yet another round of bloody carnage, over forty surviving warriors fell back desperately to the far side of the grand arena, their faces haggard, courage spent. They exchanged glances, then looked out past the glowing barrier.

The arena was too perilous; to withdraw would mean safe transfer away from this place. But at this point, who would willingly give up?

To retreat was to forfeit, to lose one’s place and be deemed eliminated. To remain was to struggle on the knife’s edge of life and death, enduring until the test ended. Yet only the final ten could remain on the arena by the end.

Who would stay, and who would go?

“The killing star has certainly secured five spots—there are five left…” The forty-odd warriors shared the same thoughts, each growing contemplative.

“Why should they get five places? Just because he’s the strongest?” One of the warriors, whose friends and kin had perished beneath Du Gu Bieli’s spear, could not accept it, and shouted, “Alone, we’re no match. If we keep acting separately, none of us will survive!”

“So what do you propose?”

“We join forces, trap him with formation, and wear him down bit by bit!” the warrior cried, raising his arm. “If we move as one and follow orders, we might have a chance. United, even a Commander would have to bleed. Who’s with me? Who wants vengeance, who still has courage—follow me!”

“Alright, a fight to the death! I’ll go with you.”

“I’m in as well.”

…

His analysis was convincing, and his plan seemed flawless. More than twenty were swayed, and for the third time, they rushed forward, surrounding Du Gu Bieli as he was still sensing his breakthrough.

At the warrior’s command, they formed circles, layers inside and out, shifting positions as they rotated both ways. Each time someone moved to the side, they struck, then repositioned—a classic wheel tactic.

Realizing he was trapped, Du Gu Bieli had no choice but to swing his great spear, striking forward and back, left and right. But now that the group was organized, their defense was much stronger—attacking a single target became extremely difficult, and for a moment he found himself hard-pressed.

Others, seeing this, brightened and hurried to retrieve discarded weapons, joining the assault. The initial warrior shouted, “Split off a few to keep those weaklings busy! Even if you can’t kill them, it’ll distract him. If his attention is divided, he’ll show a flaw. That will be our chance to reclaim our honor!”

“They all deserve death!” The brief clarity and reason Du Gu Bieli had regained instantly shattered. His battle power roared, the great spear whirling into a storm, annihilating all before it.

A resonant hum—

The Solar-Piercing Spear emitted a long, clear note, as if sensing his boundless fury. Hundreds of red patterns suddenly surfaced along the shaft. The aura of life it carried grew rapidly, until it birthed something new—a spirit!

It was like a newborn, gleefully frolicking within Du Gu Bieli’s consciousness, sending out waves of intimate, blood-tied warmth. Yet, in his near-mad rage, he did not notice.

With a thrust, the spear pierced a warrior through. Before he could withdraw it, a sudden change erupted!

The shaft vibrated, the crimson markings writhing, actively absorbing the reserves from Du Gu Bieli’s springs of power, then unleashing them in a burst.

The impaled warrior, though grievously wounded, might have survived if he fled the arena. But the opportunity was instantly cut off.

Within the spear, a violent force exploded into the corpse, then detonated at the tip.

With a muffled boom, flesh and blood burst apart—the warrior was utterly reduced to a cloud of scarlet mist.

Almost simultaneously, the spear underwent another eerie transformation. From its tip, invisible ripples spread, forming a blood-red vortex. The mist visibly shrank and collapsed, as though space itself was caving in—a bizarre sight, as if a monstrous beast from another realm had torn through, devouring hungrily with a bottomless appetite.

The spear quivered, as if exultant. The blood-red markings grew deeper, seeming to flow like rivers within a world inside the weapon. A stream of essence returned, coursing through his channels, replenishing his springs of power.

“What is…?” Du Gu Bieli, anxious to dash out and save Wolf and the others, staggered as if drained, his body suddenly unresponsive. His mind reeled!

That last attack—he had only controlled the initial blow; everything after was guided by another consciousness, one that voraciously drew on his power reserves. His once-full wells were left nearly dry in an instant—had the spear not returned a sliver of essence, he would have been rendered powerless, a lamb for the slaughter.

But even this was not the most shocking part.

What truly stunned Du Gu Bieli was the power of that final eruption.

Twenty times his normal strength!

Enough to obliterate a warrior outright in a single blow.

A Soldier possessed onefold strength; a Warrior, fivefold; a Commander, tenfold. Du Gu Bieli, having inherited Zang Li’s “legacy” and with mysterious aid in opening his springs, had, through battle, confirmed he could wield roughly tenfold power—double a common warrior, comparable to a Commander.

But even that was his limit. Mastering the warrior’s essence merely meant perfect execution of tenfold power.

Then why, suddenly, had his strength doubled again?

His grip on the spear tightened. “Could it be… this weapon? Does it possess a special ability to instantly multiply my power?”

“It’s… me…” A vague consciousness echoed in his mind, radiating an intense affection, like a child seeking praise from a parent.

“You are…” Du Gu Bieli extended his awareness, communicating, and a simple stream of information flowed into his mind.

“A newborn spear spirit!”

…

“Kill!” Several warriors had reached the other side of the arena, blades and swords flashing as they struck at Wolf and Flower.

Wolf’s strength had mostly returned, but his body was covered in wounds, many to the bone. Flower’s arm was broken, her energy flagging. Even so, they remembered Du Gu Bieli’s instructions—hold their ground, fulfill their duty.

That cry of battle jolted Du Gu Bieli from his shock. Without pausing to ponder, he leapt into the air, swept aside barriers with his spear, and unleashed a blade of energy with his hand before pressing his palm onto a warrior’s head.

“Be devoured!” he roared, and a surge of essence replenished him. His depleted springs of power revived slightly. Lifting his arm high, he hurled the spear, pinning a warrior attacking Wolf even as another, aiming for Flower, was cleaved apart by the energy blade.

In a flash, he tumbled forward, seizing two warriors. Their bodies crackled audibly, shrinking before the eye, as their essence was consumed.

All this, though lengthy to describe, transpired in just a few breaths. The remaining warriors, realizing what had happened, rushed to intercept.

“Bieli’s Blade!”

Before landing, he unleashed two strikes, each aimed at an enemy. The warriors hurried to block, but their weapons shattered under his blade intent; the strikes continued, cutting them down, bodies split in two.

Landing on the arena, power surged beneath his feet, propelling him forward to close the distance.

“Aaah—” The warriors who had been hunting Wolf and Flower turned in terror at the deaths of their comrades, seeing the spear planted in a corpse and the killing star returned. Instinctively, they fled.

With his spear in hand, Du Gu Bieli guarded his four companions, black hair streaming, eyes cold and bloodshot. His aura was wild, a tidal wave of murderous intent made manifest. As his gaze swept the field, the thirty remaining warriors froze, hesitation and fear spreading among them. Scenes of slaughter replayed in their minds—the cold, merciless strikes, the overwhelming aggression, that invincible presence pressing down like a mountain. Their courage was broken.

Without courage, how could they be called warriors?

“Leave, or die!” Du Gu Bieli’s words rang out, cold and unyielding, like a master of heaven and earth.

Most, their minds shattered by terror, turned and fled for the barrier, heedless of the first warrior’s desperate shouts to stop. In a few breaths, only he remained, alone before the demon-like figure.

“Cowards afraid of death,” he muttered, crestfallen. Amidst the gloom, he threw back his head and howled, then dashed forward, arms spread wide as if to embrace his fate.

The spear, as agile as a serpent, struck with a single thrust, piercing his chest and pinning him mid-air, blood staining the exposed blade.

Outside the arena, the onlooking warriors wore expressions of sorrow and resignation. In a shimmer of light, they vanished, transported away with their lives spared but their qualifications lost. Perhaps, from their mouths, yet another legend of the killing star would spread—terrible and renowned.

The outcome was decided.