Chapter Sixty-Five: For the Sake of Brotherhood (Part Two) — An Explosion!

Chapter Sixty-Five: For Brotherhood (Part Two) – An Eruption!!

Dragging the blazing greatsword behind him, sparks flew across the flagstone floor, the grating sound harsh and jarring. It was in this moment that Zhou Yu struck without warning—because he was angry, furious at the shamelessness of his adversary.

Conflicts between spiritual realm cultivators rarely took place in the Martial Hall, for tradition held that any battle waged there was a duel to the death, with no possibility of retreat. Since his opponent had set out with murderous intent from the very start, was there any reason to maintain courtesy? Especially when the motive for killing him was so baseless? Unable to kill Liu Yueming, so he’d kill Zhou Yu instead? And he masked it with so much self-justifying talk, as if he were noble and loyal? It was nothing but shamelessness and depravity. If you are shameless, then I will be even more so.

Zhou Yu chose to ambush him—decisive and ruthless, as fierce as a tiger. Such an attack could hardly be called a sneak attack; it was, rather, an execution.

Ma Liang never anticipated Zhou Yu would launch an assault so suddenly. Not skilled at close combat, Ma Liang was flustered for a split second. Yet, as an elite disciple of the spiritual realm and a veteran of battles against the demon race, he quickly regained his composure. His brush traced across the blank scroll before him, the tip swirling with countless strokes, and in a breath an image took form—a savage beast.

With the final dot of ink marking the beast’s eye, a painted tiger leapt forth from the scroll, pouncing at Zhou Yu before it could even roar.

There was no time for a roar, nor would there ever be. Zhou Yu had already halved the distance between them. Staring down the painted tiger, indistinguishable from a real demon beast, Zhou Yu swung his greatsword in a fiery arc. A beam of red light, searing hot, shot forth, piercing the painted tiger and scattering its form to nothing.

Ma Liang’s brush moved with desperate speed, conjuring five more painted beasts in the blink of an eye. As a beast painter who had survived countless perils on the battlefield, his creations were not to be underestimated. Unable to paint demon king-level beasts due to his rank, he could just manage demon general-level creatures. Originally, he had meant to deal with Zhou Yu, whose cultivation was only at the lower demon soldier stage, with a single demon general, but was caught off guard by Zhou Yu’s sudden assault. Now, he relied on numbers, painting five beasts in an instant—his very limit.

If these five could just hold Zhou Yu back, then more would follow, and soon Zhou Yu would be swallowed by a sea of painted beasts. By Ma Liang’s calculations, Zhou Yu’s strength should have been no match for five painted beasts.

Yet Zhou Yu’s hidden constitution masked his true power. Though he appeared no more than a lower demon soldier, in a burst of force he could match a demon general.

Waves of heat rolled forth as Zhou Yu unleashed five strikes in rapid succession. Skilled in both swift and slow sword techniques, Zhou Yu chose speed here, for these painted beasts were weak. Against a true master, his quick sword would be useless; as one rose in rank, all aspects of power grew, making slow sword—the top-tier technique—more effective.

Five blasts of heat—five painted beasts twisted and vanished in the air.

Only then did Ma Liang realize the fatal error he had made in underestimating Zhou Yu. He raised his brush in a frantic attempt to recover, but Zhou Yu would allow him no such chance. With a burst of strength, Zhou Yu hurled his greatsword. It roared through the air like a crimson dragon, pierced Ma Liang’s body, and pinned him to the ground.

Staring in disbelief at the sword that had nailed him down, Ma Liang’s eyes gradually dimmed. To a swordsman, the sword is everything—never apart, to lose the sword is to lose one’s life. But Zhou Yu, never bound by such notions, treated the sword as a hidden weapon. Only one who had come to swordsmanship as an outsider, as Zhou Yu had, would do such a thing.

Unorthodox, but lethally effective. And so, Ma Liang died.

In his final moments, the hatred in Ma Liang’s eyes faded to desolation, then to peace and release.

The eight-man squad had survived countless dangers amidst rampaging demon beasts, watching many companions die, yet they lived on. To suffer such calamity on the way home—nearly wiped out—was a fate they could not accept. Ma Liang felt he must avenge his four fallen brothers, and so he targeted the innocent Zhou Yu.

Zhou Yu neither knew the dangers they’d faced, nor could he grasp the bonds between them. Yet, at the mention of Liu Yueming, he could not back down. If they came to kill him, then he had no choice but to kill in return.

Of the eight, two remained unscathed and still possessed fighting strength. With Ma Liang dead, the burden of vengeance—and blame—fell to them as well.

The two quietly unfastened the medallions at their waists and placed them gently on the ground. These medallions signified their identity as disciples of the world’s strongest sect—a status coveted by countless cultivators. But in this moment, they cast it all aside for the sake of vengeance.

With a trace of longing, they straightened, forsaking the lonely medallions, and turned their gaze squarely on Zhou Yu.

The spiritual realm had its rules—no one could break them. Thus, when Ma Liang challenged Zhou Yu to a duel to the death in the Martial Hall, none objected or interfered.

The two survivors did not formally challenge Zhou Yu, but they intended to kill him nonetheless. Discarding their identities as disciples, they advanced together, attacking Zhou Yu from both sides.

From the moment they removed their medallions after Ma Liang’s death, Zhou Yu had sensed their intent and prepared himself.

As the two attacked from left and right, Zhou Yu spread his arms wide. From his left hand flashed a green arc of light; his right fist, shrouded in red energy, struck forward.

The arc was stored electricity from Du Niang—a force potent enough to pierce the defenses of the Celestial Wolf Demon King, one of the five greatest demon kings. Its power was undeniable. The man attacking from the left was struck down by a surge of energy before he could even come within ten feet, his body consumed by electricity, falling dead on the spot.

Having fully cleared the meridians in both arms, Zhou Yu now commanded all his energy. When Hua Queyue had first helped him clear his right arm, it had taken nearly half her power just to fill a third of the available space. Now, with all his meridians unobstructed, the energy in his right fist was the sum of both arms. The attacker from the right was sent flying like a kite the instant he made contact, crashing hard a hundred yards away, killed instantly.

Hua Queyue had once said that Zhou Yu could now, in a single instant, unleash power rivaling any demon general. But even she had underestimated him.

Far away, Hua Queyue stood atop a hill, her expression complex as the brief, almost instantaneous battle came to a close. She sighed and said, “I should have stopped them.”

“Ma Liang and the others were unfortunate, but they let hatred blind them and fell into the demonic path. As the saying goes, ‘He who brings misfortune upon himself cannot live.’” Jin Buhuan added coldly.

Ling Youzi and Tian Xing, who stood nearby, offered no comment. They simply watched the duel in silence.

After a long moment, Tian Xing spoke: “That Zhou Yu is no ordinary youth. When Liu Wujian and I resisted the Sacred Qilin, I sensed a strange fluctuation probing us from him.”

“His progress is much too rapid, and his combat strength is equally peculiar,” Jin Buhuan continued, pausing to glance at Hua Queyue. “He’s already mastered the Clone Technique—despite being only at the lower demon soldier level, he can kill three demon general-level foes in as many moves. His depth is unfathomable.”

Perhaps dissatisfied with Jin Buhuan’s undertone, Hua Queyue interjected, “I taught him the Clone Technique myself. His inner energy is vast, making him perfectly suited for it. The reason he can erupt with such power in an instant is because his meridians were once utterly destroyed—he forced them open again through sheer will and endurance far beyond ordinary men.”

Ling Youzi withdrew his gaze, pondered a moment, then said, “It seems these children are still too young. War is too cruel; it has made them lose their hearts and become bloodthirsty and violent. The chains of hatred are tightening. If nothing is done, tragedies like today’s will continue endlessly.”

The others listened in shock. Indeed, while brutal battles rapidly accelerated a cultivator’s growth, they also bred negative emotions—bloodlust, belligerence, and rage.

“Queyue, instruct the Alchemy Hall to accelerate the refining of Purity-Nurturing Pills. Make as many as possible and send them to the front lines at once.”

Hua Queyue bowed respectfully and was about to withdraw when a messenger disciple hurried toward them.

Hua Queyue’s heart skipped a beat. The messenger’s face was grave, betraying no emotion.

He reached their side and drew a letter from the token at his waist.

On the envelope was written: “To Ling Youzi, Master of the Spiritual Realm.”

Ling Youzi slowly opened the letter. As he read, his brow furrowed, troubled by some grave matter.

When he finished, Ling Youzi lifted his gaze to the night sky, toward the distant horizon, toward the endless darkness—toward that ever-frozen mountain of snow.