Seeing countless golden streaks shooting toward him, the monk with his hands forming a seal remained indifferent, seemingly confident in the light barrier formed by the prayer beads before him.
Han Li let out a cold snort in his heart.
The golden radiance of the flying swords intensified, their power increasing by another threefold.
A series of dull *thud* sounds echoed as the golden streaks struck the barrier, producing a muffled noise akin to hitting dry wood. The green barrier trembled violently but remained unbroken.
Han Li’s expression flickered slightly, but he secretly activated his sword technique.
Instantly, the hundreds of sword lights near the silver-robed monk trembled simultaneously before converging high in the air.
A dazzling golden sun abruptly rose, its brilliance illuminating the surroundings.
When the light faded, a golden sword several *zhang* long hovered in the air.
Without hesitation, Han Li pointed lightly toward his opponent.
A sharp *hiss* sounded as the golden sword’s radiance dimmed, replaced by a layer of milky-white cold light. Thick crystalline ice rapidly formed, transforming the sword into a colossal icy blade over a dozen *zhang* tall.
The sword was translucent and massive, its sheer size enough to make anyone gasp in shock.
The silver-robed monk, who had been chanting below, finally looked up, his face drastically changing.
At that moment, Han Li swung his hand horizontally and slashed downward, coldly uttering a single word:
**”Slash.”**
The icy sword descended with tremendous force. Even before it struck the green barrier, visible ripples appeared in the surrounding space, accompanied by a piercing hum, as if an entire iceberg were crashing down.
Though the monk had faith in the resilience of his green barrier, he dared not take this strike head-on.
Chanting a Buddhist mantra, the white lotus beneath his feet spun rapidly, and he vanished in a flash of seven-colored Buddha light.
The massive sword struck empty air with a resounding hum.
A moment later, a white lotus reappeared several *zhang* away, and the monk materialized atop it. His hand seals shifted instantly, releasing an astonishing spiritual pressure. Above his head, a towering golden phantom, five to six *zhang* tall, emerged.
The phantom was shrouded in golden mist, its face ferocious and wild, with curly hair and a half-naked torso—an exact likeness of the legendary Buddhist Vajra.
As the phantom appeared, the monk roared and threw two mighty punches toward the colossal icy sword.
With a thunderous *boom*, the Vajra phantom mirrored his movements, striking the side of the sword with full force.
Two bursts of golden light exploded against the icy blade, sending the massive sword spinning through the air before it barely stabilized.
Han Li inspected the sword closely and was startled.
Where the golden phantom had struck, the ice had shattered, revealing the golden sword beneath.
*What kind of technique is this? It resembles the Ming King Art but is also different…*
He was puzzled.
However, his flying swords had been refined with an astonishing amount of Profound Jade, each reaching its capacity limit.
Thus, the Emerald Swarm Sword’s freezing power was far from exhausted.
With a thought, the seemingly damaged icy sword shimmered with milky-white light, its cracks instantly healing. Then, it swung horizontally again, slashing toward the monk.
The sword’s power remained undiminished, as if the previous strike had never occurred.
This time, the monk was truly troubled.
His expression darkened as he abandoned evasion. Instead, his arms swelled, and he clapped his hands together with lightning speed, aiming to intercept the incoming sword.
With a *bang*, the Vajra phantom mirrored his action, gripping the icy blade midair and halting its descent.
Though the phantom was large, it paled in comparison to the colossal sword. Yet, like a mantis trying to stop a chariot, it held firm.
Han Li’s pupils contracted in shock.
The sheer force of the icy sword, combined with the extreme cold of the Profound Jade, should have frozen any resistance. Yet the phantom showed no sign of strain.
*This technique is extraordinary.*
Glancing at the monk below, Han Li noticed he wasn’t as composed as the phantom. Though his arms remained steady, his body had sunk slightly, and his golden aura flickered unsteadily—clearly struggling.
Han Li frowned.
*This monk’s technique resembles the Six Extreme True Devil Art, yet it’s fundamentally different.*
The Six Extreme True Devil Art summoned six demonic phantoms using external demonic energy, while this Vajra phantom seemed to be formed from the monk’s own spiritual power, synergizing with the Ming King Art.
Otherwise, without the Ming King Art’s fourth layer, the monk’s body would have collapsed under the sword’s force.
Intrigued, Han Li activated another ability of the Emerald Swarm Sword.
With a crackle of thunder, thick golden arcs surged from the icy blade, transforming into several golden lightning serpents that lunged at the phantom.
**”Huh?!”**
The monk was startled. He hadn’t expected Han Li’s sword to possess such versatility. Without hesitation, he inhaled deeply and exhaled forcefully.
Though nothing visible left his mouth, the Vajra phantom spat out streams of golden radiance, dispersing the lightning serpents before they could approach.
Simultaneously, the phantom’s golden hands tightened, cracking the icy sword down the middle.
Under the blinding golden light, the fissure widened, ice shards scattering.
The monk intended to snap the sword in half.
But Han Li smirked and changed his hand seal.
The icy sword trembled violently before dissolving into countless golden threads, slipping free from the phantom’s grasp. Though the phantom swiped at them, the threads evaded effortlessly.
**”Sword Thread Transformation! So Fellow Daoist Han is a master swordsman!”** the monk murmured in surprise.
**”I dare not claim such mastery. But Master Yuanzhi’s technique has truly broadened my horizons. May I ask its origin?”** Han Li recalled his swords and asked calmly.
This wasn’t a life-or-death battle, so he saw no need to press relentlessly.
**”A mere trifle, nothing worth mentioning. Just a minor technique paired with the Ming King Art,”** the monk replied vaguely, unwilling to elaborate.
Han Li chuckled wryly.
**”Buddhist techniques are indeed formidable. Ordinary methods won’t settle this quickly. I’ll have to use more powerful treasures—Master Yuanzhi, beware.”**
With that, Han Li flicked his fingers, sending ten crimson threads shooting toward the monk before they vanished.
Then, he shook his sleeve, releasing a three-colored flame that coalesced into a feathered fan. Channeling spiritual power into it, he waved it lightly.
A phoenix’s cry echoed as a three-colored firebird, several *chi* in size, soared out and dove toward the monk.
Next, Han Li spat out a white pearl, which swelled to a *chi* in size, its surface wreathed in eerie purple flames.
With a wave of his sleeve, a sea of purple fire erupted, surging toward the monk in towering waves.
Faced with this onslaught, the monk’s expression turned grave. He flipped his hand, revealing a small silver vial.
But before he could use it, ten crimson threads reappeared before the Vajra phantom, striking it with metallic *clangs* yet failing to penetrate.
Unfazed, the monk focused on the approaching three-colored firebird, his eyes filled with wariness.
Though he had never seen the Three Flames Fan before, the overwhelming spiritual power radiating from the firebird left him no room for carelessness.
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