newbobooks Chapter 539 Fierce Battle
Chapter 539 Fierce Battle
There was a deathly silence in the audience.
No one moved, no one spoke, and even their breathing was kept to a minimum.
There was no fear in the eyes of those martial artists, only an increasingly burning fighting spirit, like flames doused with oil, burning brighter and brighter.
Xu Longxiang waited a moment, then smiled.
"Alright. In that case, the martial arts tournament shall officially begin."
He turned to the side and nodded slightly to Fan Li.
Fan Li stepped forward, unfolded the roster, and spoke in a loud, clear voice.
"First match – Zhao Tieshan of the Northern Iron Saber Sect, versus Hu Bugui of the Western Flowing Sand Sect!"
The moment he finished speaking, the atmosphere in the audience was instantly ignited.
A burly man from the North leaped onto the ring from the crowd. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, and held a wide iron sword in his hand, the blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
He landed on the arena with a dull thud, causing the ironwood arena to tremble.
Immediately afterwards, a gaunt figure emerged from the crowd, as light as a leaf blown by the wind.
The man wore a gray Western Region robe, with a curved knife at his waist. Several dull gems were inlaid on the scabbard. His face was withered, his eyes were sunken, and his lips were cracked, making him look like a walking mummy.
"Zhao Tieshan of the Iron Saber Sect!" The man from the northern border clasped his hands in a fist salute, his voice booming.
"The Western Regions Flowing Sand Sect... Hu Bugui." The gaunt figure's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against rust, making it impossible to tell whether it was male or female.
The two looked at each other but said nothing more.
Zhao Tieshan was the first to make a move.
His figure was like a moving mountain, and his iron sword, accompanied by a whistling wind, cleaved down towards Hu Bugui's head!
Wherever the blade passed, the air was torn apart, emitting a sharp screech.
This strike was powerful and heavy, without any fancy moves, carrying the savagery and domineering nature unique to warriors from the Northern Frontier.
Hu Bugui did not move.
He just stood there, like a piece of dead wood, like a stone, like a lifeless, dried-up corpse.
He didn't move until the blade was only three inches from his head.
His figure moved like a gust of wind, drifting to the left. The iron blade grazed his robe and slashed down with a "boom," splitting a deep crack in the ironwood on the arena, sending wood chips flying everywhere.
Zhao Tieshan's attack missed, but without pausing, he swung his iron blade in a backhand sweep, the blade drawing a semi-circular arc with a whistling sound, slashing towards Hu Bugui's waist!
Hu Bugui's figure floated again, as light as a leaf blown by the wind. The iron knife grazed his robe, shaving off a few strands of gray cloth.
"Impressive footwork!" someone in the audience couldn't help but exclaim.
"That Hu Bugui is as slippery as an eel!"
"Zhao Tieshan is strong, but if he can't hit anyone, it's all for nothing!"
The murmurs rose and fell, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees.
Zhao Tieshan's brows were furrowed, and the veins on his forehead bulged.
He had already slashed seventeen times, but every single one of his strikes missed its mark.
Hu Bugui was like a slippery fish, swimming around in and out of his blade, but he could never touch him.
His breathing became rapid, and his arms began to ache.
Large beads of sweat slid down his temples and dripped onto the ironwood arena, where they were instantly evaporated.
He grew up amidst the snow and wind of the North. At the age of seventeen, he traveled all over the country with a caravan. Relying on his brute strength and an iron sword, he fought his way up from an outer disciple to an inner sect steward in the Iron Sword Sect.
He thought he was strong enough, that as long as he swung his knife fast and ruthlessly enough, no one could stop him.
But the person in front of him was like a gust of wind that he couldn't grasp, like a shadow that he could see but couldn't touch, making his brute strength feel like hitting cotton, unable to land on anything.
A strange anxiety welled up inside him, a anxiety that burned like a fire in his chest.
Just then, Hu Bugui made a move.
His figure moved like a gray lightning bolt, slipping through the gap in Zhao Tieshan's blade. His curved sword had been drawn at some point, its blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, silently stabbing towards Zhao Tieshan's ribs!
"puff!"
The blade pierced the flesh.
Zhao Tieshan groaned and staggered back a few steps, clutching the wound under his ribs with one hand. Blood gushed from between his fingers and dripped onto the ironwood arena, a shocking sight.
A small patch of dark red blood seeped onto the arena, resembling a blooming flower.
His face turned deathly pale, and his lips trembled violently, but there was no fear in his eyes, only a fierce determination to go all out.
He gritted his teeth, switched the iron knife to his left hand, and slashed at Hu Bugui again!
"Bravo!" someone in the audience couldn't help but shout.
"The men of the Iron Saber Sect are truly tough!"
"He was injured like that and still kept fighting. He's a real man!"
Zhao Tieshan's left-handed knife was half a beat slower than his right-handed knife, but the force was much greater.
Each of his strikes was delivered with a ruthless, desperate force, as if he wanted to squeeze out every last bit of his strength.
A hint of surprise flashed in Hu Bugui's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper indifference.
His figure moved again, like a gray wind, circling around Zhao Tieshan. His curved blade, like a nimble snake, left a third, fourth, and fifth wound on Zhao Tieshan's body.
Each cut was not fatal, but they precisely severed his tendons, making each swing of his knife more strenuous and slower.
Blood gushed from the wounds, staining half of his robe red, which gleamed darkly in the sunlight.
He finally couldn't hold on any longer.
Zhao Tieshan's legs buckled, and he knelt on one knee. His iron knife clattered to the ground, and he collapsed like a hollowed-out mountain.
His chest was still heaving violently, his eyes filled with resentment and anger, but his body was already unable to move.
"Zhao Tieshan is defeated! Hu Bugui is victorious!"
Fan Li's voice came from the high platform, calm and without a ripple.
Two northern soldiers rushed onto the arena and carried Zhao Tieshan off. Then, others took mops and rags and wiped the bloodstains off the arena clean, as if nothing had happened.
When Zhao Tieshan was carried off the stage, his eyes were still open, staring intently at the direction of the arena. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he no longer had the strength to make a sound.
A complex murmur arose from the audience.
Some shook their heads and sighed, some clapped softly, and some whispered among themselves, discussing every detail of the battle that had just taken place.
There was regret, admiration, excitement, and also apprehension.
The martial artists looked at Hu Bugui with increased wariness.
This Western Region man, who was as thin as a dried corpse, was more dangerous than they had imagined.
His movements were so fast that no one could catch a glimpse of his clothes.
His swordsmanship was so precise that each strike severed the opponent's tendons while avoiding vital points, rendering them unable to fight but not killing them on the spot.
Such a person is more terrifying than someone who directly kills their opponent.
Hu Bugui was still standing on the arena, his gaze sweeping across the audience below, like an eagle that had just successfully hunted its prey and was still looking for its next prey.
His gaze swept across the crowd, briefly meeting that of a figure dressed in a gray robe and wearing a straw hat, before moving away.
A section of fair chin was visible beneath the straw hat, and a faint smile played at the corners of her lips.
Qin Mu stood in the crowd, his straw hat pulled low, obscuring most of his face.
The smile still lingered on his lips as he watched the bloodstains being wiped away on the arena, his fingers tapping lightly twice inside his sleeve.
interesting.
This martial arts tournament is much more interesting than he expected.
Zhao Tieshan's brute strength was already top-notch among the martial artists of the Northern Border, but Hu Bugui didn't give him a chance to fight head-on.
One force can overcome ten techniques, but if you can't even touch the hem of someone's clothes, all your strength is wasted.
He recalled encountering similar opponents when he was sparring with someone on Qinglan Mountain years ago.
He was young then and thought he had reached the top, but he was walked around like a dog for half an hour and finally collapsed on the ground, too exhausted to even get up.
At that time, he understood a principle: the world is vast, there are always people more capable than you, and there is always something beyond your understanding.
His gaze returned to the arena, landing on Hu Bugui's withered face, before shifting away again.
Xu Longxiang stood on the high platform, his gaze shifting from Hu Bugui to sweeping over the crowd again.
His fingertips tapped lightly twice on the armrest, very slowly, as if counting beats.
He was still searching for that figure.
The Moon Goddess said she would come, that she would appear at the martial arts tournament as the new leader of the Moon Goddess Cult, adding a touch of mystery and significance to this grand event.
But she hasn't shown up yet.
He knew she wouldn't be late; she was never late.
But at this moment, a sense of anxiety still welled up in his heart, like a taut string that was trembling slightly.
But that figure never appeared.
His brow furrowed slightly, but was quickly suppressed by a deeper smile.
Not urgent.
She will definitely come.
He believed.
Fan Li's voice rang out again, this time even deeper than before.
"Second match—Wu Xingyun of the Southern Frontier Gu King Sect versus Zhao Wujiu, a rogue cultivator from the Great Qin Dynasty!"
A suppressed gasp rose from the audience.
The Gu King Sect of Southern Xinjiang is a more mysterious and fearsome existence than the Flowing Sand Sect of the Western Regions.
Their techniques are bizarre, and they are skilled in using poison and venomous insects, making them difficult to defend against.
Legend has it that they can control a person's mind with a silver needle, causing a person to die without realizing it, leaving no trace on the body.
In the deep mountains of southern Xinjiang, their names are taboo; no one wants to mention them, much less provoke them.
The name Zhao Wujiu was so unfamiliar that no one could recall it.
The Qin Dynasty's rogue cultivator, without sect, lineage, or background, stood alone on the arena, like a forgotten shadow in a corner.
A man dressed in a dark green robe slowly walked onto the arena.
He was tall and slender, and his pace was neither hurried nor slow, as if he were taking a stroll in his own backyard.
His face was pale, his features so delicate they looked painted on, and a half-smile played at the corners of his mouth. But his eyes were devoid of warmth, like two bottomless, dry wells.
He had a blue cloth bag hanging from his waist, tied with a red thread at the top. It was bulging and its contents were unknown.
Someone in the audience recognized the cloth bag, and their expression changed slightly.
"That's the Gu King's Bag!"
"I heard that he's been raising his natal Gu worm inside for over ten years. Once released, everything within a ten-zhang radius will be dead!"
"Who is this Zhao Wujiu? Is he out of his mind? Daring to fight against the Gu King Sect?"
The discussions came like a tidal wave, one after another.
But Zhao Wujiu on the stage just stood there, head slightly bowed, as if none of this concerned him.
His opponent stepped forward.
He was a man dressed in black shorts, with dark skin, like a stone that had been exposed to the scorching sun for many years.
A chain of bones hung around his neck, each bone polished smooth and round, gleaming with a pale white light in the sunlight.
He stood on the ring, like a tree with its roots firmly planted, completely still.
The audience below the stage was waiting for the two fighters to make their move; the air was thick with tension, a sense of impending doom.
Qin Mu's eyes brightened slightly, like a stone hitting the surface of a lake in deep winter, creating a circle of tiny, fleeting ripples.
He raised his head, looked towards the high platform, his gaze lingered on Xu Longxiang for a moment, and then looked away.
Xu Longxiang tapped his fingers lightly twice on the railing of the platform.
He's still looking.
But that figure still did not appear.
The unease in his heart grew stronger.
His gaze swept across the crowd again, over the throng of heads, over the figures dressed in robes of various colors, over every corner where she might be hiding.
No.
still none.
His fingertips paused on the armrest for a moment, then continued tapping.
His face still wore that calm smile, but his heart was beating a beat faster than before.
Fan Li stood behind him, his gaze fixed on the arena, but what he was really looking at was Xu Longxiang's back.
He saw the barely perceptible pause in His Highness's fingertips, and the fleeting anxiety in His Highness's eyes.
He said nothing, but simply turned to another page of the roster.
But in his heart, the string also tightened a little.
On the arena, Wu Xingyun finally made a move.
He took something out of the blue cloth bag and gently held it in his palm.
It was a scorpion that was completely black, with its stinger pointing high and gleaming with a ghostly green light in the sunlight.
A dark red rune, like some kind of ancient incantation, was etched on the scorpion's back, glowing faintly in the morning light.
Zhao Wujiu looked at the scorpion in his hand and finally raised his head.
His gaze fell on the scorpion, paused for a moment, and then he smiled.
The smile was light and faint, carrying an indescribable meaning.
He took out a dagger from his sleeve. The dagger was short, only three inches long, and dark all over, like a piece of scrap iron that had been worn for too long.
He held the dagger horizontally in front of his chest, turned slightly to the side, and lowered his center of gravity.
The scorpion leaped from Wu Xingyun's palm like a black lightning bolt, lunging towards Zhao Wujiu's face!
Zhao Wujiu shifted his body slightly, the dagger tracing a dark arc.
The scorpion's stinger grazed his temple, shaving off a few strands of hair.
A collective gasp rippled through the audience.
The outcome is still undecided.
But the tense atmosphere in the air was even stronger than before.
Qin Mu stood in the crowd, his gaze falling on the stinger of the black scorpion, on the dark red rune, and on the dagger in Zhao Wujiu's hand.
The smile on his lips deepened, like a bottomless pool of water, calm on the surface but turbulent beneath.
Xu Longxiang's fingertips were still tapping on the armrest, slowly and deliberately, like a melody without end.
His eyes were still searching for that figure in the crowd.
But that figure never appeared.
The unease in his heart grew stronger.