Chapter 49

Chapter 49: A Sky-Soaring Killing Aura Presses Down on Shan Cheng

Wang Jie’s eyes snapped open.

He’d created a sword move.

It wasn’t powerful—just an imitation of deep-sea flow—but he’d created it. That alone mattered.

As he repeated the motion, the field responded.

A green sprout pushed through the soil.

Wang Jie’s breath caught. It worked.

Of course. A field shouldn’t be barren. In his mind, a field was meant to be abundant.

And this sword move—something he’d forged out of pressure and survival—could be planted as a combat skill.

One sprout was enough. One sprout meant possibility.

Wang Jie touched it.

Flow Sword Form.

Required materials: one hundred fish of different kinds.

That was easy. The deep sea had fish in endless variety.

Wang Jie moved immediately.

Half a day later, he’d collected them. The apocalypse had mutated everything—sometimes even fish of the same species counted as different now.

He threw all one hundred fish into the sprout.

The sprout folded inward. A glow rose, formed into the shape of a sword, and sank into Wang Jie’s mind.

A chill brushed his forehead.

The next moment, his crab claw moved on its own, flowing through a sword form far smoother than his self-made move, with noticeably greater power.

So that was how it worked.

If he planted it, he learned it.

Flow Sword Form wasn’t difficult. It was nowhere near Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger. He could use it immediately.

When the sword-shadow sank back into the field, another sprout rose.

Only one.

So the sprout count matched the technique’s power.

Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger had three sprouts.

Flow Sword Form had one.

He touched the new sprout.

Hanging Stream Sword Form.

Required materials: from the deep sea, collect a stone every hundred meters from top to bottom—ten stones total.

Even easier.

More than half a month ago, when he first went deep to train, he could already endure the thousand-meter level.

He collected the stones and fed them into the sprout.

Hanging Stream Sword Form sank into his mind.

It was stronger than Flow Sword Form, but it still came quickly. He learned it, returned the sword-shadow to the field, and—

two sprouts rose this time.

Wang Jie’s pulse quickened. Better.

He touched them.

Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form.

Required materials: the ugliest fish eye within ten miles, and a woman’s swimsuit.

Wang Jie stared.

Then he touched the sprout again, as if the field might apologize and change its mind.

It didn’t.

He exhaled through his teeth. Why would a sword form need a woman’s swimsuit?

He remembered past absurd requirements—especially the ten proposal letters—and felt that familiar sense of being toyed with by fate.

Fine.

First, the ugliest fish eye. That wasn’t simple at all. To judge “ugliest,” he had to catch everything within ten miles and compare.

Also—ugly according to whom? Him? The fish?

It took him the better part of a day to solve the fish-eye problem.

Then he needed a swimsuit.

He returned to Nan Guo Base.

The duel with Shu Mu Ye was set for the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow, he needed to rest.

The situation across the four major bases was worsening. Safe zones shrank constantly. Even from the walls, mutated beasts wandered in plain sight.

Ten seals creatures were everywhere now.

Jia Yi Sect didn’t care whether Blue Star’s people lived or died. In their eyes, only Shu Mu Ye mattered.

And Chu Yao’s words kept circling in Wang Jie’s mind.

Even if he defeated Shu Mu Ye, he still couldn’t defeat Jia Yi Sect.

And defeating Shu Mu Ye… was like climbing into the heavens with bare hands.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Lian Qin entered in a black qipao, her steps swaying, her eyes full of deliberate temptation. “Little brother, you called for me?”

Wang Jie turned. “Close the door.”

Lian Qin’s smile deepened, cheeks faintly pink. “Little brother… are you going to eat sister?”

She closed the door. As she turned, pale thigh flashed through the slit, bright as moonlight.

The door clicked shut.

Wang Jie said, blunt as a blade, “Do you have a swimsuit?”

Lian Qin froze. “What?”

“A swimsuit.”

She blinked, then laughed. “I do.”

“Bring it to me.”

Lian Qin rolled her eyes, amused. “So little brother got lonely in the sea. Fine. Sister will go get it and come back to help little brother relax.”

She left.

Wang Jie exhaled hard. He was under too much pressure. His blood ran hot. Lian Qin could make a man lose his mind with a glance.

A few minutes later, she knocked again.

Lian Qin slipped inside, holding up a swimsuit—sexy enough to make his ears heat. She reached for the door as if to close it.

“Put it down,” Wang Jie said quickly. “And go.”

She stared. “Me… go?”

Wang Jie nodded, deadly serious. He didn’t trust himself.

Lian Qin looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Then, still confused, she set the swimsuit down and left with an awkward expression.

Wang Jie dragged a hand through his hair. He had a sinking feeling he was being forced onto some strange path whether he liked it or not.

He fed the swimsuit into the sprout.

The skill took root.

Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form—learned.

The form came easily. He moved through it, the crab claw slicing with crisp, colorful arcs. When he planted the sword-shadow again—

three sprouts rose.

Three. The same as Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger.

Wang Jie’s eyes lit up. He touched the sprout and read the requirement.

The same woman’s swimsuit. Meat eaten in five bites. A hundred-hit chain of Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form.

Wang Jie almost laughed out loud.

All three were a problem.

Why five bites? And the hundred-hit chain was nearly impossible.

He could chain Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form ten times, maybe a little more. But a hundred? That demanded not only endurance but terrifying control over imprint power.

Each Rainbow-Drinking Sword Form consumed at least a tenth of his imprint power. Even at his current level, ten in a row already strained him.

A hundred was fantasy—unless he reached ten seals.

He set it aside.

Sleep.

In the starry sky, within Jia Yi Sect, above the waterfall:

“Sect Master,” someone reported, “Star Vault Vista has arrived.”

Xi He looked up.

Gu Yue stepped forward, a refined middle-aged man with the calm presence of a scholar. “Gu Yue greets Sect Master.”

Beside him, a young woman with long pink hair and delicate white boots bowed as well. “Ting He greets Sect Master.”

Xi He’s eyes were cold. “You know the rules?”

Gu Yue nodded. “Of course. Only the conclusion. No process.”

Xi He said nothing further.

Gu Yue’s gaze dropped to the scene below the waterfall. The first thing he saw was Shu Mu Ye sitting atop an altar of corpses—millions of bodies piled into a grotesque throne.

Ting He stared—and went pale.

She was stunning, almost unreal, with a playful air that didn’t fit this place. Now her lips went bloodless, as if the sight had slapped the innocence out of her.

Even moonlight couldn’t hide the stench of slaughter that rose like a tide.

Shu Mu Ye sat there like an evil ghost.

Gu Yue coughed softly.

Ting He flinched as if waking from a nightmare. “Uncle Gu… this—”

“This is bridging,” Gu Yue said. “Using living beings to drive piles.”

“Why is it so… cruel?” Ting He whispered.

Gu Yue’s gaze sharpened. “And where do you think your bridgeway art came from?”

Ting He’s pupils tightened. Her body trembled.

Gu Yue sighed. “Your family sheltered you too well. This time, you need to see.”

Ting He pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look again. Her skin trembled. Even her slender fingers began to discolor from how tightly she clenched them.

The final day arrived.

The insect sea surrounded Shan Cheng.

Chong Xuan acted. Wen Xing Ru, Lord Mo, and the others stood nearby.

The endless swarm was the prodigies’ first assault—and their only one.

Shu Mu Ye stared at the sea of insects. Slowly, he raised his arm.

A blade appeared in his hand.

He looked down, almost leisurely.

The insects poured over the flesh altar, swallowing it in a heartbeat.

A flash of blade light.

Insect bodies began to fall.

No matter the level, nothing could withstand One Blade. Corpses rained down, filling and leveling what had once been a tower-like structure. The swarm surged closer. Shu Mu Ye’s expression didn’t change.

He only kept slashing.

There was no grand technique. No flourish. Just One Blade after One Blade—simple, direct, merciless.

One hour.

Two.

Five.

The altar rose as insect corpses packed together, filling space and building height. It climbed toward five hundred meters, and Shu Mu Ye walked upward on a slope of dead insects as if climbing steps.

His face remained calm.

Chong Xuan’s face drained white. Monster.

Drones hovered, sending every second out to the bases. Those who watched could barely breathe.

It wasn’t the number of insects.

It was the method.

Shu Mu Ye hadn’t used starforce. Not even a thread.

Which meant he’d slaughtered for hours using only his body’s strength, with no measurable cost.

Lord Mo stared into the distance, gripping a sword hilt like deadwood. For the first time, he lost the courage to step forward.

Not from fear—but from certainty.

The insect sea was supposed to drain Shu Mu Ye’s starforce. It was supposed to be the best method they had.

Now it looked like a joke.

If they went in, it would still be One Blade.

The clearer the gap became, the more hopeless it felt.

No one could win against this monster.

A craft arrived.

Wang Jie stepped out with his group and looked toward the altar. It had expanded several times over. It towered near six hundred meters now.

Once it reached a thousand meters, Blue Star would be sacrificed.

Qi Xue Yin’s combat power detector kept beeping. She watched a ten seals insect get chopped into pieces—and the detector showed nothing at all. She lowered her hand, powerless.

Around Shan Cheng, there was no sound except insect shrieks and Shu Mu Ye’s blade.

Eight full hours.

For eight hours he repeated the same motion until the insects themselves began to break and retreat.

Green blood splattered. His clothes remained immaculate—no wrinkles, no strain. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he stood atop a throne of corpses and looked down on the earth.

A sky-soaring killing aura pressed down on Shan Cheng.

The scene shook everyone watching—including Jia Yi Sect.

No one had ever heard of an eighth seal cultivator slaughtering an insect sea through sheer physical strength alone, as if starforce and imprint power were unnecessary luxuries.

It broadened everyone’s understanding—and crushed their hope at the same time.

Gu Yue exhaled softly. “Third rebuild. His strength has grown again.”

His eyes narrowed, voice turning contemplative. “He keeps pushing toward breaking past the known limit of humans.

“I gave three ratings. Now there should be a fourth… and I don’t even know what words could fit.”

He paused, then said, “All I can say is: I can’t see how he loses.”

Ting He bit her lip until it hurt. Watching Shu Mu Ye on the screen, she was above and he was below—yet she felt as if she were the one being looked down on.

This man was terrifying. Like darkness crawling forward to swallow everything.

Xi He sighed, helpless.

With Shu Mu Ye in Cheng Yi Dao, they would have peace for ten thousand years.

And the prodigies they’d gathered… had already lost the courage to strike.