Chapter Five: Unkillable

“What are you doing here? You’re no match for him!” Zhou Xue gritted her teeth as she spoke. Seven days since her rebirth, apart from her adoptive parents, she felt some affection for Fang Wang and did not wish to see this young man lose his life tonight.

Fang Wang cradled Zhou Xue in one arm, his feet moving in the peerless Shadow Step, constantly shifting to evade the barrage of golden rays. Rather than fleeing outright, he darted back and forth in the area, dodging each deadly beam.

“If I’m not, are you certain that you are?” Fang Wang replied calmly, his gaze never wavering from the blue-robed Daoist hovering in midair.

Zhou Xue fell silent, unable to answer.

At that moment, the Daoist’s attacks ceased. Fang Wang landed atop a broken wall; Zhou Xue naturally slipped from his embrace, maintaining a measured distance between them.

“So this is magic? The lower tiers of the Immortal Cultivation world are this formidable—are you sure you weren’t exaggerating?” Fang Wang stared at the Daoist, his voice low.

The golden rays had been terrifyingly lethal. During his evasions, Fang Wang had felt unprecedented danger, his mind taut with caution.

Zhou Xue drew a deep breath. “His cultivation is indeed at the lower rungs of the Immortal world. But he wields two magical artifacts. For his level, he’s considered a first-rate expert. However, with his spiritual energy, he can’t sustain such attacks for long.”

Hearing this, Fang Wang quickly grasped the situation.

Under his unwavering gaze, the Daoist descended from the sky—remaining aloft, impressive as it was, clearly demanded a heavy toll.

“Who are you?” the blue-robed Daoist demanded, eyes fixed on Fang Wang. The youth’s movements differed from the martial experts he had seen, even surpassing most Qi Nurturing cultivators. Though he couldn’t see through Fang Wang’s identity, Zhou Xue’s poison confirmed her as a cultivator.

Fang Wang raised his sword. “When you ask another’s name, should you not first give your own?”

The Daoist responded with a cold, sinister smile. “Then let’s see what gives you the nerve to defy me!”

He lunged at them, far faster than the black-clad men before.

Fang Wang advanced instead of retreating, sword flashing toward the Daoist.

The two moved like arrows loosed from a bow, closing to within seven steps in a blink. Fang Wang’s sword slashed out; the Daoist twisted aside, flicking his horsetail whisk.

So fast!

Both thought the same in that instant—Fang Wang marveled at the cultivator’s physical speed, while the Daoist wondered at his opponent’s footwork. Was this youth already at the seventh or eighth stage of Qi Nurturing?

Dodging each other’s strikes, they clashed in a fierce and swift duel. Stones flew, sand whirled, but neither could yet land a decisive blow.

Watching Fang Wang hold his own, Zhou Xue was moved. She realized she had underestimated him.

“With such strength, he’s already on par with seventh or eighth stage Qi Nurturing cultivators—yet he’s merely a martial artist. Has he reached the legendary realm of martial arts?” Zhou Xue was inwardly amazed. She knew exactly how young Fang Wang was.

Sixteen years old, and already so powerful…

His talent and comprehension were nothing short of extraordinary! Though the paths of martial and immortal arts differed, there were similarities. Geniuses in martial arts rarely lacked aptitude in cultivation, especially when it came to comprehension.

Her admiration for Fang Wang deepened. Meanwhile, several experts from the Fang clan hurried over. Upon seeing Fang Wang locked in battle with the Daoist, they all instinctively halted.

Fang Wang, clad in white, moved like a phantom; his sword glinted coldly beneath the night sky. The Daoist, like a celestial crane, appeared slower by comparison, yet always evaded Fang Wang’s attacks with ease.

“So fast!”

“Is that even human speed? Is that truly Young Master Fang Wang?”

“I never imagined the Thirteenth Young Master’s martial arts were so profound. I heard Ah Hu say he’s slain many experts himself.”

“Is that man human or ghost? He moves as if floating!”

“We mustn’t interfere; we might distract Young Master Fang Wang!”

The Fang family’s experts whispered in awe; among them were Fang Wang’s kin, most astonished of all, having never realized his true prowess.

The Daoist swept his whisk, striking Fang Wang’s treasured sword with a force that sent him staggering back.

“No spiritual energy at all—are you merely a skilled martial artist? And only adept at techniques?” the Daoist sneered.

Fang Wang had not used his inner energy, relying solely on swordsmanship and footwork. This was his first time fighting all out, body and mind taut as a bowstring.

He had underestimated cultivators; he’d assumed their years of meditation would make them physically weaker than martial artists. Now he saw otherwise. Still, after their exchange, he’d gauged the Daoist’s strength.

The Daoist raised his left hand; yellow talismans spat golden rays at Fang Wang, who dodged swiftly.

More and more Fang clan experts arrived—even Fang Hanyu, wounded earlier, had come.

They had been shocked watching the Daoist wield his magical artifacts from afar; now, seeing the talismans’ wonders up close, they were even more awestruck and afraid.

“A sorcerer…”

A middle-aged retainer, clutching a staff, said with terror in his eyes.

Fang Hanyu wanted to join the fray, but his father, Fang Zhe, stopped him, his expression grave. “You’re no match for them.”

A tempest roiled in Fang Zhe’s heart. He had traveled the land, visited countless great sects, yet had never witnessed such sorcery.

Suddenly, he recalled an ancient legend he’d once heard: that deep within the mountains and sacred peaks, immortals dwelled—and that worldly martial arts were but their creation.

Fang Hanyu watched Fang Wang dodge the golden rays, his heart filled with complex emotions. He had always admired his cousin, who knew so much and often surprised him with his words. Even after years of martial training, he’d never forgotten Fang Wang, always believing his cousin would achieve something great. Never had he imagined Fang Wang would attain such heights in martial arts.

What stung wasn’t that Fang Wang was stronger, but that he could not help him.

Fang Wang continually evaded the golden rays, drawing ever closer to the Daoist. Seeing his talismans fail, the Daoist remained cold and unflustered.

When Fang Wang came within eight steps, he hurled his sword.

With such strength, at that range, it nearly struck the Daoist instantly. But with a metallic clang, the sword was deflected.

A flash of yellow light appeared before Fang Wang’s eyes—the Daoist was suddenly surrounded by golden radiance, a luminous armor that repelled the sword.

Fang Wang’s gaze sharpened; he saw the edge of a yellow talisman burning on the Daoist’s chest, its glow enveloping him.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A volley of six silver darts sliced past Fang Wang’s ear, flying straight for the Daoist.

This time, the Daoist didn’t take them head-on but dodged aside.

Before he could land, he quickly cast another spell. His whisk swept, summoning serpentine bolts of lightning that lashed out at Fang Wang.

Fang Wang leapt away; the lightning shattered the silver darts and smashed into the ground, leaving deep holes and showing terrifying power.

He turned and saw Zhou Xue had joined the fight, already at the Daoist’s side, dagger in hand. Her agility kept him entangled, unable to escape.

“She’s only been reborn for seven days, and already has such skill…” Fang Wang marveled inwardly.

Before her rebirth, Zhou Xue had been a sheltered, frail girl. Now her abilities surpassed most first-rate fighters.

Had she, like him, secretly trained in martial arts?

Or were the means of an Immortal Lord simply beyond imagination?

The Daoist unleashed another lightning spell. Too close, and Zhou Xue was not as quick as Fang Wang; in evading, she was struck on the back, blood spraying. Yet she still managed to sweep her sleeve, releasing a cloud of pale green powder that instantly enveloped the Daoist.

Collapsing, Zhou Xue immediately looked to Fang Wang.

Understanding, Fang Wang launched forward with Shadow Step, palm rising. Surging inner energy roared like a dragon; a dragon-shaped aura crashed into the Daoist and sent him flying a dozen yards, smashing into the ruins.

“That was… the legendary True Dragon Palm, famed throughout the martial world?” Fang Zhe’s eyes widened in disbelief; Fang Hanyu was equally stunned.

The True Dragon Palm was no rare secret art—anyone could obtain it with enough money—but it was notoriously difficult to master. In the current martial world, none had achieved full mastery.

Fang Wang withdrew his hand and rushed to Zhou Xue’s side. She lay in a pool of blood, looking utterly miserable.

“Martial energy won’t kill him. Find a way to get this poison into his wounds… wear him down with it…” Zhou Xue said in a trembling voice before Fang Wang could speak, producing a small paper pouch from her clothes.

Fang Wang did not take it but asked, “If he can’t be killed, can he at least be hurt?”

Zhou Xue frowned. “Of course. He’s only a Qi Nurturing cultivator. But in my state now…”

Boom!

Before she could finish, a thunderous roar erupted behind them, followed by a fierce gust of wind.

Fang Wang narrowed his eyes. Zhou Xue also turned. From the ruins, billowing black smoke rose as a black flag shot upward, fragments of stone and wood swirling around it, ghostly figures vaguely visible within.

The black flag floated in the air; the Daoist staggered to his feet, hair disheveled, covered in blood, robes tattered—a pitiful sight. Black blood poured from his wounds, which refused to close. His eyes locked hatefully on Fang Wang.

“Mortal! You dare wound me!”

Struck by the True Dragon Palm, he was now certain Fang Wang was no cultivator—just a mere martial artist!

To be injured by a commoner—his humiliation was unbearable. Burning with rage, he advanced, the black flag floating overhead, wailing ghosts filling the night with terror.

“That’s the Soul-Scorching Banner! Don’t let its ghostly aura touch you, or it will seize your mind and soul, making you its puppet!” Zhou Xue gasped, wracking her brain for a solution.

“You, venomous girl—what poison did you use on me? I’ll repay you a hundredfold!” the Daoist hissed at Zhou Xue, body trembling, wounds oozing black blood—obviously enduring excruciating pain.

Watching the Daoist’s faltering steps, Fang Wang’s gaze turned utterly dangerous. Slowly, he raised his right hand.

“If a mortal can wound you, then you are nothing more than a mortal yourself,” Fang Wang mocked, his voice ringing out, stoking the Daoist’s murderous fury.

The Daoist’s tone was icy. “Very well. I won’t let you die easily. I’ll flay your skin, tear your tendons, torment your soul—”

Even as he spoke and drew closer, Fang Wang suddenly raised his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together like a sword, pointing at the Daoist from a distance.

The Daoist’s lips curled in a sneer—then his pupils contracted sharply as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sword that had been knocked aside suddenly shoot from the ground, a cold gleam slicing through the air too fast for mortal eyes.

Wounded as he was, the Daoist had no chance to evade.

Bang—

The sword struck the back of his head, shattering his skull in a flash of light, then flew to hover before Fang Wang, suspended in midair. It spun, hilt first, toward Fang Wang’s right hand, as if alive.

Zhou Xue stared in dazed disbelief. The distant Fang clan members all gaped at the sword, eyes wide as if beholding a ghost.

The Fang estate fell into utter silence.