Chapter Fifteen: A Battle Across Realms (Please Add to Favorites, Please Recommend)

Dieyi’s face was taut with anxiety—this was a battle of life and death. Seeing the opponent flanked by two formidable bodyguards, she tugged at Yun Yufeng’s sleeve. “Young master, why don’t we let him have the sword? We can always buy another one, what do you think?”

Yun Yufeng’s confidence was unwavering. “Dieyi, can’t you see? No matter what we do, they’ll keep provoking us. This duel is inevitable. Besides, my life is not one they can take.” He strode forward resolutely. “Come, let’s not keep our friends waiting,” he said, leading the way downstairs.

The arena was not far, less than half a mile from the Celestial Arms Pavilion, situated at the edge of the central square in Muzha Encampment. Many mercenaries, reluctant to sell their spoils to merchants, preferred to set up stalls in the square, marking prices or requirements to sell or trade. Over time, the central square evolved into a bustling exchange market, teeming with stalls during market hours.

Their group headed straight for the arena. The mercenaries manning stalls recognized this familiar scene and began discussing among themselves. Soon, as word spread, the local gambling lords set up betting odds at the arena’s entrance.

A bet on Yun Yufeng to win paid out ten to one; a wager on the youth, two to one. Clearly, no one favored Yun Yufeng—his mid-third rank aura was plain to see, and the city was full of keen-eyed, accomplished cultivators.

Quickly, the two signed the dueling contract at the arena office, pressing their handprints onto the document. The duel was thus sealed, each side sending forth a champion. The contract stipulated that neither side would pursue revenge, regardless of the duel’s outcome; any violation would see the City Lord’s law enforcement act without mercy, executing the culprit. This system was established to resolve disputes within Muzha Encampment, maintaining order while mitigating unavoidable violence.

Standing before the arena seats, Yun Yufeng gazed serenely at the dueling platform below, his voice calm and unhurried. “Du Zitong, ascend. Let me see what you’re truly worth.” With that, he leapt gracefully onto the platform, turning to gesture at Du Zitong.

Yun Yufeng had learned the youth’s name while signing the contract and overheard whispers that Du Zitong’s father was a scion of a major family in Muzha Encampment. Yet, this posed no obstacle to the duel. Even if retaliation awaited beyond the city, Yun Yufeng had no intention of traveling home alone; he planned to join a mercenary company, broadening his horizons. With plenty of gold notes in his pocket, he could easily afford to hire an entire squad, ensuring his safety.

A mocking sneer played at Du Zitong’s lips as he instructed the bodyguard behind him, “Yang Ming, go. Bring me that brat’s head. I can’t stand him, especially that face of his.”

“Rest assured, young master,” Yang Ming replied, his grin wicked. “This subordinate is an expert. I’ll use my fists to grind him down, slowly and thoroughly.”

With a heavy thud, Yang Ming vaulted down from the stands, landing by sheer physical strength and using the impact to intimidate Yun Yufeng.

When the burly, middle-aged man landed on the platform, a chorus of disapproval swept the crowd; some jeered openly. It was blatant bullying—sending a fourth-rank adult against a mid-third-rank youth. Still, many looked on indifferently, as if the outcome had been foregone. The boy was a prodigy, yes, but too young to have realized his potential. His cultivation was at a clear disadvantage, and his energy channels, no matter how long, could not match an adult’s.

Yang Ming strode onto the platform, radiating arrogance. He bellowed at Yun Yufeng, “Kid, I won’t take advantage. I’ll use only these iron fists. Give it everything you’ve got—don’t you dare fall after a single punch, hahahaha!”

Unperturbed, Yun Yufeng replied coolly, “Don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed. If you like fists, I’ll humor you.”

The crowd watched Yun Yufeng’s calm, unflappable demeanor with a tinge of regret. Such a talented youth, and yet he was about to perish. That composure, unruffled and as gentle as drifting clouds, marked him as someone any family would cherish and nurture.

Still, a small minority doubted this was a certain death. For Yun Yufeng to be so composed, he could not be a reckless fool—he must have a hidden card to play, though none could guess what it was.

Yang Ming, having finished shouting, charged at Yun Yufeng with no sense of sportsmanship, his body brimming with battle energy, his tight jacket swelling with power. His fan-sized palm swung for Yun Yufeng’s face.

With his hands clasped behind him, Yun Yufeng waited until Yang Ming was nearly upon him before sidestepping, his right foot angling away. In a flash, his concealed hands shot toward Yang Ming’s ribs. The movement was crisp and decisive. Between his palms, purple energy swirled, and his hands gleamed like sculpted amethyst—noble and dazzling.

Seeing those palms closing in, Yang Ming roared, stomping the ground to steady himself. He thrust his left elbow out to meet Yun Yufeng’s double strike. A muffled impact resounded; Yang Ming staggered, nearly toppled by the blow.

Yun Yufeng remained unaffected, his palms continuing their dance, enveloping Yang Ming in a relentless offensive. The ferocity of his assault was undiminished by the gap in their ranks; he dominated the contest.

One mistake begot another, and Yang Ming was quickly overwhelmed. Moments ago, he’d bragged before his young master; now, his pride was in tatters. With a furious bellow, his eyes bloodshot, he attempted to retaliate, determined to land a punch even if it meant taking a hit himself.

The sounds of flesh meeting flesh and strikes landing echoed again and again across the arena.

Yun Yufeng’s arms were shrouded in a haze of purple energy, the Purple Emperor’s Heart Technique whirling within, his muscles knotted, veins writhing like worms beneath his skin. Under Yang Ming’s tempestuous attack, he stood his ground, meeting every move with equal force.

Each collision inflicted some damage—swelling muscles, ruptured channels, even hairline fractures in his bones. Yet, as his life energy mended his wounds, the injuries that might have become fatal were slowly healed, recovering almost as quickly as they were sustained.

With a tearing sound, Yun Yufeng’s sleeves were shredded in the exchange, revealing arms as crystalline as amethyst, drawing gasps from the spectators. Yang Ming, meanwhile, was forced to stumble backward under the onslaught.

After a fierce exchange lasting nearly fifteen minutes, Yang Ming’s injuries had worsened, his initial advantage over Yun Yufeng all but gone.

Yun Yufeng, on the other hand, remained vigorous and lively; the exertion seemed not to have affected him at all. The audience stared in disbelief. Could Yun Yufeng’s energy channels at mid-third rank truly outlast Yang Ming’s at the early fourth? Impossible.

In the stands, a bearded man stroked his daughter’s head. “Mu Yan, did you see that? Never underestimate any opponent. Even if they seem weak, a lion uses all its strength to catch a rabbit. Never let the unexpected happen, understand?”

The girl, ponytailed and dressed in a red dress, complained impatiently. “Yes, father, I know. Must you always pat my head? But father, why did you bet on that boy from the start?”

Her father chuckled. “A youth so calm, not the least bit agitated, yet willing to sign a death contract and face the duel with such composure—he must either be supremely confident or a complete fool. Do you think he looks like a fool?”

The girl tilted her head, nodding hesitantly. “Not at all, he’s sharp. I don’t know how he trains—he’s only thirteen or fourteen, yet his third-rank energy channels last longer than a fourth-rank’s. A freak. Stranger still, he hasn’t used any martial skills—someone this gifted should surely know a few.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t even care about this duel, using it only as a warm-up. His amethyst arms suggest a unique cultivation method. You should learn from him—remain calm in battle, unshakable as a mountain.”

The girl closed her eyes in mock agony. “Here we go again. I’m only at the second rank. On the vast continent of Purple Heaven, with billions of souls, I’ll probably die before I finish learning everything.”

Her father laughed heartily, clearly delighted.

As Yang Ming’s desperate resistance waned, the battle neared its end. Yun Yufeng’s palms, like dragons bursting from the sea, broke through with overwhelming force, landing several heavy blows on Yang Ming’s chest. The sound of snapping bones rang out; Yang Ming was hurled into the air, blood mixed with fragments of organs spraying from his mouth, staining the dueling platform crimson.

Yun Yufeng slowly withdrew his energy, the purple haze dissipating from his hands, his arms returning to their normal hue. He exhaled deeply, wiped the sweat from his brow, and called up to Du Zitong in the stands with a smile. “Brother Du, do you concede?”

Du Zitong’s face was ashen. Not only had he lost despite his scheming, but he’d also sacrificed a fourth-rank bodyguard. He would surely be grounded again when he returned home. “Just wait,” he thought grimly. “Unless you never leave Muzha Encampment, you’ll regret this.” He shot Yun Yufeng a venomous glare before turning to leave with his retinue.

“Dieyi, let’s go.”

“Yes, young master, you were amazing,” Dieyi replied, full of admiration.

“Well done, young man—such skill at your age!” A hearty voice called from behind.

Yun Yufeng turned to see the bearded man approaching with the girl in red. He returned the greeting respectfully. “Thank you, uncle, but this was a mere farce, nothing worth mentioning.”

The man laughed. As they passed, the girl snorted, casting Yun Yufeng a glance before following her father away.

Hearing her snort, Yun Yufeng could only smile wryly. Such unfounded resentment was truly hard to bear.

Leaving the arena, he found the central square once again crowded with stalls. The mercenaries who had watched the duel were now searching for spots to set up their wares anew.

Strolling back the way he had come, Yun Yufeng’s gaze fell upon a stall displaying several bottles of elixirs. The sign read: “Essence Gathering Pills—for martial spirits under the fifth rank. Doubles cultivation speed. One pill may be taken every two days. Seeking to exchange for sixth-rank fire-type magical beast blood.”

His eyes narrowed with interest. The sale of elixirs was always a cause for excitement—one pill, used at the right moment, could make all the difference. The pill shops in Muzha Encampment sold elixirs, but in limited quantities and at exorbitant prices, far beyond the means of most. Now, seeing elixirs offered in exchange for magical beast blood, Yun Yufeng began to ponder his options.

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