Volume One: The Game of the Controller Chapter Sixty-Six: Zong Jue's Black Long Blade

Ao Wuming had just arrived when the figures of Zong Jue, Man Qian, and Wu Long appeared behind him, followed by Wen Feng, Bai Ying, Feng Tang, Hu Changfeng, and Luo Changqing. Only Qin Shuang was slightly late, and when he arrived, ten wine jars floated around his body.

"The innkeeper promised to send these to us earlier. Since none of you wanted them, I brought them for you," Qin Shuang said with a smile, paying no heed to the others. He opened a jar, took a gentle sip, and praised, "This truly is fine wine."

On the other side, the young man in white folded his arms across his chest, watching the group of ten with great interest. "Well, well, I must say, I have to admire your courage. You actually dared to follow us here."

"If some people are so eager to die, we're merely ridding the world of a few wastes. If they're not afraid of death, why should we be?" Ao Wuming replied indifferently, disdain clear in his tone.

"If victory were decided by words, perhaps we really wouldn't stand a chance," the young man in white responded calmly, always keeping a faint smile. "Unfortunately, today it's strength that matters. The weak will be eliminated."

"Haha, you’re quite right. Soon you’ll see exactly who will be eliminated," Zong Jue laughed heartily.

"So, how shall we compete?" The young man in white arched an eyebrow. "One-on-one? Or a free-for-all?"

"Well..." Wu Long stepped forward, frowning in thought, then said, "Why don’t you decide? That way, whoever dies won’t feel any resentment."

"Hmph, you certainly have sharp tongues," Zuo Wen snorted. "Boss, whatever happens, let me go first."

The young man in white nodded. "Very well. We'll have five matches and see who wins three out of five. Each side sends five people. The first to win three matches prevails. Life and death are left to fate."

"And what do we gain by winning? What’s the penalty for the losers?" Qin Shuang asked from the back of the group, still sipping his wine with an air of casual ease.

The young man in white's expression shifted. "The losers will, of course, withdraw from the contest for the Spirit Treasure."

"Alright, though it's not the most enticing prize, sweeping away a few pieces of trash is necessary," Wu Long interjected, not taking the other side seriously at all.

"I'll go first!" Zuo Wen, who had fought with Ao Wuming earlier, stepped forward, pointing at him with a sneer. "We didn’t finish our fight just now. You talked big—let me see what you’re really made of."

"Heh, are you really in such a hurry to die?" Ao Wuming laughed. That punch earlier was just his own strength; if he changed into combat form and drew on the power of the Dragon Pearl, even if he couldn’t match Wen Feng, the Gold Execution Lord, he wouldn't fall short by much.

"Wuming, let me take the first match," Zong Jue suddenly stepped forward, blocking Ao Wuming and flashing a smile at the group. "The opening match is usually for the weaker fighters. Since I’m the least powerful, let me go first."

"Hmph, an eighth-level Demon Emperor dares to act so arrogant," Zuo Wen said with contempt.

"Be careful, Zong Jue. After all, this guy is a ninth-level Demon Emperor," Ao Wuming reminded.

"Don’t worry. I may not be ninth-level, but I’m at the peak of the eighth. Ordinary ninth-level Demon Emperors don't concern me." The Golden-Winged Roc was known for its incredible speed and solid defense, though its attack was only average. However, with Uncle Lan’s black war blade, Zong Jue’s attack power was greatly enhanced.

Both sides naturally gave Zuo Wen and Zong Jue a wide space to fight. Qin Shuang’s spiritual sense locked tightly onto Zuo Wen; if Zong Jue were in danger, Qin Shuang would not hesitate to intervene. After all, Zong Jue had helped his father many times in the past.

"Come on!" Zong Jue said proudly. As long as the black war blade was in his hand, a strange confidence surged within him.

"Whoosh—" Zuo Wen wasted no time. His figure flickered and appeared before Zong Jue, his hand forming a claw that reached straight for Zong Jue’s head.

"Your speed’s not bad," Zong Jue smiled faintly. He’d heard in the tavern that Zuo Wen’s true form was a Golden Feather Goose, a type of super-divine beast among birds, famed for speed.

Yet, few avian demon beasts could match the Golden-Winged Roc’s speed, and the Golden Feather Goose was no exception.

Just as the claws were about to seize his head, Zong Jue’s figure blurred and vanished.

"So what if you’re a ninth-level Demon Emperor? Can you match my speed?" Zong Jue’s mocking voice echoed. Though Zong Jue’s attacks might not match Zuo Wen’s, in terms of speed, even as an eighth-level Demon Emperor, he was faster.

"Hmph, what use is speed alone?" Zuo Wen snorted, his hands crossing as he drew six lines with his fingers, instantly creating six interlaced space rifts. With his demonic sense, Zuo Wen could track Zong Jue at all times. Now, with six rifts, teleporting out was impossible.

"Why aren’t you running anymore?" Zuo Wen sneered, his figure flickering as he prepared to attack again—only for Zong Jue to slip through the gaps in the rifts and strike back.

"Good," Zuo Wen said, extending both hands to meet Zong Jue’s blade head-on.

"That eighth-level Demon Emperor is an idiot. Can’t he see Zuo Wen is wearing a pair of mid-grade artifact gauntlets?" one of the young man’s companions scoffed. No one knew what grade Zong Jue’s weapon was, but few believed that dull black blade in his hand could surpass a mid-grade artifact.

Seeing Zuo Wen’s hands seize the blade, Zong Jue nearly laughed. He knew about the gauntlets and their quality, but the black war blade had given him immense confidence. In the world of immortals, demons, and devils, aside from inherited spirit treasures, he’d never seen any weapon that could compare.

Boom! The black blade collided with Zuo Wen’s hands. One ninth-level, one eighth-level Demon Emperor—clash for clash.

At once, spatial ripples spread outward from the epicenter, flattening the hills and uneven ground within hundreds of kilometers as all was reduced to dust.

Crack! Zuo Wen’s face changed dramatically as the gauntlets, mid-grade artifacts, shattered.

"This… impossible." An eighth-level Demon Emperor shattering a ninth-level’s mid-grade artifact with a single strike—Zuo Wen simply couldn’t accept it.

"How could something gifted by Grandpa Lan be anything but extraordinary?" Qin Shuang, watching from the sidelines, mused. "Grandpa Lan’s forging skills are superb. Even if the blade’s made only from the outermost branches of the Ancient Ironwood, in terms of toughness, it’s already on par with a mid-grade heavenly artifact."

Swish! As Zuo Wen was still reeling from shock, Zong Jue swung again, cleaving him cleanly in two.

"My low-grade artifact armor…" Zuo Wen was stunned again. Armor was different from weapons; even low-grade artifact armor was tougher than most mid-grade weapons. Yet this blade met no resistance, slicing as easily as through tofu.

"Hmph. Without the strength, don’t be so arrogant in your next life," Zong Jue said coldly, his wrist flicking rapidly. In moments, Zuo Wen was reduced to fragments—his nascent soul destroyed as well.

Awe. Zong Jue’s performance stunned everyone.

Not only the young man in white and his group, but even Ao Wuming and his allies were momentarily dazed. They knew Zong Jue was formidable, but never imagined he was this formidable.

Even Wen Feng shook his head in amazement. "That blade is probably no less than my Golden Execution Pearl." The Golden Execution Pearl was a primordial spirit treasure, impossible for Wen Feng to refine fully. If he could have, he wouldn’t have said such a thing. But even with partial refinement, he was nearly unrivaled in the entire world of immortals, demons, and devils.

The young man in white stared ravenously at Zong Jue’s blade, practically drooling. "That blade... is certainly no ordinary weapon."

"Obviously," Zong Jue replied coldly, retreating to his side.

"Who’s next?" The burly man who had been boasting in the tavern stepped forward, unfazed by Zuo Wen’s death, hefting his spiked mace and calling out for challengers.

"My turn at last!" Ao Wuming eagerly cracked his knuckles, stepping forward as no one stopped him. "Big guy, you mocked my attack power earlier. Now, let me show you what I can really do."

Roar—

A furious roar shook the entire planet Tulan, the very air trembling. As golden light enveloped Ao Wuming, even the assembled masters couldn’t see what was happening inside.

Moments later, a figure emerged, fully clad in golden dragon scales, golden hair floating around him, shimmering with a soft golden glow. Ao Wuming’s entire body was sheathed in radiant dragon scales.

"My old friend, you haven’t stretched in a long time," Ao Wuming murmured, stroking his battered spear as one would a beloved companion.

"The battle state of a Five-Clawed Golden Dragon is indeed formidable," Bai Ying, the White Lord, sighed with genuine admiration at the sight of Ao Wuming’s golden brilliance.

"Heh, now this is interesting," the burly man said, a grin curling his lips as every muscle trembled in anticipation.

(To be continued)