Martial artists of this age guarded their inheritances with extreme strictness. Starting with breathing methods, most sects used coded language. Without sufficient standing, never mind gaining access to the three paths of True Art, Astral Body, and Pill Path-even the Force Arts of the Subtlety stage lay impossibly beyond reach.
Daoist Dragon Tiger, who had passed down the Dragon-Subduing and Tiger-Subduing lineages, had also been a supreme expert accomplished in True Art. Having inherited half his legacy, the Tiger-Subduing Sect should have possessed considerable foundations. Yet with True Person Li's early death, by Yang Erhu's generation, even their understanding of True Art had become patchy.
Small wonder ordinary martial artists regarded the Variant Force of True Arts as Immortal Arts and Divine Abilities. Astral Bodies, too, were spoken of as monsters and demons, and even recorded in assorted collections of strange tales.
Of course, the vast majority of martial wanderers qualified to attend the martial gathering knew at least something about these matters.
Even so, they stood tongue-tied and wide-eyed, their hearts swept by towering waves of shock.
Some blanched, keenly sensing the danger, and leaped straight into the Longji River to swim away.
But more of them were both terrified and convinced that missing such a spectacle would leave them drowning in regret whenever they recalled it. They simply could not bear to look away.
Xie Lingjun and Nan Guyun had darted away the instant the battle erupted, retreating into the distance.
Now both wore grave expressions as they watched the center of the battlefield.
Their arduous training of late had brought rapid progress. In particular, the battle at Wuwang Peak had catalyzed something within their minds, and they had finally attained True Art, joining the ranks of supreme experts.
Yet now, a single glance shook their minds so