Fang Han drew upon his immense magical power, pouring it into his treasure to forcibly seize the Eight Desolate Divine Sword.
With a single thought, ownership of the artifact could shift—its spirit recognizing a new master.
But just as victory seemed within reach, Ye Nantian showed why he was ranked third on the Mountains and Rivers List. He bit his tongue hard, the pain snapping his mind into clarity, then began to chant—each syllable part of the Haoqi Eternal Hymn, a secret incantation of the Feather Transformation Gate.
A resonant shockwave burst forth, shaking Fang Han's magic slightly. The Gate of Rebirth—standing tall upon the platform—responded with a sudden transformation. A vast vortex spiraled open within it.
The Vortex of Rebirth!
As it appeared, Fang Han felt his own mana surge toward it uncontrollably—like countless rivers pouring into the sea. The gate was devouring his power!
In an instant, his control faltered. Mana poured out of him like a flood.
"Ha ha ha ha!" Ye Nantian's laughter rang sharp and wild. Feeling the pressure on him vanish, he knew the gate's pull was working. With no hesitation, the Eight Desolate Battle Armor flared with swordlight again, and he lunged to slice Fang Han to pieces while the advantage was his.
"Not good!"
The elders watching from the stands gasped. They all saw how grave Fang Han's danger was. If he were killed, the sect would lose a prodigy who had reached the Divine Ability realm—a devastating loss.
Yet at that critical moment, a cold smile crept across Fang Han's face. His body suddenly spun like a top, his arms sweeping out then pulling inward. The mana that had been streaming toward the Gate of Rebirth slowed, condensing into a single, invisible drill of energy. It roared as it spun, forming a violent vortex of its own. With a shudder and a crack of air, the drill reversed its flow—snapping back like a whip and slamming straight into Ye Nantian's chest.
Boom!
The impact caught Ye Nantian completely off guard. His balance shattered, the brilliance of his armor dimmed, and the sword beams it had unleashed froze midair, entangled and locked down by Fang Han's mana.
Then Fang Han moved. His form darted through the air like a divine dragon, weaving effortlessly through space. Threads of mana coiled from his hands, spinning out like a spider's web, wrapping Ye Nantian tighter and tighter.
His control was beyond what any newly ascended Divine Ability cultivator should possess. It was the work of a veteran—mana condensed, redirected, refracted, and repurposed with perfect precision.
The elders who had gasped now sat stunned for another reason: Fang Han's finesse over mana was terrifyingly refined.
He had earned that mastery. For three months since advancing underground, he had relentlessly honed his control—condensing qi into strands, weaving, catching, redirecting, gripping, twisting. Every motion had become second nature.
And with Yan as his mentor, he'd learned every subtle trick of manipulating power.
"Fang Han! You and I are enemies unto death! Hundred Blades Strike as One!"
Snarling, Ye Nantian unleashed the full fury of his armor once more. Hundreds of sword beams erupted, and the Gate of Rebirth flared violently, the vortex growing even stronger.
Fang Han ignored his curses. His body blurred, moving so swiftly no eye could follow. His left hand flared, weaving a twisting stream of energy into a wind-whip that lashed out like a spirit serpent. Each strike cracked through the air, shattering sword beams and spinning Ye Nantian helplessly.
His right fist, meanwhile, clenched and thrust toward the Gate of Rebirth.
Boom! Boom!
Condensed air currents compressed into dense orbs and slammed into the vortex, each one detonating in a burst of explosive pressure. The blasts counteracted the vortex's pull.
"Brilliant!" Jia Lan's eyes shone with delight. "He condensed air into thunder to neutralize the vortex's suction. Such precision costs a little mana—but wins him precious time. This boy's been in the Divine Ability realm longer than he let on. What a marvel!"
Her joy was doubled by the fact that her wager with Ling Xiao was about to pay off.
As she spoke, Fang Han continued his assault. Dozens of wind-whips lashed, turning Ye Nantian's world upside down. No matter how he tried to summon the Gate's power, Fang Han's fluid, minimal responses neutralized every move.
"Rebirth Fusion—Swords Shatter the Eight Desolations!"
Ye Nantian roared, his armor fracturing layer by layer. Its radiance condensed into a single small sword. From the Gate of Rebirth, a stream of divine energy shot forth, merging with the weapon.
The Eight Desolate Divine Sword surged like a beast unleashed, swinging in a blur of countless sword forms. Its power spiked so violently that it shredded Fang Han's web of mana and lunged straight for his heart.
Its might was unstoppable.
As Ye Nantian fell, a talisman on his chest ignited, transforming into a gust of wind that slowed his descent, letting him land safely on the platform.
"So, the Gate can empower the sword as well," Fang Han muttered, startled. He knew the sword's strength well—but the Gate's mysterious force was something else entirely.
Facing the incoming strike, he gathered his mana to his hands and unleashed sixty-four consecutive palm strikes. Each strike condensed into a solid imprint, colliding with the Divine Sword and slowing its advance inch by inch.
When it finally reached him, Fang Han bellowed—
"Wu! Gu! Ba! Ma! Hong! Ya! Suo! Po!"
The Eight Tones of the Heavenly Dragon!
This time, his chant wasn't mere sound—it was power itself. Each tone twisted into a runic stream of energy, eight invisible dragons intertwining as they wrapped around the sword.
At the Mortal Body stage, the technique had been mostly noise. But now—infused with Divine Ability—it was devastating.
The Divine Sword trembled violently, its hum turning shrill like the wings of a thousand bees. Then, after three flickers of the eye, its light vanished. It dropped to the platform with a clear metallic chime.
"Urgh!"
Ye Nantian staggered as though struck by lightning. His spiritual imprint within the sword had been shattered by the Eight Tones.
He howled and lunged to reclaim it, knowing that if he could just draw blood upon the blade again, he could reforge the bond.
But Fang Han was faster. He landed between Ye Nantian and the sword, planting his foot squarely atop the blade.
"Damn it!" Ye Nantian's face twisted in panic and venom. He tried to retreat, summoning the Gate once more—but Fang Han gave him no chance.
With one stride, his robes billowed, mana surging explosively. He shrank the ground beneath his feet, closing the distance in a blink, and struck with an open palm.
Crack!
Ye Nantian's body shot upward like a ragdoll, blood spraying from his mouth in a crimson arc. He crashed outside the arena, bones shattering, tendons snapping—his martial power utterly destroyed.