Chapter Fifty-One: Liu Ku

“Swallow one pill, it lasts the time of an incense stick!” Without hesitation, Liu Kuang leaped forward and caught the porcelain bottle Liu Pan had tossed to him. The very instant he darted forth, a faint golden fist shadow swept past his side, the force of it whipping his robes into a frenzy.

As the fist shadow whistled by, Liu Kuang broke out in a cold sweat. Had Liu Pan not thrown the bottle quickly enough, and he not moved so decisively to catch it, he would have been sent flying, coughing blood from the force of that blow.

A chill lingered in Liu Kuang’s heart. Watching Liu Pan and Li Liao earlier, he knew one possessed spiritual power, the other divine sense, but those had been distant observations. Experiencing it now firsthand, he truly grasped how terrifying cultivators with spiritual power and divine sense could be—they were simply on another level.

When he’d rushed out wielding the Desolate Blade, feeling the surge of power it granted him, Liu Kuang had thought himself able to fight side by side with Liu Pan. Perhaps not in perfect harmony, but at least he wouldn’t be a burden.

Yet in that flash of golden fist, reality dawned on him—he’d assumed too much. Even with the Desolate Blade’s strength, he was no match for those with spiritual power or divine sense. His reactions were too slow—his attacks wouldn’t even graze their robes.

Just now, against the attack of a Martial Master, he’d only reacted to Li Liao’s strike when he’d already moved to catch the bottle. If Liu Pan hadn’t purposely thrown the bottle to his left, forcing him to dodge, he could never have evaded the blow so perfectly.

Li Liao’s fist shadow missed as Liu Kuang caught the bottle. Li Liao’s eyes flickered strangely, but he quickly raised his hand to launch another fist shadow at Liu Kuang.

As Li Liao attacked again, Liu Pan snatched another porcelain bottle and hurled it to Liu Kuang’s right, shouting, “What are you standing there for? Take the pill, now!”

Snapping out of his daze, Liu Kuang caught the second bottle on the move, swiftly pulled the stopper from the first, and swallowed a pill.

The moment the pill entered his belly, a blazing heat surged from his core. Energy flooded his body, leaving him feeling as if he were invincible.

He had taken an Explosive Essence Pill. Liu Pan was helpless—if not for the murmurs of those watching, Li Liao wouldn’t have reacted so quickly. The pill had severe side effects, but there was no other choice—he needed just a bit more time.

When Liu Kuang first dodged the fist shadow, Li Liao couldn’t fully discern his cultivation, but he was certain Liu Kuang had neither spiritual power nor divine sense.

In Li Liao’s perception, though Liu Kuang managed to evade, under the lock of his divine sense, he noticed the obvious sluggishness in Liu Kuang’s movements.

Because both sides were locked onto each other, Li Liao’s attack and Liu Pan’s throw happened almost simultaneously, yet Liu Kuang’s reaction was noticeably slower. The only reason he succeeded was the difference in distance between him and the other two.

Having determined Liu Kuang possessed neither spiritual power nor divine sense, Li Liao was no longer concerned, though doubt lingered in his heart.

If Liu Kuang hadn’t awakened divine sense, he couldn’t have reached the Martial Master realm. How, then, could a cultivator below that threshold unleash a blade light stronger than Li Liao’s own, who was already third level and specialized in metal arts?

Li Liao’s focus narrowed on the giant blade in Liu Kuang’s hand, a burning greed flaring in his eyes. He hurled two more fist shadows while surging forward.

At the same time, Liu Pan quickly grabbed two more bottles, tossed them one after the other, and called out, “Here they come! Hold out for the time of an incense stick!”

Moving nimbly, Liu Kuang caught both bottles and, by chance, dodged the twin fist shadows. He needed no further reminder—out of the corner of his eye he could already see Li Liao charging.

Without hesitation, Liu Kuang swept the Desolate Blade in a horizontal arc, sending a blade light two feet long hurtling toward Li Liao.

To Li Liao, this was a waste of effort. The blade light was powerful, yet pointless if it didn’t strike its target.

With a flicker, Li Liao easily dodged the attack. But as he did, his brow furrowed. Under his divine sense, he saw Liu Kuang, like a madman, unleash three successive blade lights—and a fourth was already forming. All were horizontal sweeps, not a single vertical strike.

For an ordinary Martial Apprentice, close combat was the only option. Liu Kuang, also an apprentice, dared not approach; he relied on the Desolate Blade to launch ranged attacks.

Li Liao was a third-level Martial Master. If he got close, the outcome would be grim. Liu Kuang had seen Liu Pan blasted away by a single punch—if it were him, he’d likely die outright, lacking both spiritual power and divine sense. He couldn’t even choose to take a blow head-on.

He couldn’t allow Li Liao to close in. So, tactics were his only recourse: go berserk. He swung out blade lights recklessly, not to wound Li Liao, but to block his advance—after all, he wasn’t fighting alone. Liu Pan was at his side. He just needed to hold on for the time it took an incense stick to burn.

One blade light after another shot forth from the Desolate Blade, each one aimed to bar Li Liao’s path. Every strike was a horizontal sweep, covering as much ground as possible, creating a wider barrier.

Liu Kuang hadn’t yet learned the Nine Suns Burning Heaven Blade Art, but he’d practiced enough ordinary techniques in his clan to wield a blade with some style. Thus, his swings had both form and power.

This display stunned the watching disciples.

Clad in black, wielding a seven-foot blade, Liu Kuang’s relentless attacks stirred a thrill in every onlooker’s heart.

What is the Dao of the Blade? It is uninhibited! Liu Kuang’s frenzy was the perfect embodiment of that spirit.

Among the crowd, Hu Lang unconsciously clenched his fists as he watched Liu Kuang’s unending assault.

Though he had lost to Liu Kuang in previous matches, and again on Peak Eight, Hu Lang had never truly accepted him. Later, when he learned Liu Pan had called Liu Kuang their “big brother” and him the third, Hu Lang felt deeply aggrieved, but dared not protest so soon after his defeat.

In truth, Hu Lang always believed—if not for his habitual fighting style—he would never have lost to Liu Kuang, nor even to Liu Pan.

Yet when Liu Pan advanced to the Martial Disciple realm and was chosen as a personal disciple by an elder, Hu Lang’s confidence wavered. Watching Liu Pan fight Li Liao shattered it completely.

With that conviction gone, Hu Lang told himself at least Liu Kuang remained as his equal. But now—

Watching Liu Kuang wielding blade lights against Li Liao, a Martial Master, Hu Lang’s faith in himself began to crack as well. After all, Liu Kuang had never used a weapon in their previous bouts.

He glanced at Liu Pan, who lounged beneath a tree, a faint glimmer in his eyes. Now, he truly admired Liu Pan from the bottom of his heart. If there was anyone left, it would be Ye Ming.

After all, Ye Ming was second, and Hu Lang third. He didn’t care much for the ranking, but it was true that second outranked third.

Why, then, was he placed third? Hu Lang frowned, glancing at the spot where Ye Ming had stood—now empty. After a moment’s thought, he suddenly looked toward Moonclear Peak. Could it be—

Liu Pan, of course, knew nothing of Hu Lang’s inner turmoil.

The “second and third” issue had been a whim of Liu Pan’s. In his story, Hu Lang was second, Ye Ming third. Why, then, had he told Lin Dong and the others otherwise? It was nothing more than a playful trick to give the “pure-hearted boy” the title of second.

If Liu Pan knew what Hu Lang was thinking now, perhaps he would have offered comfort, so as not to shake his path in martial cultivation. But he did not—and even if he had, he had neither the energy nor the leisure for such things at this critical moment.

Yet Liu Pan’s ignorance would let Hu Lang surpass the limits set in his own story. In the end, Hu Lang’s greatest pride would be that even the all-knowing Liu Pan had once mistaken his place above Ye Ming.

As Liu Kuang’s blade lights flew, his essence power was draining at a terrifying rate. The Explosive Essence Pill had multiplied his reserves several times over, but the frequency of his attacks consumed it just as quickly.

In only half the time it takes an incense stick to burn, more than half his energy had been spent. At this rate, he could not possibly hold out for the full duration.

What now? Glancing at Liu Pan, still resting beneath the tree with no intention of rising, Liu Kuang couldn’t help but grow anxious.