Chapter Thirty: Battle of the Supreme Transcenders (Part One)

The corpse writhed, incessantly crawling toward the severed head lying not far away. The sight was so horrifying that everyone present involuntarily drew a sharp breath. These were all seasoned experts, well accustomed to blood and brutality, yet the spectacle of a headless body scrambling blindly across the ground left many of them dumbstruck with terror.

Zhou Yu showed a faint smile and waved nonchalantly at the gaping crowd, thinking to himself: My last strike must have been nothing short of spectacular.

The headless corpse reached its head, fumbling with both hands to lift it and set it atop its neck. From the severed stump sprouted countless fleshy tendrils, which swiftly reattached the head to the body. Daquan then staggered unsteadily to his feet.

Seeing the corpse attach its head at an odd angle and lurch toward Zhou Yu, someone in the crowd could not help but gasp in a low voice. Zhou Yu, a little embarrassed, scratched his head and thought: Sure, I’m handsome, but is there really any need for such astonishment?

A scream from a beautiful female disciple of the Southern Wind family rang out just as Daquan reached Zhou Yu’s back. His head, awkwardly perched atop his neck, twisted grotesquely, and he stretched his hands toward Zhou Yu like a vengeful wraith returned from hell.

Zhou Yu, noticing the trembling in the lovely woman’s bosom as she screamed, ducked his head with a bashful shyness and mused: What’s got you so worked up, miss? If it’s love you’re offering, I’d gladly accept.

It was precisely this bashful, lotus-like lowering of his head that saved Zhou Yu from Daquan’s “gentle” attempt to pat him.

A chill wind swept past his ear, making the hair on Zhou Yu’s back stand on end. Without lifting his head, he thrust his sword backward in a flash, then spun around. When he saw it was Daquan, Zhou Yu let out a loud curse and, without hesitation, swung his massive sword wildly, slashing dozens of times in an instant and hacking Daquan into a hundred-odd fragments.

Looking at the body parts scattered everywhere, Zhou Yu felt no sense of gore or cruelty. “Are those little Japs even human?” he muttered.

With a “squelch,” Zhou Yu stomped on an eyeball, crushing it, then spat and cursed, “What a revolting, perverted ability.”

From the various pieces of Daquan’s corpse, new tendrils of flesh began to grow, pulling and drawing the fragments back together.

The disciples of the Spirit Realm, witnessing this blasphemous scene, all looked excited; this was clearly some heretical demonic art.

Morrison glanced at Jin Buhuan, who gave a slight nod.

A dragon’s roar resounded. From Morrison’s body, a golden dragon soared into the air, coiling above the Martial Arena.

With a thunderous bellow, the golden dragon breathed down a gout of yellow flames, incinerating Daquan’s remains to ash. Not only did the breath completely dissolve the body, but it also scorched half of Zhou Yu’s sleeve.

Frowning at his ruined sleeve, Zhou Yu leaned against his greatsword, raised his half-bare right arm, and asked, “Is this your way of challenging me?”

Night had now fallen, yet the enormous white gemstones set into the arena walls shone brightly, illuminating the Martial Arena as if it were midday.

Morrison strode slowly onto the field, the surrounding lights shattering his shadow and reflecting dazzlingly off his bald head. From afar, he looked like a man crowned with the sun itself.

The golden dragon circling above suddenly swooped toward Zhou Yu, but veered aside just before impact, letting out a roar before merging back into Morrison’s body.

Zhou Yu ran his right hand through his hair, ruffled by the dragon’s passing wind, and muttered under his breath, “Overgrown lizard, pretending to be a dragon?”

“I challenge you,” Morrison said in a low, resonant voice.

“Then come on,” Zhou Yu replied, cracking his knuckles with loud pops, then twisting his body in a warm-up stretch.

Nan Fenglang’s brows knit slightly as her red lips parted gently, “Elder Jin, is this in accordance with the rules?”

Jin Buhuan shot her a glance, snorted, and sat in silence.

“Little vixen,” sneered Zuo Hao, “in a match, as long as one party issues a challenge and the other accepts, the duel proceeds—this has been the rule of the Spirit Realm for eons.”

“Is it? I’ve never heard of it,” said the Soul Sect’s envoy.

Jin Buhuan simply snorted again, offering no reply.

Just then, the envoy from the Beichen family spoke in a low voice, “It’s true. There is such a rule…but it hasn’t happened even once in centuries…”

In the past, matches in the Spirit Realm were fought by young experts, whose abilities were rarely far apart. Issuing a challenge meant another exhausting duel, so over time, no one bothered to do it.

“Big chest, no brains!” Jin Buhuan said gruffly.

Instead of taking offense, Nan Fenglang merely covered her mouth and laughed, her creamy white bosom trembling as if it might burst free. “So Elder Jin does pay attention to my two treasures…”

Jin Buhuan flushed, unable to retort, so he gave a cold snort, coughed a few times, and pretended not to hear.

A western wind rose, making Zhou Yu’s robes snap and flutter. He regarded Morrison—the other traveler from a different world—carefully and intently. This man radiated a chilling, lethal decisiveness, a quality born of his overwhelming strength.

A complex emotion flickered in Morrison’s icy gaze: sorrow? Pity? Reluctance? Perhaps it was none of these.

“You’re here now, so prepare to die.” Morrison’s deep voice rumbled through the Martial Arena. Though his words were arrogant, his power was plain to all, lending them an undeniable weight.

Zhou Yu’s lips curled in a faint smile. He replied calmly, “From the moment we are born, we walk step by step toward death. No one has ever escaped it, so dying is not as terrifying as we imagine—the key is how we die.”

As his gaze and tone grew resolute, his black pupils gleamed like pure obsidian. “And also, when we die. I can’t die now—so I won’t die.”

Morrison frowned. “Many have shared your confidence. They all died.”

Zhou Yu said nothing, merely gesturing politely for Morrison to begin.

“You must already have some sense of my abilities. Before you die, savor the experience—Tiger Soul!” Morrison bellowed, and a gigantic tiger of pure energy materialized, wrapping itself around him. He crouched, enveloped by the burning form of the beast, and unleashed a roar that shook the heavens.

With that roar, a ferocious, murderous pressure swept toward Zhou Yu, his hair flying backward. “My hairstyle…” Zhou Yu gritted his fists, the muscles of his arms tensing and relaxing, vibrating at tremendous speed.

“I challenge you!” Suddenly, a voice rang out, cutting through the building tension between the two.