In stark contrast to the tumultuous gray-white cloud mass, Han Li’s movements were silent and imperceptible. His raised right arm suddenly became enveloped in a faint layer of black mist. The mist writhed and thickened until it turned pitch-black, at which point Han Li’s expression grew solemn.
His entire right arm began to swell rapidly, doubling or even tripling in thickness within moments. A glaring crimson glow surfaced on his skin, appearing eerily sinister under the shroud of black mist.
At this moment, Han Li glanced toward his opponent.
The gray-white cloud mass continued to expand with thunderous roars, reaching a size of twenty to thirty zhang in the blink of an eye. A ruthless glint flashed in Han Li’s eyes as he softly uttered the word, “Break.”
His enlarged arm abruptly contracted before suddenly releasing. A black-red blade of light shot from his palm, expanding to several zhang in width the moment it left his hand. With a sharp tearing sound, the blade streaked forward, trailing a long tail of light, and arrived before the cloud mass in an instant.
Wen Tianren seemed to sense the danger. The ancient bronze shield entangled with the giant sword above his head flashed and moved to block the cloud mass.
The blade of light did not pause in the slightest, slicing through the shield as if it were nothing. The bronze shield split silently in two like clay, falling to the ground in pieces.
A muffled groan came from within the cloud mass, followed by the appearance of a black fissure down its center. Moments later, the cloud mass split apart like a torn painting. The massive blade of light, after cleaving through the cloud and flying another dozen zhang, disintegrated into scattered starlight and vanished completely.
At that moment, a furious roar erupted from one half of the cloud mass: “You dare sever my limb? I will take your life in return!” As the roar echoed, the other half of the cloud dissipated, revealing a withered half-arm floating in midair. Judging by the sleeve, it was unmistakably Wen Tianren’s left hand.
“Body Substitution Art!”
At the sight, Han Li’s pupils contracted, and the name of this infamous demonic technique surfaced in his mind.
This technique involved refining a part of one’s body into a substitute puppet in advance. When faced with an unavoidable attack, the practitioner could transfer the damage to the substitute with a mere thought. It was particularly effective against curses and other sinister arts.
However, this top-tier demonic technique was said to be accessible only to Nascent Soul cultivators. The fact that Wen Tianren could wield it was a shock to Han Li.
As for the terrifying attack he had just unleashed, it was one of the secret techniques Han Li had selected from the Profound Yin Scripture—the “Yin Devil Slash.” Similar to the “Blood Spirit Drill,” this technique involved refining a portion of one’s vital essence into a devastating force, released in a single strike during combat, capable of cutting through anything.
The power of the “Yin Devil Slash” depended on the cultivator’s cultivation level, the amount of refined essence, and the duration of its tempering. Legends claimed that if refined to its utmost, it could even rend space itself.
Of course, few would invest such effort into a one-time attack. Even Han Li had only refined a small portion. After his previous two attacks proved ineffective, Han Li had deduced that the cloud mass likely possessed some spatial displacement effect. Thus, he steeled himself and unleashed his partially tempered “Yin Devil Slash.”
Though the slash was still far from rending space, it was more than enough to counter the displacement effect. As expected, it worked.
Even though Wen Tianren had used the Body Substitution Art to evade fatal damage, the loss of vitality must have been significant, and the pain of losing an arm was surely unbearable.
As Han Li smirked coldly, a golden streak shot from the cloud mass, retrieving the severed arm floating in the air.
Han Li was momentarily taken aback, his expression turning peculiar as he pondered Wen Tianren’s intent. Suddenly, a shrill, inhuman shriek erupted from the cloud mass, and the gray-white mist was swept away, revealing Wen Tianren’s figure.
Han Li’s eyes glinted coldly as he focused on his opponent.
Wen Tianren clutched his severed arm with his remaining hand, his gaze filled with venomous hatred. Behind him, six towering phantoms loomed—some with horns, others clad in scales, each grotesque and terrifying, with fanged mouths and wreathed in gray-white demonic energy, as if demons had descended upon the world.
“Six Extreme True Demons?” Han Li muttered darkly.
“Hmph! Soon you’ll learn the might of the Six Extreme Sacred Lords. Though these are mere phantoms, they are more than enough to deal with a mere Core Formation cultivator like you,” Wen Tianren sneered, glancing at his severed arm, his scholarly face now twisted with murderous intent.
Since achieving mastery in his cultivation, the heir of the Six Paths had never suffered such a loss. The sheer power of Han Li’s techniques had shocked him, fueling his resolve to kill Han Li at all costs.
He pressed the severed arm against the stump, and one of the horned, slender phantoms behind him opened its mouth, spewing a faint red mist that enveloped the limb. Moments later, the mist dispersed, and the withered arm regained its fullness. Wen Tianren flexed his fingers and waved his hand lightly, as if it had been fully restored.
Han Li’s face betrayed his astonishment.
Noticing Han Li’s reaction, Wen Tianren’s lips curled into a mocking smile before he suddenly swung both arms. The six phantoms behind him grew taller, their forms flickering as if preparing to move.
Without hesitation, Han Li raised a hand and pointed lightly at Wen Tianren’s head.
The two suspended emerald giant swords flashed and descended with a vicious slash, aiming to cleave Wen Tianren into four pieces.
Wen Tianren merely stared coldly at Han Li, not even bothering to look up. Yet, the largest and most ferocious of the phantoms behind him shot upward, its massive arms darting out like lightning to seize both swords in its grasp.
Han Li’s expression darkened as he formed a hand seal. The giant swords glowed with green light, struggling violently in the phantom’s grip.
But the towering phantom’s eyes flashed red, and its massive hands clenched tightly. Gray demonic flames spewed from its mouth, engulfing the swords as it began to refine them.
“Heh! Do you think you can reclaim treasures seized by the Mighty True Demon?” Wen Tianren threw his head back and laughed maniacally. Without further delay, he pointed at Han Li, and the remaining five phantoms vanished, reappearing outside Han Li’s protective barrier in the next instant.
Confident of victory, Wen Tianren prepared to command the phantoms to annihilate Han Li.
He had absolute faith in the power of these Six Extreme True Demon phantoms. Even an early-stage Nascent Soul cultivator would struggle against all six simultaneously. Otherwise, how could the “Six Extreme True Demon Art,” capable of summoning such phantoms, be hailed as the foremost demonic technique in the Scattered Star Seas?
Just then, Han Li’s expression turned icy. He raised both hands, and two thick golden lightning bolts, as wide as bowls, shot forth, striking the two nearest phantoms.
To Wen Tianren’s disbelief, the two phantoms flickered under the thunderous impact, their faces contorting in agony before vanishing in a flash of gray light.
“What?!” Wen Tianren gasped, unable to believe his eyes.
Han Li unleashed another pair of golden lightning bolts, obliterating two more phantoms with a deafening roar.
This time, Wen Tianren snapped out of his shock.
In a fit of rage and desperation, he roared, and a silver streak shot from his sleeve. At the same time, he urgently recalled the last remaining phantom. These Six Extreme True Demon phantoms, though formed from ambient spiritual energy, also contained traces of his own spiritual power. Each destruction cost him a portion of his cultivation, a loss that, while recoverable, left him at a severe disadvantage in battle.
But before the silver streak could reach Han Li, thunder rumbled above Wen Tianren once more.
His face paled as he looked up to see the final phantom dissipate into smoke. The two giant swords, now crackling with golden lightning, crossed paths and slashed down without hesitation!
Instinctively, red light flared at Wen Tianren’s feet, and he vanished in a crimson streak, narrowly evading the swords as they struck empty air.
He reappeared dozens of zhang away, his face ashen as he glared at Han Li. His feet were now wreathed in crimson flames, faint green light flickering within.
But Han Li had no time to pursue him further, for the silver streak Wen Tianren had unleashed had transformed into a massive silver bell, descending upon him like a falling mountain.
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