Chapter 444 - 441: Beating Them at Their Own Game

Chapter 444: Chapter 441: Beating Them at Their Own Game

Yang Rui stood in the distance, her face pale as she watched the scene unfold.

She struggled to her feet, wanting to support Fang Han, but despair bloomed in her heart.

Three Elders from the Netherworld Pavilion, two of them Second Grade.

’No matter how strong Fang Han is, how can he possibly fight them?’

Even with her help, it wouldn’t be nearly enough.

"Fang Han, today is the day you die."

Song Shu sneered. The blue light on his short spear flared as he prepared to strike.

However, his movement paused for a fraction of a second just as he was about to attack.

His gaze fell on Fang Han’s face, and a flicker of barely perceptible doubt crossed his sinister eyes.

Fang Han’s expression was far too calm.

Surrounded by two Second-Grade and one Third-Grade Martial Artist, facing certain death, the man showed not a trace of panic.

’His eyes are still as tranquil as water, and... is that a hint of mockery in them?’

’This isn’t normal!’

"Fang Han, aren’t you afraid of your impending death?"

Song Shu didn’t thrust with the short spear in his hand. He frowned slightly and spoke in a low voice.

Fang Han stood holding his sword. Upon hearing the words, the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint arc.

The smile was slight, yet it carried an indescribable meaning.

He didn’t speak, just stood there quietly, his calm gaze sweeping over the three of them.

This composure made the doubt in Song Shu’s heart grow even stronger.

On the other side, the tall, thin old man also noticed something was amiss.

His surname was Zhou, and his given name was Yuan. He was a highly experienced Second-Grade Elder from the Netherworld Pavilion who had always been cautious.

At this moment, his deep-set eyes were locked on Fang Han, trying to find a single flaw in that young face.

But there was none.

Fang Han’s calm didn’t seem forced.

"Something’s wrong. This boy is too composed. There must be a trick here."

Zhou Yuan spoke slowly, his voice hoarse and deep.

Song Shu’s frown deepened.

He also knew something was wrong, of course, but things had come to this. The arrow was nocked and had to be loosed.

"Who cares what tricks he has? Let’s just kill him first!"

Tu Hong, propping up his injured body, held his Ghost Head Saber before him. His voice was laced with impatience.

Blood was still seeping from his wounds, and all he wanted now was to end this quickly.

Song Shu and Zhou Yuan exchanged a look, and both saw the same decision in the other’s eyes.

No matter what backing Fang Han had, they had to eliminate him today.

Otherwise, if this boy was allowed to grow, he would become a grave threat to the Netherworld Pavilion.

"Attack!"

Song Shu let out a low shout. The blue light on his short spear erupted, and his figure transformed into a black streak of light, lunging straight for Fang Han.

Zhou Yuan attacked at the same time. His jet-black longsword left its sheath, an eerie light flowing along its blade, carrying a bone-chilling aura that could corrode anything as it stabbed toward Fang Han from the other side.

Two Second-Grade Martial Artists, attacking with their full strength.

One from the left and one from the right, they sealed off all of Fang Han’s escape routes.

Meanwhile, Tu Hong gritted his teeth against his injuries, his Ghost Head Saber poised to strike, waiting only for Fang Han to reveal an opening before delivering a fatal blow.

The two attacks came almost simultaneously.

The air was torn apart, deep gouges were plowed into the ground, and the surrounding trees trembled before this terrifying power.

Yang Rui stood in the distance, her face ashen. She wanted to help, but there was simply no time.

However—

Just as Song Shu’s short spear and Zhou Yuan’s longsword were about to touch Fang Han.

A figure appeared in front of Fang Han like a phantom.

No one saw how he appeared.

It was as if he had been standing there all along, never having moved from the start.

The newcomer was an old man, slender and gaunt-faced, but his eyes shone like morning stars.

He was dressed in a deep cyan Elder Robe, its collar and cuffs embroidered with unique patterns in gold thread, signifying his special status.

He was none other than the Vice Hall Master of the Qingxuan Sect’s Law Enforcement Hall, a First-Grade Martial Artist—Chen Wanjun.

He drew a saber with his right hand and swung it in a seemingly casual motion.

"CLANG—!"

A deafening boom, like the toll of a giant bell, exploded outward.

Song Shu felt an irresistible, immense force travel up his short spear. His entire arm went numb instantly, and he was sent flying backward like a kite with a snapped string.

He crashed heavily onto the ground dozens of yards away, tumbling several more times before coming to a stop, blood spewing from his mouth.

Zhou Yuan’s situation was no better.

His sword thrust hadn’t even touched the hem of Chen Wanjun’s robes when he felt an invisible power surge up from his longsword.

The longsword in his hand shook violently, and the web between his thumb and forefinger split open, splattering blood.

He grunted, stumbling back more than ten steps. Each step left a deep footprint in the ground before he barely managed to regain his footing.

Tu Hong hadn’t even had a chance to attack.

When the shockwave swept over him, his already heavily injured body felt as if it had been struck by a giant hammer.

He was sent flying, snapping an ancient tree as thick as a man’s embrace before crashing to the ground, unable to get back up.

One move.

Just one move.

Two Second-Grade Martial Artists and one Third-Grade Martial Artist were all utterly defeated.

Chen Wanjun stood with his hands behind his back, shielding Fang Han. His calm gaze swept over Song Shu and Zhou Yuan. It held no killing intent, no anger, only a lofty, detached indifference.

"The Sect Leader was right. It really was a trap for Fang Han."

His voice wasn’t loud, but it reached everyone’s ears clearly.

Song Shu struggled up from the ground. His gaze fell upon the deep cyan figure, and his pupils contracted abruptly. In that instant, all the color drained from his face.

"Chen... Chen Wanjun?!"

His voice was hoarse and filled with an unconcealable tremor.

Zhou Yuan’s face was just as pale, and the hand gripping his longsword trembled slightly.

’I should have known.’

’Fang Han was so calm; he must have had an ace up his sleeve.’

But he never expected the Qingxuan Sect to send a First-Grade Martial Artist to follow him in secret.

"You... How are you here?"

Song Shu gritted his teeth, his voice full of unwillingness.

Chen Wanjun stood with his hands clasped behind him. His gaze fell on Song Shu’s face, and the corners of his mouth curled into a faint arc.

"Last time, your Netherworld Pavilion used the Black Crow Thieves as bait, setting a trap to lure Fang Han in."

His voice was flat, as if he were stating a perfectly ordinary fact.

"Did you really think my Qingxuan Sect would fall for the same trick twice?"

He paused, then continued.

"Sending Fang Han to the rescue was all part of a counter-plan to draw you out."

In that instant, Song Shu’s face turned as white as a sheet.

They thought they were the hunters, but it turned out they were the prey.

"Retreat!"

Without a moment’s hesitation, Song Shu gave a low cry, turned, and fled into the woods.

He pushed his Body Technique to its absolute limit. His speed was astonishing as he tried desperately to escape this terrifying place.

Zhou Yuan also turned at the same time, fleeing for his life in another direction.

At this moment, the two Second-Grade Martial Artists were like frightened rabbits, wanting only to get as far away from Chen Wanjun as possible.

However—

The gap between First Grade and Second Grade was as vast as a chasm.

Chen Wanjun didn’t even give chase. He simply raised his empty left hand and made a casual grasping motion at the air.

"Come back."

His voice was calm, yet it seemed to carry an irresistible force.

Dozens of yards away, Song Shu’s charging figure suddenly froze.

An invisible suction force surged from behind him, forcibly dragging him back.

He struggled with all his might, but it was as if an invisible hand had seized him by the throat, rendering him immobile.

The next moment, Chen Wanjun’s Palm Force arrived.

"BANG—!"

With a dull thud, Song Shu’s chest caved in, and he violently spat out a mouthful of blood.

He looked down at his chest, where a clear Palm Seal was deeply imprinted.

The light in his eyes quickly faded.

"You..."

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but only another mouthful of blood came out.

Then, his body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Meanwhile, Zhou Yuan had already fled dozens of yards away.

He didn’t look back, didn’t even dare to, just desperately channeled his Inner Qi to push his speed to the absolute maximum.

However—

A cyan shadow appeared before him like a ghost, blocking his path.

It was Chen Wanjun.

He didn’t even know how Chen Wanjun had caught up to him. All he saw was a blur, and the deep cyan figure was standing before him.

"Did you think you could escape?"

Chen Wanjun watched Zhou Yuan with a calm gaze.

Zhou Yuan’s face was ashen.

He knew that in front of a First-Grade Martial Artist, he didn’t even have the right to flee for his life.

"I’ll fight you to the death!"

A look of grim determination flashed in Zhou Yuan’s eyes. Black energy surged from his longsword as he thrust it forward with all his might.

This single strike contained his entire life’s Cultivation.

However, Chen Wanjun simply extended two fingers and gently pinched the tip of the blade.

The longsword was held fast as if in an iron vise, completely immobile.

Zhou Yuan’s face turned red as he struggled with all his might to pull the sword back, but it was as futile as a dragonfly trying to shake a stone pillar.

The next moment, Chen Wanjun’s fingers twitched.

He snatched the longsword, flipped it in his hand, and it became a streak of light.

"PFFT—!"

The blade sank into Zhou Yuan’s neck, emerging from the nape.

Zhou Yuan’s charging figure froze. He looked down at the bloody sword protruding from his neck.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but could only manage a gurgling, "Hkk... hkk..." sound.

Then, his body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

From the moment Song Shu and Zhou Yuan fled to the moment they both died, only a few breaths had passed.

Two Second-Grade Elders from the Netherworld Pavilion didn’t even have the right to flee in the face of a First-Grade Martial Artist.

Tu Hong trembled all over, his face as white as a sheet.

He had watched helplessly as Song Shu and Zhou Yuan were killed. He wanted to run, but he didn’t even have the strength to stand up.

Fang Han stood with his sword, his gaze falling upon him.

"Now, it’s your turn."

His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

Tu Hong looked up. The initial smugness and mockery on his rugged face were long gone, replaced by absolute terror.

"N-no... Don’t kill me..."

His voice trembled as he tried to beg for his life.

Fang Han didn’t give him the chance.

The Cloud Splitting Sword left its sheath in a flash of light.

The Wind Sword Intent poured into it, carrying a sharpness that could tear through anything, along with a spiritual pressure that assaulted the mind.

Before Tu Hong could even react, he felt a cold sensation at his throat.

Blood sprayed forth.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but could only manage a gurgling, "Hkk... hkk..." sound.

Then, his body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

From the moment Fang Han drew his sword to Tu Hong’s death, only an instant had passed.

Tu Hong, at the Late Stage of Third Grade, couldn’t even withstand a single move from the current Fang Han.

Yang Rui stood in the distance, staring blankly at the scene.

From Chen Wanjun’s appearance, to the deaths of Song Shu and Zhou Yuan, to Fang Han cutting down Tu Hong—it had all happened in an incredibly short amount of time.

The tension that had gripped her heart suddenly snapped. Her legs gave way, and she almost collapsed to the ground.

"Elder Yang, are you all right?"

Fang Han sheathed his sword and walked over to Yang Rui.

Yang Rui shook her head, her voice hoarse.

"Thank you, True Inheritor Fang and Vice Hall Master Chen, for saving my life."

Her gaze fell on the three corpses of the Netherworld Pavilion Elders, and a flicker of relief for having survived the ordeal appeared in her eyes.