Golden Armor Manifests Might

Watching the young man named Liu Mo walk onto the high platform step by step, Xue Zhao leaned in toward Tie Rong, feeling uneasy, and asked in a low voice:

"Steward Tie, can this young man... really handle Jiang Feng?"

Tie Rong did not even bother to lift his eyelids, his tone filled with undisguised contempt:

"Handle? You underestimate Liu Mo too much. He is a genuine eighth-level Blood-Moving Realm cultivator. Forget handling him; he has more than enough strength to beat that kid to death within three moves."

He tilted his chin, his expression as certain as if he were stating an immutable law of nature:

"After the seventh level of the Blood-Moving Realm, every single level is a world of difference. Never mind a rookie who has only just touched the threshold of the seventh level; even if he were only a hair's breadth away from the eighth, he would not have a shred of a chance in a direct confrontation. Just watch, that kid will regret stepping onto this ring soon enough."

On the high platform, Liu Mo looked at Jiang Feng, revealing a simple and honest smile, his tone quite amiable:

"Your name is Jiang Feng, right? I am Liu Mo, the assistant instructor of the Guard Hall. This assessment is very simple; I will only use three moves. You can dodge, you can block, use whatever method you like. If you are still standing on this stage after three moves, you pass."

Jiang Feng cupped his hands without saying a word, his feet planted in a steady, balanced stance as he firmly set up the posture for the Iron Stake Technique.

Staring at that all-too-familiar starting stance, the corners of Liu Mo's mouth quietly twisted into a sinister sneer. He said in a deep voice: "Ready? Then let us begin."

Before the words had even faded, he slammed his foot forward, and the entire high platform shook violently. A fierce, peerless punch, wrapped in sharp, howling wind, struck like lightning toward Jiang Feng's face.

The Iron Stake Technique was originally a method for strengthening the physique; when mastered, one's limb strength and resistance to impact would improve significantly, but the face was the most vulnerable weak point of this technique. In previous assessments, examiners would deliberately avoid this area, focusing instead on testing the body's endurance and foundation. After all, this was just an assessment, not a life-or-death struggle; there was no need to play for keeps.

However, this punch from Liu Mo ran completely contrary to that original intent. He had not come to assess Jiang Feng; he had come to cripple him, perhaps even to kill him.

"Kid, you cannot blame me. If you want to blame someone, blame your own bad luck!"

Yet, facing this ferocious punch, Jiang Feng showed not a shred of panic, as if he had anticipated it all along. He tilted his head and side-stepped, rushing forward in the same instant to close the distance. Twisting his waist and turning his elbow, he slammed a sharp elbow strike hard into Liu Mo's face.

The entire process was incredibly fast, so fast that Liu Mo did not even react before a piercing, heart-wrenching pain erupted from his face. With a dull thud, the two figures suddenly separated.

Jiang Feng stood where he was with a calm expression, as if nothing had just happened. Liu Mo, however, stumbled back several steps, his hands clutching his nose tightly as fresh blood gushed from between his fingers, looking utterly wretched.

"Damn it! You little bastard, you dare to fight back!"

The simple, honest look on Liu Mo's face vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of ferocious rage. Jiang Feng remained calm, his tone as flat as if he were stating a fact:

"Deputy Instructor Liu, didn't you say just now that any method could be used? Is there anything about this elbow strike that violates the rules?"

Whoosh—

The crowd of onlookers beneath the stage erupted in an uproar. In past Guard Assessments, it was always the examinee who suffered and made a fool of themselves; how was it that this time, the examiner was the first to bleed?

On the viewing stand, Xue Zhao, who was already feeling nervous, looked even worse now. Was this really an eighth-level Blood-Moving Realm cultivator? How had he been forced back by Jiang Feng instead? He looked at Tie Rong with some anxiety and whispered:

"Steward Tie, this..."

Tie Rong also wore an expression of disbelief, his brows knitted tightly:

"This kid is strange. This strength, this reaction—it does not look like someone who has just entered the seventh level of the Blood-Moving Realm."

He turned to stare at Xue Zhao, his gaze now carrying a hint of ruthlessness:

"Are you sure he is only at the seventh level? Or that he only just broke through?"

Xue Zhao was actually feeling quite insecure inside, but facing Tie Rong's murderous glare, he could only bite the bullet and insist:

"I am sure! If he had broken through earlier, he would never have waited until today to act. He definitely just broke through!"

Tie Rong asked no more, turning to shout coldly toward the stage:

"Liu Mo, stop wasting time. Finish it quickly."

On the ring, the mask of kindness on Liu Mo's face had been completely torn away, his eyes filled with resentment as he stared at Jiang Feng. Now that he had received clear instructions from Tie Rong, he stopped pretending. He wiped the blood from his face and snarled:

"Kid, I wanted to let you die with some dignity, but since you don't know what is good for you, don't blame me!"

He grabbed his crooked nose and snapped it back into place with a violent jerk. Then, he stepped forward with his left foot, sank into a horse stance, and gathered the blood and qi in his body like a surging tide into his fists. This stance was the famous martial art of the Guard Hall—the Mountain-Shaking Fist, Monument-Crushing Style.

Liu Mo's figure erupted into motion. His right fist rotated and struck out from his waist, the force of the punch cutting through the air as it drove straight for Jiang Feng's heart. His left fist followed closely behind, acting as a pincer to seal off any retreat and aiming directly for his waist and abdomen. This strike was the culmination of everything he had learned; in the entire Guard Hall, only a handful could withstand this punch. He was certain that Jiang Feng could not dodge it, and certainly could not withstand it.

Jiang Feng stood where he was, his posture like a sturdy pine, unmoving. He did not want to dodge, nor did he intend to. By now, he saw it clearly: this man had been brought by Xue Zhao specifically to deal with him and had never intended to give him a proper assessment. Since that was the case, he had no need to hold back.

A faint golden luster flashed across his skin; the Golden Armor Technique was quietly activated. Immediately, his blood and qi surged, pouring entirely into his fists as he struck back just as fiercely toward the opponent's face. He was going to have a real, head-on collision with Liu Mo.

Seeing the blood and qi on Jiang Feng's fists, which were several times denser than his own, Liu Mo's pupils shrank, and his entire mind went blank:

"How is this possible? Where would a seventh-level Blood-Moving Realm cultivator get such thick blood and qi? Isn't it true that most seventh-level cultivators can't even manifest it externally?"

His heart was in turmoil, but the punch was already thrown, the momentum spent; he could not pull it back. He could only pin all his hopes on one thing: that his own fists would land on Jiang Feng first, disabling him in a single blow.

In the blink of an eye, Liu Mo's fists slammed heavily into Jiang Feng. A sinister grin had just begun to form on his face when it froze at the corners, then shattered into sheer terror.

"This, this body is not right!"

His fists had connected, but the sensation was not that of flesh and blood; it felt like hitting a solid steel plate. The force of the blood and qi he had poured in with all his might not only failed to penetrate, but instead sent a numbing shock back through his entire arm.

A wave of fear surged from the depths of Liu Mo's heart. The person in front of him was definitely not at the seventh level of the Blood-Moving Realm; he was at least at the eighth, and the ninth level was not out of the question!

He wanted to flee, he wanted to open his mouth and call for a stop, but it was too late. Jiang Feng's fist had already appeared before him, the dense red glow of blood and qi on his knuckles so blinding that he could not even keep his eyes open.

At the final moment, Liu Mo desperately channeled the remaining blood and qi in his body toward his face, attempting to barely protect his vital points. But that hastily gathered energy was as fragile as a thin sheet of paper before Jiang Feng's fist, failing to block it for even an instant.

Jiang Feng's blood and qi surged into his skull without the slightest resistance. As the punch landed, Liu Mo was sent flying backward, tracing a heavy arc through the air before crashing onto the ring with a boom, kicking up a cloud of dust.