The killing began

"Who is this madman?"

"What happened to the Hua Family's boy?"

"Protect me!"

Everyone was shocked. An uproar broke out, and the sound of blades leaving their sheaths rang out without end.

It was not just the eight armored soldiers beside Guo Zhen, the Jintang Battalion's left captain, who drew their steel sabers.

In the dozens of private rooms across the four pavilions, the guards attending the many dignitaries moved in unison, drawing their weapons with chilling killing intent.

Third Master Jin, who had just won big in the outer grounds, had only just stepped into the inner courtyard. His expression changed at the sight, and his short, fat body sprang up like a plump rabbit as he maneuvered his guards and attendants in front of him.

The dozen-odd martial artists who had leaped onto the arena glanced at the veiled woman's mangled corpse. Some grew solemn, wariness showing on their faces.

Others were eager to try their hands, their fighting spirit surging.

They even saw this as a perfect opportunity to distinguish themselves before the dignitaries—to capture this madman and use him as a stepping stone to wealth and glory.

Only Hua Feiyun, whose entire head was embedded in the wooden floor, let out heart-rending screams, accompanied by Wei Zhenzhu's shrill howls over Xiao Chan's death.

"Save Young Master Hua!"

Several martial artists in the arena moved first. Some were bare-handed, while others wielded assorted weapons. Shouting, they sprang up and lunged straight toward the terrace where Hong Yuan stood.

Only then did He Xiaofeng, his throat slit, topple stiffly backward. The light in his eyes had not yet gone out completely, but despair and terror were all that remained.

The curved saber dropped from his hand, but before it could hit the ground, a long-fingered hand snatched it up.

Whoosh!

With the curved saber in hand, Hong Yuan flung it out. It became a rapidly spinning wheel of light, hurtling away with a sharp whistle that tore through the air.

The foremost martial artist suddenly felt a chill rush at his face, lifting his hair. He opened his eyes wide, only to find his vision filled with a dazzling mass of cold light that seemed about to blind him.

Horror transformed his expression. But he was still hurtling forward in midair, with nowhere to dodge. He hurriedly thrust out the Judge's Pen in his hand!

Squelch!

Cold light flashed. The martial artist wielding the Judge's Pen felt an agonizing pain in his throat. As blood sprayed, only one thought remained in his mind.

How could it be so fast?

All strength drained from his body. As he fell from the air, the cold gleam surrounding the curved saber did not lose momentum. Instead, it accelerated, turning in midair along a half-circle and shooting straight toward the left.

From Wei Zhenzhu's furious howling, Hong Yuan had pinpointed her location: one of the middle private rooms on the first floor of the pavilion to his left.

Thus, when he hurled the curved saber, he had imparted a rotating force to its blade.

Though this was only a rudimentary application of an embryonic Spiral Force, it was already beyond the reach of ordinary martial artists.

The inner courtyard enclosed by the four pavilions was spacious. With a whoosh, the curved saber streaked over a hundred feet through the air and violently tore through the door of a private room.

Inside, Wei Zhenzhu's eyes were bloodshot as she roared incessantly over Xiao Chan's death. Perhaps there truly had been some unusual relationship between them.

Unfortunately, no one here cared to know.

Crash!

The wooden door exploded into a thousand fragments. Amid the flying splinters, cold light darted forward like a venomous dragon, plunging into one of Wei Zhenzhu's shoulder blades.

The force carried by the curved saber seemed immense. Even with Wei Zhenzhu's bulk, it hurled her several-hundred-pound body backward.

As her body slammed into the rear wall, a ripping sound rang out. The curved saber had pierced not only Wei Zhenzhu's fat but also her shoulder blade, pinning one side of her body to the wall.

Beside her, Wang Ai collapsed to the floor, limp with fright.

Wretched squeals like those of a pig being slaughtered resounded throughout the inner courtyard.

Having landed his strike, Hong Yuan left Wei Zhenzhu alone for the moment.

Things were different now.

This was not her den of horrors. There was no other tunnel for her to crawl into. Even if there were, Hong Yuan's keen eyes and ears would detect the slightest movement.

With his speed, he could cover those hundred-odd feet in less than a breath.

Amid the clatter of armor, two armored soldiers smashed through the wooden door, their long sabers whipping through the air as they hacked at the vicious man who had suddenly appeared.

Hong Yuan flicked his hand, sending a long strip of cloth flying. While still in midair, it shredded into a thousand scraps, revealing two streaks of silvery light within.

With a clang, the two cold streaks collided, then flew off toward separate targets.

The short spear pierced one soldier's chest like an arrow. His armor shattered inch by inch, offering no protection whatsoever. He flew like a cloth sack into the private room.

The short staff smashed into the other soldier's helmet. With the crack of a shattering skull, the soldier tipped his head back and fell.

Whoosh!

Silver light flashed as the staff rebounded into Hong Yuan's hand.

Chaos erupted inside the private room. The soldier sent flying by the short spear nearly crashed into Guo Zhen, but another armored soldier intercepted him.

By now, however, none of Guo Zhen's earlier languid ease remained. He was both shocked and furious.

"Villain, enough of your insolence!"

Robes snapped through the air in quick succession as several martial artists leaped onto the terrace. At their head, a tall man, a short man, and a thin man attacked together, sabers and swords striking as one.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Immediately afterward, several others circled behind Hong Yuan and launched a surprise attack.

The short staff spun swiftly, becoming an extension of Hong Yuan's arm. It chopped, jabbed, parried, and thrust, employing saber techniques, sword techniques, spear techniques, lance techniques... As he wielded these various methods, the flickering silver light seemed to form a curtain that neither splashed water nor a piercing needle could penetrate.

Even while facing six or seven attackers at once, he remained relaxed and effortless, with enough attention to spare to look at Captain Guo. Suddenly, he asked, "Captain Guo, do you know Huang Guiling of Qingxu?"

Inside the private room, Guo Zhen's expression darkened. How could he possibly answer?

He merely barked, "Fall back! Retreat!"

But Hong Yuan had already caught the clue in his subtle change of expression and knew he had found the man he wanted. By now, the martial artists surrounding him had all blanched in horror.

Almost all six or seven of them were martial artists who had attained True Force. Though they had not reached the receive-and-release-at-will level, they were not novices who would lose their ability to fight after a single burst of True Force.

Among them were martial artists at the three-fold wave and nine heavens levels, capable of unleashing three or even nine bursts.

Generally speaking, martial artists who had yet to reach the receive-and-release-at-will level would not casually unleash their True Force in combat unless they reached a critical juncture.

At the three-fold wave, nine heavens, and twelve-story tower levels... a single burst would not leave them exhausted, but it still consumed considerable energy. If that strike missed, they would be in danger during the ensuing fight.

But right now, several men were attacking one, which diminished that concern. Under Hong Yuan's pressure, these martial artists unleashed their force one after another, channeling it into their fists and feet or imbuing their weapons with it.

It was useless. Their opponent had not even used True Force to meet their attacks. Relying solely on his formidable physical strength and quick reactions, he calmly received every blow.

The six or seven of them launched a ferocious assault, more than a dozen hands striking together, but that short staff was like a wall of bronze and iron, blocking every crashing wave.

Fierce gusts struck his face. Leaning against the railing, Yang Erhu stared dumbfounded.

He knew his disciple was strong. When Hong Yuan had left the Martial Arts Hall over half a month ago, his martial skills had already surpassed his own. But was this rate of improvement not far too astonishing?

His strength was gradually returning. Back when he had split the jujube-wood post with one palm strike, it had taken him two or three breaths to regain the ability to move. This burst had surpassed that one, and his repeated bouts in the arena had severely depleted both his mental and physical reserves, so his recovery took somewhat longer.

As the pavilion shook, silver light filled the martial artists' vision. Then their weapons snapped, fragments scattering as Hong Yuan swung the refined-steel short staff in his hand and struck again and again!

Sharp whistles split the air. The martial artists felt an immense, overwhelming force they could not resist. Each was like a tiny boat upon a vast ocean, and all were overturned and flung away.

As bodies crashed to the ground, screams rang out one after another.

Three of them had caved-in chests, smashed by the short staff, its force jolting straight into their organs. Several others had their faces pierced by hurtling weapon fragments, their fates unknown.