Chapter 89: The Art of the Fatal Strike (Part 4)

"You've only reached the peak of entry-level, and yet you begin by channeling your limited true energy into your weapon. While this greatly increases its power, at your current level, how long can you sustain it? Are you aiming for a quick decisive battle with me?" Zhang Lang’s insight was extraordinary; with a single glance, he saw through Lekai’s tactics.

As a master of the Hall level, Zhang Lang’s true energy was far more abundant—certainly more than twice that of Lekai. He sneered, pouring his own true energy into his sword. The ancient blade rang with a metallic sound, and a dazzling earth-yellow aura flared to life, as if the blade had been gilded; its brilliance was stunning.

"Hahaha, what an excellent sword! It bears so much true energy without so much as a scratch. Lekai, prepare to die!"

With a thunderous shout, Zhang Lang, brimming with true energy, spun his earth-yellow ancient sword in a flourish. With a sharp hiss, it struck out at Lekai like a dragon surging from the sea. Even before the blade reached its target, a streak of earth-yellow sword light burst from the tip, tangible and razor-sharp.

Lekai snorted coldly, raising his curved blade slightly. He leapt into the air, drawing a faint red arc of blood, and slashed down fiercely. Likewise, a subtle red glow surged out, wrapping around the blade and exuding an aura of dominance.

Though the weapons had not yet met, their true energies collided. Crackling sounds echoed as the ethereal light was even more violent than physical contact, as if the air itself was devoured, erupting in a series of explosive bursts—its might astonishing.

Lekai groaned, feeling the collision of true energies like electrical currents clashing, the force of the rebound transmitted in an instant, far beyond imagination. Clearly, Zhang Hai’s true energy was much more potent than Lekai’s; in this exchange, Lekai was immediately forced into a disadvantage, tossed about by the overwhelming force like a paper doll, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. That brief clash had already left him wounded.

It all seemed to unfold precisely as Zhang Hai had anticipated. Once his assault began, it was relentless; his feet shifted, and propelled by true energy, his speed surged. Like a shadow, he pursued Lekai’s tumbling body. The secret family technique that extended his arm made him seem mechanical, turning at unnatural angles, even appearing capable of a full 180-degree twist—utterly bizarre.

Swish, swish, swish, swish!

The sword tip quivered, transforming into a thousand venomous snake shadows, forming a net of attacks. In a blink, eighteen strikes were unleashed. To the average eye, this was impossible; even someone at a higher level could not move so swiftly. It was as if the sword tip merely flickered, the frequency surpassing the limits of vision.

A surge of alarm rose in Lekai’s heart. In the face of such extreme threat, his vision sharpened once more; but even with his awareness accelerated a thousandfold, Zhang Hai’s attack remained swift and uncanny. Indeed, this man’s arms were inherently strange, able to twist at will. His bones were peculiar, and his true energy vibrated unusually—transmitting from shoulder to palm and transforming in an instant. These eighteen sword strikes covered Lekai’s vital points, even leaving a finishing blow in reserve should Lekai manage to evade.

Such terrifying attacks, such strange techniques!

Lekai once again felt his life threatened. An ordinary person, faced with such an assault, would likely perish before even grasping what struck them. Even if one could see clearly, their mind would surely falter in panic. But Lekai, accustomed since childhood to dancing on the edge of life and death in the wilderness, had long since forged a heart of steel. Even when knowing death was imminent, he would never panic, choosing instead to fight with all his might in a final stand.

It was precisely this mindset that let him survive countless death traps.

Though Zhang Lang's strength had far exceeded expectations, Lekai had already mapped out the battlefield. At this moment, his "Return Step Technique" was fully activated. True energy surged through his body, and though his movements seemed frantic, they followed secret rules, subtly attuned to the rhythms of nature.

Zhang Lang was supremely confident in his power. With the explosive force and his family's secret art, he felt sure he could defeat any opponent—even those a level above him. Facing a youngster two levels below? That was nothing.

At this moment, he seemed to see Lekai sliced instantly into nineteen pieces by his sharp blade, falling to the ground with a thud, nothing but evenly shredded flesh!

Witnessing this, both Rambo and Wu Maitan felt their hearts leap into their throats, crying out in alarm. At that instant, Lekai resembled a piece of meat flying through the air, while Zhang Lang was a chef slicing it. From any perspective, Lekai seemed to have no hope of escape.

Slash, slash, slash!

Instead of the sound of flesh being cut, there was a piercing whistle as true energy sliced through the air.

What was happening?

Even Zhang Ba was stunned, staring in astonishment at Lekai—now suddenly at the foot of the steps, blade in hand, gasping for breath. How could someone who was just airborne, an easy target, suddenly reappear at the bottom in the opposite direction?

This was entirely beyond the scope of martial arts—was it perhaps a technique of the immortals?

"As expected, your greatest advantage is this uncanny movement technique. But surely it consumes a terrifying amount of true energy! Let’s see how many times you can use it." Though Zhang Lang was surprised, he quickly regained composure. If his opponent could easily slay his older brother, the youth’s power could not possibly be so ordinary. Now, he understood: Lekai’s trump card was this ghost-like movement.

Yet the more bizarre the secret art, the harsher its cost. Judging from Lekai’s appearance, Zhang Lang knew the youth’s true energy was exhausted. The technique's consumption must be enormous. Without the support of true energy, no matter how many tricks and secret arts, one could only look on helplessly—such was the strength and, ironically, the limitation of martial artists.

But to Zhang Lang’s utter astonishment, Lekai only paused to catch his breath, then stood up again. His true energy, previously depleted, now swelled like an inflating balloon, visibly rising.

Hissing!

He opened his mouth with a smile, and the breath he exhaled seemed to stir the wind, audible to all.

What in the world? Even if he were cheating, this was too blatant!

Clearly, Lekai did not intend to let his swelling true energy go to waste. With a tap of his toes, his figure flickered, crossing more than ten steps in a single stride to appear at Zhang Lang’s side. With a swift motion, his curved blade tore through the void, slashing down ferociously. This time, the true energy was vaster than before; the piercing cry of the air stabbed at the eardrums. Even Zhang Lang, formidable as he was, dared not take the blow head-on, hastily dodging five meters away.

A deep rumble was heard; the earth seemed to shake. The expensive steps paved with white jade cracked down the middle, as if scorched by intense heat—the fracture was discolored. The power of that slash was truly unimaginable. The destructive force of true energy was evident: if it struck flesh, Zhang Ba dared not even contemplate the outcome…