Chapter Forty-Two: Seeking the Right Moment

Wang Xiaoming let out a sudden cry, stretching both arms forward like a bird unfurling its wings, and leaped straight toward Li Mu. At that moment, the blood-red mist around his body deepened in hue, enshrouding him so completely that his features were utterly indistinguishable, lending him a most uncanny appearance.

Li Mu remained unshaken. As Wang Xiaoming drew near, he immediately invoked the Frost Crystal Art. An intense chill filled the air, causing the surrounding temperature to plummet. Mu Xin, standing to the side, could not bear the cold and hastily retreated several steps, his face clearly showing surprise. “This Frost Crystal Art is far stronger than what ordinary cultivators wield. This man is not to be underestimated—good thing I didn’t pick a fight with him.”

A resounding thud followed. Yet when the frigid air collided with the blood-red mist, it produced none of the expected effects; not even shards of ice could form, for the frosty energy simply dissipated into nothingness within the mist.

Wang Xiaoming’s aura faltered momentarily, but he only grinned, his laughter cold and mocking. “Such minor tricks, and you think to perform them before me?”

Mu Xin was even more taken aback. He had noticed the blood-red mist earlier, thinking it to be a common defensive spell, but had not expected that even the Frost Crystal Art would be rendered worthless against it. Was there really no difference between this and a legendary artifact?

Li Mu’s brow furrowed slightly. Raising both hands, he cast the Frost Crystal Art twice in quick succession. Twin waves of cold swept from either side, enveloping Wang Xiaoming. Yet once again, the chilling force vanished without a trace as it met the blood-red mist, leaving Wang Xiaoming standing firm and unscathed.

“This blood-red mist is not so easily dealt with,” Li Mu realized, and retreated several steps. At that instant, he invoked the Vine Spell as well—a green vine, undulating like an insect, wound around Wang Xiaoming and trapped him within a sphere.

But Li Mu retreated once more. He saw clearly that the vine resisted for only a few seconds before the blood-red mist corroded it completely, leaving not a trace behind.

“Fight on!” Wang Xiaoming’s expression grew wild as he brandished a bronze hammer. “This blood-red mist, my impregnable defense, cost me years to cultivate and required the life force of thousands to forge! And you, a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator, seek to break it?”

Li Mu’s heart turned grim. The life force of thousands—Wang Xiaoming bore the burden of countless lives. It was appalling.

“Brother Wang, truly awe-inspiring,” Mu Xin hurried to flatter him. Yet he felt a pang of regret; had he known Wang Xiaoming was so formidable, he would never have distanced himself from him.

Wang Xiaoming laughed heartily. “Let’s have a round!” The bronze hammer transformed into a beam of golden light, hurtling toward Li Mu. At first, the golden light seemed inconspicuous, but as it soared through the air, it grew larger and brighter, so dazzling before Li Mu that he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Heng Seal, block!” Li Mu had already prepared. The incantation shot forth, manifesting as a thick wall directly in front of him. The golden light struck the Heng Seal with a thunderous roar, only to be repelled and returned to Li Mu’s hand. The Heng Seal stood unmoved, not even a dent upon it.

Li Mu retrieved the seal, his gaze burning into Wang Xiaoming. The Heng Seal was a treasure he had purchased before. Though it bore no magical properties, it was a first-class artifact—formidable in both attack and defense, even better than many second-rate treasures. Its price was low only because it was forged from a whole block of Heng Iron, weighing a thousand catties—so heavy that most cultivators could not lift it. Only Li Mu, due to his unique abilities, could carry and wield it thanks to the Mythic Spirit Tower he possessed.

Mu Xin quickly piped up, eager to curry favor. “This young master is truly mighty! I was too loose-tongued earlier; please don’t hold it against me.” As a disciple of a sect, he had seen much and knew that one who could wield such a treasure as if it weighed nothing was no ordinary cultivator.

Wang Xiaoming, too, was stunned. “Well, well, I didn’t expect you to have some skill. But you’ll still die sooner or later!” He spat a flying arrow from his mouth, shooting it straight at Li Mu. Such tricks Li Mu had seen many times before and dealt with them easily using the Frost Crystal Art.

Seeing his attack fail, Wang Xiaoming’s hammer once again flashed golden, but Li Mu continued to block with the Heng Seal and counter with spells. However, the Frost Crystal Art was useless against the blood-red mist, and though the seal could block attacks, Wang Xiaoming easily dodged its strikes.

Back and forth they went, the duel dragging on. Wang Xiaoming glared at Li Mu, breathing heavily. Unlike cultivators who calmly refine their arts, such lowly evil practitioners as he could not endure long battles; their strength came from plunder and their will was easily swayed. Their trump cards were unpredictable, but prolonged combat was not their forte. Li Mu, however, remained calm and unwavering.

Wang Xiaoming felt his stamina waning. Though he had taken a recovery pill, Li Mu seemed tireless by comparison, his spiritual energy far deeper than one would expect from someone at his cultivation stage.

“Mu Xin, are you just going to stand there?” Wang Xiaoming suddenly roared.

Mu Xin’s figure flickered as he hastily shook his head. “Brother Wang, you can’t drag me into this! You two agreed to fight; how could I interfere?” Then, turning to Li Mu, he added, “Rest assured, young master, I will not join forces with him.” He could now see that Li Mu’s chances of victory seemed greater.

Li Mu acted as if he hadn’t heard, silently calculating his next move. He too had a secret weapon—the Fireburst Art. He was certain that the violet flames he could conjure would burn away the blood-red mist’s defenses. Yet he could not find the right opportunity: gathering the flames took several seconds, during which he would be vulnerable to Wang Xiaoming’s attacks. Moreover, the Fireburst Art, while powerful, was still only a technique of the Qi Condensation stage and difficult to land on a moving target.

His heart stirred slightly. From within the Spirit Tower, he retrieved a Spirit Condensation Pill and swallowed it. The pill would shorten the time needed to summon the flames, but not enough—he would have to wait for the right moment.

At last, Wang Xiaoming could endure no further. “Mu Xin, you’ll die too!” he howled, biting down hard on his tongue. Employing the Blood Transformation Body Art, an evil technique that fused his own life force with that stolen from others, he rapidly altered his body, greatly enhancing his strength. This forbidden method risked driving the user mad and reducing him to a bloodthirsty beast, knowing only slaughter. The toll on the body was severe and cultivation would suffer; it was not to be used except in the face of death.

But Wang Xiaoming had reached that point. Any longer, and he would surely collapse.

When Wang Xiaoming, in the Foundation Establishment stage, unleashed the technique, his presence became overwhelming. The blood-red mist, thick with the stench of blood, filled the hall, making one retch. The floor cracked and split apart with a series of snaps, dust flying. The mist darkened, almost black, and as his body swelled, Wang Xiaoming grew even more formidable in just a few moments—his head nearly brushing the ceiling, towering above them all.

Mu Xin trembled all over. He remembered once witnessing an evil practitioner employ such a technique and watched as his fellow disciple was smashed to pieces, not even a corpse remaining.

“No, Brother Wang, I’ll help you kill him!” Mu Xin shouted, drawing a jade-green sword. With a spell, the blade split into three, speeding toward Li Mu.

Clang! The swords struck the Heng Seal, leaving three marks. Clearly, this sword was even more powerful than the bronze hammer.

“Why do you attack me? You’re despicable!” Li Mu shook his head, pointing at Wang Xiaoming.

Mu Xin turned with a questioning look, but suddenly froze, his face drained of color, eyes wide with terror.

Wang Xiaoming had been set ablaze.

Pale violet flames raged across his body, and wherever the fire touched, the blood-red mist vanished in an instant. The formidable defensive mist now crumbled like rotting cloth, burning swiftly to ash.