A deafening boom shattered the silence.

As Han Lie’s calm words faded, a torrent of boundless Pure Yang spiritual power erupted from the edge of his blade. The projection of the slash, originally spanning a hundred miles, compressed into a singular, ten-zhang streak of concentrated destruction.

A brilliant crimson radiance illuminated half the heavens. It crashed against the silver ocean of Zhao Batian’s lightning, splitting the sky into two distinct domains of fire and thunder.

Sizzle!

The collision of these two terrifying forces generated a pressure field that defied logic. Gale-force winds howled, uprooting the ancient forests on the surrounding mountains as if they were weeds.

Even the distant battles faltered. Apart from the Nascent Soul clash involving Zhuo Hongyi and Qin Lan, the chaotic melee between dozens of sect disciples ground to a halt. Everyone stared, faces pale with shock, at the duel in the sky.

“He… he matches the Holy Son?” a Sun Moon Sect disciple stammered. “The pressure of their battle is approaching the Nascent Soul stage!”

“Since when did the Heavenly Void Sect have a monster like this?” another whispered. “The Holy Son usually fights above his realm. I’ve never seen anyone in the same realm stand their ground against him!”

“No wonder so many of our brothers died at his hands. This Han Lie… is a demon.”

The Sun Moon Sect disciples stared with wide eyes. In their worldview, Zhao Batian was invincible beneath the Nascent Soul stage. The existence of an equal was a shattering revelation.

Roar!

The deadlock in the sky finally broke. After moments of mutual annihilation, Han Lie’s crimson blade light began to devour the silver lightning. Despite the massive expenditure of energy, the [Unity] strike still retained a third of its destructive power.

“Holy Son Zhao,” Han Lie grinned, his eyes cold. “It seems your technique is somewhat lacking compared to mine.”

He exerted his will.

Clang!

Sparks rained down like meteors. The lightning gathered at the tip of Zhao Batian’s silver umbrella was obliterated. The remnants of the [Unity] slash chopped down toward the Holy Son’s head without hesitation.

While the raw power might not have been enough to kill him, the hidden [Soul Hook] characteristic forced Zhao Batian into a desperate corner. Unless one possessed overwhelming cultivation to suppress Han Lie, the soul-rending properties of that attack were fatal.

Zhao Batian’s face twitched violently.

Technique? No.

He was certain. The power contained within Han Lie’s strike transcended mere spells. In the hierarchy of the Tianyuan Continent—Techniques, Spells, and Divine Abilities—this was undeniably a Divine Ability.

Even a Low-grade Divine Ability was a treasure that could cause bloodbaths across the continent. Yet this man, who claimed to be a mere servant disciple, wielded one with proficiency?

Zhao Batian dared not tank the hit. He dissolved into a bolt of lightning, flashing out of the attack’s range with impossible speed.

Boom!

The [Unity] slash missed its target and slammed into the earth below. A mushroom cloud of dust and debris rose, shaking the foundations of the mountains.

Zhao Batian reappeared at a distance, his expression grave. He had sensed the aura of death hidden within that blade. If he had tried to block it, his soul would have suffered damage that even pills couldn’t easily fix.

“Dragon Transformation Secret Art!”

Zhao Batian abandoned his arrogance. His hands blurred, forming complex seals.

Han Lie watched with mild interest as two azure dragon horns erupted from the Holy Son’s forehead. Cyan scales spread wildly across his skin, armoring him from neck to chin. His hands elongated, morphing into razor-sharp dragon claws that shimmered with an indestructible luster.

Crackle!

Violent arcs of lightning danced around his transformed body. His aura surged, pushing dangerously close to the barrier of the Nascent Soul stage.

“Warm-up is over,” Zhao Batian grinned, his voice distorted and guttural. “Round two.”

He vanished.

Han Lie’s instincts screamed. Without hesitation, he swung Crimson Oath, slashing blindly into the empty air before him.

Clang!

Zhao Batian materialized from the void, driving a dragon claw directly into the blade. Sparks flew as the divine weapon struck the scales, but the slash failed to cut through.

“What?” Han Lie’s eyes narrowed.

“Surprised?” Zhao Batian chuckled darkly. He clamped his claw around the blade of Crimson Oath, locking it in place. With his free hand, he balled his dragon claw into a fist and punched straight for Han Lie’s face.

Han Lie didn’t panic. He channeled a torrent of spiritual power into his palm, catching the punch.

Thud.

The two stood locked in the sky, a contest of raw strength.

“You are indeed a figure worth noting, Han Lie,” Zhao Batian praised, staring at the middle-aged face before him. “But unfortunately… today, I am superior.”

“Hah,” Han Lie scoffed, his tone dripping with cynicism. “The dust hasn’t settled, and you’re already writing your victory speech?”

Whoosh!

A sharp whistling sound tore through the air behind Han Lie.

Han Lie’s eyes widened slightly. The silver umbrella, which had been knocked away earlier, was hurtling back toward him, wrapped in violent thunder, aimed squarely at his unprotected back.

“Do you have a third hand?” Zhao Batian’s smile turned manic. He held Crimson Oath fast and kept his fist pressed against Han Lie’s palm. He had checkmated his opponent.

“Old Han!” Below, Bai Ling screamed, her heart seizing in her chest.

The umbrella was instantaneous. It was less than a hundred meters away.

“Heh.”

Suddenly, Han Lie smiled. It was a strange, eerie expression that sent a chill down Zhao Batian’s spine.

Han Lie abruptly cut the spiritual power in his left hand.

The resistance vanished. Zhao Batian’s punch, no longer held back, slammed forward with uncontrolled momentum.

Bang!

The dragon fist connected solidly with Han Lie’s chest. But instead of crumbling, Han Lie used the kinetic force of the blow to launch himself backward, accelerating his retreat.

Pop!

The speeding silver umbrella filled Zhao Batian’s vision.

He had no time to recall it. He had no hand free to block it.

With a sickening crunch, the artifact he controlled slammed into his own chest.

Boom!

Thunder detonated against dragon scales. The weapon’s piercing lightning qi drilled into its master’s body.

“Pfft!”

Zhao Batian sprayed a fountain of blood. His body folded like a broken kite and plummeted from the sky, smashing into the ground with the force of a meteor.

Silence reigned.

The disciples of both sects stood with their mouths agape.

Injure the enemy eight hundred, self-inflict one thousand.

Whatever the idiom was, Han Lie had twisted it. He had taken a heavy punch—a calculated sacrifice—to force Zhao Batian into a catastrophic friendly fire incident. In the heat of battle, such a split-second decision required nerves of steel.

Han Lie hovered in the air, chest heaving. He had cushioned the blow with internal energy before impact, so while his blood churned, his injuries were far lighter than the Holy Son’s self-inflicted wound.

He didn’t wait. He reached out, and Crimson Oath flew back into his grip.

“Soul Severing!”

Roar!

Pure Yang energy surged like a tsunami. A blade projection, ten thousand zhang tall and burning with the heat of a sun, detached from Crimson Oath. It slashed down toward the crater where Zhao Batian had fallen.

Below, the battered Holy Son had just risen from the debris when the sky turned red.

Panic flickered in his eyes. He raised both dragon claws high, bracing the heavens.

BOOM!

The shockwave pulverized the ground for miles. Zhao Batian caught the [Soul Severing] blade, but the cost was visible.

His face contorted in agony. Veins bulged on his forehead. His arms trembled violently as the scorching Pure Yang energy began to sublimate the dragon scales on his palms, turning them into smoke.

“Damn… damn it!”

Zhao Batian grit his teeth, his heart pounding with a foreign emotion: fear.

Since birth, he had been the chosen one. He had never tasted defeat. The idea that a cultivator of the same realm could push him to the brink of death was shattering his Dao Heart.

“To push This Senior this far proves your worth, Zhao Batian.”

Han Lie looked down from the sky, his pitch-black pupils flashing with a sharp, ancient light.

“But this match… is mine.”

He gripped Crimson Oath with both hands and poured the entirety of his Pure Yang spiritual power into the blade, pressing down with the weight of a mountain.