Fang Han had barely stepped out into the world for the first time when fortune and disaster struck in the same breath.
A once-in-a-lifetime chance—the Blackwater Serpent King transforming into a flood dragon—was right before him, ready for the taking.
And then, from nowhere, a deadly master swooped in to steal it all.
Was this fate's blessing or its curse? He had no time to find out.
The assailant was too fast, too ferocious. Astral Qi dwarfed True Qi—it was stronger, heavier, deadlier by far. One strike from such power could shatter mountains.
Fang Han couldn't even see the attacker's face. The man was cloaked in a veil of milky-white airflow, his figure a blur amid sonic booms that rattled the very air. The shockwaves pressed against Fang Han's body until his True Qi trembled and his flesh threatened to tear apart.
The pressure was monstrous.
But Fang Han was no fragile novice. He had cultivated True Qi to its peak, his body tempered by the Yama Golden Body, and his energy refined into the ancient Wood Emperor Essence. He could take a blow that would have obliterated any other.
"Om! Gu! Pa! Ma! Hung! Ya! Fo! Po!"
As the enemy's Astral Qi enveloped him, Fang Han unleashed the Heavenly Dragon Eight Tones. Each syllable carried the force of his True Qi, exploding outward in sonic waves that smashed into the enemy's aura like invisible hammers.
The eight sacred tones twined together, forming eight spectral azure dragons that roared through the storm, each one a manifestation of vibrating sound and willpower. They crashed into the man's Astral Qi barrier, detonating in a chorus of explosions. Sparks flew, steel rang against steel, but the man's protective aura held firm.
Still, that brief pause was enough. Fang Han gathered his True Qi again, shaping it into a thick jade-green staff, and brought it down in a fierce arc toward his opponent's skull.
Now, for the first time, he saw the man's face.
A middle-aged cultivator dressed in black robes, his skin darkened by years under the sun—or perhaps by demonic cultivation. Three streaks of beard hung from his chin. His eyes were venomous, his smile a twisted sneer. This was no righteous cultivator—his face bore the cruel calm of a man who had killed and plundered too many times to count.
"Heh, heh… I've been watching this Blackwater Serpent for a month," the man growled, his voice as cold as the sea. "Waiting for it to rise from the depths and transform so I could claim it as mine. And you dare try to take it from me? You've signed your death warrants."
With that, he slashed his hand through the air. A wave of Astral Qi shot forth like a blade, colliding with Fang Han's jade staff and blasting it apart. Then the man's other hand swept outward, gathering Astral Qi into a massive spectral hand, half the size of a courtyard, and brought it crashing down toward the sea.
Boom!
Seawater exploded skyward. Fang Han's True Qi net shattered, freeing the Blackwater Serpent, which screamed in pain and thrashed violently, sending waves higher than ships.
But the beast was too weak. Had it not been in its fragile metamorphosis, no cultivator could have bound it. Now it was helpless.
The man's spectral hand clamped around the serpent's neck, its "seven-inch" vital point, and lifted it effortlessly from the sea—tens of thousands of pounds of raw muscle and scale dangling like a fish on a hook.
"Wound my allies and think you can leave alive?"
Fang Han's fury blazed. That this man could casually hoist such a creature spoke to terrifying strength. But rage pushed thought aside—Long Xuan and the Witch had already been struck down by his ambush.
A roar tore from Fang Han's throat. He gathered nearly all his True Qi into his mind, condensing it into a spiraling vortex like the rings of an ancient tree. It drilled forward with piercing precision—straight toward the enemy's Astral barrier.
It was a secret strike from the Green Emperor Wood Emperor Art—the Spiral of the Verdant Core—a technique meant to pierce through any defense.
The black-robed man's eyes gleamed with bloodlust.
"Little fool!" he hissed. "You dare show off your pitiful tricks before the Lord of Dead Island? Allow me to teach you the meaning of power—Heavenly Astral Death Grip!"
His protective Astral Qi shifted, forming a spectral claw with only three fingers, each finger etched with twisting runes that spelled one word apiece: Death. Break. Ruin.
Bang!
Their powers collided midair. Fang Han's spiral of True Qi shattered instantly, yet the shockwave sent the Lord of Dead Island skidding backward through the sky, retreating for miles before halting.
And the serpent—momentarily released from his grip—plunged back into the sea with a thunderous splash.
"What kind of True Qi is this?" the man snarled, his face tightening in surprise. He had expended some energy earlier subduing the serpent, yet his opponent was a realm lower—how could he have forced him back?
The quality of that True Qi… it was ancient, resilient, endless. It surged like springtime's first wind—alive, inexhaustible, indestructible.
"What Lord of Dead Island?" Fang Han's voice thundered across the sea. "I am a direct disciple of the Yuhua Sect! You dare raise your hand against me—an orthodox cultivator? Are you tired of living, rogue dog?"
The man froze.
A disciple of Yuhua Sect? The name alone sent a shiver through him. Even the strongest independent cultivators feared the Ten Great Immortal Sects. To slay one of their disciples was to invite relentless vengeance.
That instant of hesitation was all Fang Han needed.
"Yan—now!"
From the Yellow Springs Diagram within his mind, Yan erupted in a blaze of light. The azure radiance of the Wood Emperor flared once more, forming a colossal tree that fell like a mountain toward the enemy.
Simultaneously, the spectral dragon spirit roared—its voice like the underworld itself—as waves of sacred Yellow Springs water poured down in torrents, turning into countless blades and arrows of liquid death.
The Water of Forgetfulness splashed across the Lord of Dead Island's Astral Qi barrier. The reaction was instant—hissss!—a searing sound like acid devouring metal.
His scream split the air.
The deathly water was eating straight through his spirit.