Fang Han burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, and defiant. The sound echoed through the hall like thunder, catching Prince Bao off guard and drawing the sharp gazes of the other Da De royals. Even several young men and women nearby, each cloaked in an aura of power no weaker than that of princes and princesses, turned their eyes toward him.
Among them stood one man whose presence was especially remarkable. His energy was calm yet profound, like mountains and rivers in perfect balance, blending seamlessly with the world around him.
When their collective gazes swept over Fang Han, he felt a strange chill surge through his body. His pulse, his strength, even the rhythm of his breath—all seemed to be laid bare before their eyes.
These people… some of them have reached the Ninth Stage of Body Refinement—Spirit Communion, he realized, his heart tightening.
At that level, one's mind and body became one. The brain's potential was fully awakened; the spirit sharpened to such an extent that one could perceive another's very life force and even see the workings of their own organs as clearly as lines in the palm of their hand.
It was no wonder they were called "Spirit Communing" experts—beings whose awareness touched the edge of the divine.
"Could these people be inner disciples?" Fang Han thought, a flash of caution crossing his mind.
But before he could ponder further, Prince Bao rose slowly to his feet. His eyes, cold as tempered steel, swept Fang Han from head to toe.
"Oh?" the prince said, his voice dripping with mockery. "So, you still hold a grudge from our last encounter? You've been training hard for twenty days and now think you can challenge me again? Your ambition outpaces your sense. A true man bides his time—a decade if need be. You, however, are a petty fool, ruled by vengeance. I had thought you might grow into something respectable, but if you're this eager to die, I'll oblige you once more. Only this time, I won't stop at making you cough blood."
Fang Han's smile didn't falter. His voice, calm and cold, cut through the air like a drawn blade.
"I don't seek greatness," he said. "I seek release. To repay hatred with hatred, to meet resentment with action—that is life. Ten years is too long. The moment before us is all that exists. Life is brief, a flicker in the void. To stew in bitterness for a decade is cowardice. To strike now—that is courage. You talk of patience and strategy, but such scheming hearts will never touch the Immortal Way. The path to immortality demands boldness, not concealment; strength, not deceit; the courage to sever every obstacle in your path. There's no room for serpentine hearts in the realm of the divine."
His words were quiet yet carried the weight of conviction, each sentence a hammer blow. Prince Bao's face darkened—he found himself unable to retort.
Ever since consuming the Nine Aperture Golden Pill, Fang Han's mind had become razor-sharp. His thoughts flowed like lightning, and the countless insights he'd gained from studying The Worlds Beyond had deepened his understanding of existence itself.
Now, facing Prince Bao, his speech radiated an effortless confidence—his presence towering, his spirit blazing. Gone was the image of a mere stable boy; before them stood a man of terrifying clarity and conviction.
"Enough of your nonsense!" Prince Bao snapped.
With a sudden flash of movement, he vanished from sight. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Fang Han—his steps eerie and fluid, impossible to track. Fang Han barely felt a tingling sensation on his throat before realizing that the prince's fingers, sharp as arrows, were already at his windpipe.
The strike carried a sinister chill, its movements venomous and cruel—completely different from the prince's previous style.
"The Long Hate Finger!" Red Yi gasped from the side. "That's a technique of the Demon Sect's Long Hate branch!"
Indeed, Prince Bao showed no hesitation in wielding demonic arts even within a righteous sect's territory.
But Fang Han was ready. He had trained relentlessly for twenty days for this very moment.
He took a single, thunderous step forward—his body surging with overwhelming force.
Heaven and earth trembled.
His feet traced a pattern—the Seven Stars Step. His qi roared like crashing waves, surging through his limbs. In that instant, he was no longer a man—he was a force of nature, the tide of an empire, the will of a conqueror.
Prince Bao's strike fell into emptiness. Fang Han's robes billowed as he shifted his stance, his right leg coiling, then exploding outward like a bolt of lightning.
"Kui Star Kicks the Dipper!"
His shout cracked the air like thunder. His body expanded with divine power; muscles and bones thrummed like steel cords. The energy swirling within him burst forth in a wave of light, his voice merging with it, reciting the mantra of the Seven Star Fist:
"Iron hooves crush the mountains low,
Kui Star's kick makes constellations flow!"
The leg strike carried the weight of mountains and the fury of armies, as if countless celestial stars bent to his will.
"This aura…!" Red Yi whispered, her voice trembling. "The Seven Star Fist of the Starry Sky Sect! How could he possibly know that art?"
Around them, even the Da De royals and their powerful companions were struck speechless. The sheer dominance of Fang Han's presence eclipsed all expectations.
Prince Bao's eyes widened in disbelief. The strength, the pressure—this was no longer the Fang Han he had humiliated twenty days ago. The power radiating from him was imperial, commanding, infused with a tyrannical grandeur.
The Nine Aperture Golden Pill, once refined by the Nether Emperor Huang Quan, had imbued Fang Han with a trace of that ancient demonic might—unyielding, eternal, and utterly sovereign. Merged with the Starry Sky Sect's martial style, his spirit had become unstoppable.
Prince Bao instinctively drew back, blocking with both arms. His energy condensed into a defensive barrier.
"Can you really hold it?" Fang Han sneered.
His fists flashed, executing the Seven Star Fist's second form—Heroes Gather Under Heaven! Ten fingers shot forward like blades, targeting Prince Bao's throat, wrists, and arteries with deadly precision.
A streak of blood appeared across the prince's face.
"Enough!"
The cry came from one of the watching youths—a tall man with a jade pin in his hair. He raised his hand, summoning a flash of chilling swordlight. A blade with no hilt, pure and fluid as autumn water, burst into the air, slashing toward Fang Han.
"Fang Han! Careful—it's a flying sword spirit weapon!" Liu Kang shouted.
Fang Han's heart clenched. A spirit weapon! Such artifacts were forged by divine masters, their power far beyond mortal steel. His body alone couldn't block it.
He leapt back instinctively—but the sword's wielder merely flicked his fingers, and the blade split into dozens of phantom arcs, surrounding Fang Han before descending.
A sharp hiss—
And then, silence.
The swordlight struck Fang Han's chest—but instead of blood, there was only a faint shimmer. The attack vanished into nothingness.
Hidden beneath his robe, the ancient scroll Serpent Subdues the Nether River glowed faintly, its runes absorbing the sword's essence before going still once more.
The flying sword's owner froze. "What…?"
He tried to summon his blade back—but there was no response. His face paled. The sword, his bonded spirit weapon, was gone.
Panic flickered in his eyes. "Impossible! That sword was refined with my blood essence!"
Fang Han smiled faintly, his voice cool and sharp as winter steel.
"You want your sword back? Then come to Purple Lightning Peak and take it."