Chapter 58: Reduced to Dust

Xiang Yingtian tore off one of his own arms with brutal force, his face eerily calm throughout, without uttering a single sound.

In this state, he could no longer be called human.

He had been completely consumed by demonic power, reduced to a monster driven only by slaughter.

Yet the strangest part was yet to come.

When the blood gushed forth, it did not fall to the ground as expected. Instead, it was manipulated by some invisible force.

Countless droplets of blood converged, ultimately forming a crimson torrent.

The torrent surged back upon him, drenching Xiang Yingtian from head to toe, as if a demon god had descended.

Within the torrent of blood was concentrated all of his pure internal force.

The fist behind him, now infused with such immense energy, erupted with golden light, veined through with scarlet patterns that wrapped around it entirely.

The power radiating from it was far greater than before.

Xiang Yingtian lifted his eyes slightly, glancing at the golden imprint of a fist hovering above his head, clearly dissatisfied.

“Xiang Yingtian, do you really think this is enough to block the Peacock Plume? How absurdly naive.”

“If this is your final gambit, then prepare to die.”

Yun Zhonghe’s mocking voice rang out, clear and unmistakable in Xiang Yingtian’s ears.

“It’s not over yet. Until the very end, who perishes and who survives is still unknown,” Xiang Yingtian rasped.

Yun Zhonghe had no interest in exchanging further words.

He poured every ounce of his inner energy into the Peacock Plume.

Xiang Yingtian knew Yun Zhonghe spoke the truth; if he truly hoped to withstand the Peacock Plume, what he’d done so far was nowhere near enough.

With a single thought, he drove his inner energy, causing his remaining three limbs to explode in a mist of blood.

All who witnessed it were chilled to the core.

The ruthlessness of Xiang Yingtian far exceeded anything they could have imagined.

After this battle, no matter who emerged alive, Xiang Yingtian was doomed to die.

What shocked them even more was that all of this had begun because of Yun Zhonghe.

The man reviled by all as a villain and scourge of the martial world had been the first to uncover Xiang Yingtian’s true face.

Together with Fu Hongxue, he’d gathered evidence, so all Xiang Yingtian’s crimes could be exposed before the world today.

And it was this Yun Zhonghe, rumored to be a weakling, who had displayed extraordinary martial prowess, forcing Xiang Yingtian step by step into utter desperation.

Even if he died, Xiang Yingtian would drag Yun Zhonghe down with him.

While the crowd lamented the fickleness of fate, three more torrents of blood crashed down.

Blood-red patterns covered the fist, inner energy condensed until it seemed solid.

From a distance, it looked like a massive crimson fist, suspended in midair, radiating a murderous aura.

After this, Xiang Yingtian’s face had turned deathly pale, his breath weak as a guttering candle.

All that remained of his body was a skeleton.

His bestial eyes fixed on Yun Zhonghe, and a hoarse laugh rasped from his throat. “So what if you have the Peacock Plume? If you want me dead, I’ll make sure you pay too!”

“Come to hell with me!”

As his words fell, the immense fist above his head, brimming with murderous power, shattered the clouds as it came crashing down on Yun Zhonghe.

Yun Zhonghe’s body was taut as a drawn bowstring, seemingly about to snap at any moment.

Faced with such a suffocating aura, most would have already been overwhelmed, their meridians torn asunder by the malignant energy, if not killed outright.

But Xiang Yingtian was facing Yun Zhonghe—a man who had lived two lives, his heart tempered to immovable stone.

“There are many who want me dead. None have succeeded yet—and none ever will!”

With that, the Peacock Plume in his hand was charged to its peak.

Its dazzling brilliance reached its zenith.

“Go!”

With a low shout, he loosed the Peacock Plume, which shot forth like an arrow from a bow.

It collided head-on with the descending fist.

Bang!

They met in midair, sparks erupting.

An unimaginable storm of energy swept out instantly.

The already battered arena could take no more and was obliterated to rubble.

The onlookers were struck with awe and terror.

So this was the true power of the Peacock Plume.

Its reputation was well deserved!

Those with weaker cultivation were thrown head over heels by the force of the blast.

At the center of the storm, Yun Zhonghe’s body was wracked by the violent energy, his meridians torn with agonizing pain.

Yet his eyes shone with excitement—the power of the Peacock Plume far surpassed even his wildest hopes.

In that ferocious collision, the giant fist began to shatter, the blood-red aura fading.

Defeat was only a matter of time.

Xiang Yingtian realized this as well, but he felt no fear of death.

He glared at Yun Zhonghe, eyes burning with a hatred that cut to the bone.

Everything he had painstakingly built, all destroyed by Yun Zhonghe!

Now, with no way out, he would drag Yun Zhonghe down with him.

Though grievously wounded, Xiang Yingtian’s vision remained clear.

He could see that Yun Zhonghe too was at his limit.

Unable to withstand the overwhelming energy, the only possible outcome was being torn to pieces.

“Don’t bother struggling. Come to hell with me,” Xiang Yingtian growled.

“You’re celebrating too soon!”

In the next instant, Yun Zhonghe activated the Northern Darkness Divine Art, drawing the terrifying energy that threatened to tear him apart into his body, transforming it into his own inner strength.

“So, you can’t wait to die, can you?” Xiang Yingtian laughed maniacally as he watched Yun Zhonghe absorb the external energy. “I’ll be waiting for you below.”

No sooner had he spoken than his mangled body was ripped apart by the raging storm, dissolving into dust, utterly erased from the world.

Yun Zhonghe, contrary to Xiang Yingtian’s words, did not perish. Instead, after absorbing the energy, his depleted dantian was replenished, and a trace of color returned to his pale face.

Moments later, the storm subsided.

Yun Zhonghe stood proud and unyielding in the center of the field.

Seeing that Yun Zhonghe was unharmed, Fu Hongxue and the others finally relaxed.

Looking around, the crowd found no trace of Xiang Yingtian—he must have been reduced to ashes in the storm.

“Well, the show is over. You may all leave.”

At that moment, Yun Zhonghe assumed the role of host, issuing his guests their leave.

In the past, such words would have drawn scorn and censure, but now, whether it was because he had unmasked Xiang Yingtian or because of his formidable martial skill, not a single soul dared protest.

The square, once packed to the brim, was now nearly empty.

Just as Yun Zhonghe was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a figure crashed into his arms, trembling slightly.

Who could it be but A’Zi?

“Don’t worry, I’m just fine,” Yun Zhonghe said softly, gently patting her back.