Chapter 422 - 419: The Raid
Chapter 422: Chapter 419: The Raid
Fang Han offered no explanation. Any attempt to explain now would just sound hollow.
"How are your injuries, Elder Wu?" Fang Han asked.
"I can still fight, but my strength will be severely diminished for some time."
Wu Zheng shook his head, his tone flat.
"If Yuan Zhan returns, I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you to face him with me, True Inheritor Fang."
His words were polite, but they were tinged with a clear sense of resignation.
"I am at your command, Elder Wu."
Fang Han gave a slight nod.
Seeing Fang Han’s response, Wu Zheng said nothing more. He simply turned to a nearby disciple on duty and instructed him.
"Show True Inheritor Fang to a place to rest."
With that, he cupped his hands in a brief salute to Fang Han, then turned, entered the wooden cabin, and softly closed the door.
Fang Han watched the wooden door close, his expression as tranquil as still water.
He understood Elder Wu’s disappointment and the distance hidden beneath the courtesy.
But he had no need to explain.
When Yuan Zhan truly arrived, Wu Zheng would naturally understand why the Sect had sent him.
"Senior Brother Fang, this way, please."
The disciple on duty stepped forward and spoke respectfully.
Fang Han nodded and followed the disciple toward the other side of the mining camp.
Behind him, inside the cabin with the tightly shut door, Wu Zheng had already settled back onto the wooden bed.
He closed his eyes to regulate his breathing, but he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
’The Sect sent a True Disciple... even if it’s the renowned Fang Han, he’s still just from the younger generation.’
’There’s a significant gap in strength between them and the older generation.’
’If Yuan Zhan really does return...’ He shook his head, refusing to dwell on it.
’What’s done is done. There’s no use overthinking it.’
’I can only hope that Elder from the Netherworld Pavilion gives me a few more days to recover.’
’If I can recover from my injuries, then teaming up with Fang Han might just give us a fighting chance.’
...
「Forty li north of Celestial Swan City」 A cluster of buildings, built into the mountainside, stood silently among the ridges.
This was the gold mining camp belonging to the Netherworld Pavilion, located near Celestial Swan City and merely a dozen or so li from the Qingxuan Sect’s own camp.
The two camps were situated on the same mineral vein and had been locked in constant conflict, both overt and covert, for years.
Deep within the mining camp, inside a Quiet Chamber made of greenstone.
A figure sat cross-legged upon a stone bed.
He was a man of about fifty, with a lanky frame, a sallow complexion, and high cheekbones. His eyes were slightly sunken, and when they opened, they flashed with a cold, sinister light.
He was dressed in the distinctive dark-patterned black robe of a Netherworld Pavilion Elder, its hem embroidered with somber flames in gold thread.
It was none other than the Netherworld Pavilion Elder, Yuan Zhan.
At this moment, the aura around him was slowly retracting. The black Qi Force that had been coiling around his body receded into him like an ebbing tide.
His aura, which had been slightly chaotic due to his injuries, had now completely stabilized.
He opened his eyes, a glint of satisfaction flashing in their sunken depths.
"My injuries have finally healed."
Yuan Zhan muttered to himself, his voice as hoarse as rubbing sandpaper.
In the battle with Wu Zheng three days ago, he had used his Late Stage of Third Grade Cultivation to overwhelm and gravely injure the man, but he had sustained some internal injuries himself.
Wu Zheng’s desperate counterattack, a palm strike that risked further harm to himself, had landed squarely on Yuan Zhan’s chest. If not for his considerable mastery of the Black Death Skill, which granted him impressive physical defense, that blow would have been enough to injure him severely.
Though Wu Zheng was gravely wounded, he could have very well taken Yuan Zhan down with him had he chosen to fight to the death.
He hadn’t been willing to take that risk, which was precisely why he hadn’t pressed his advantage to seize the Qingxuan Sect’s mining camp.
"It’s time!"
Yuan Zhan rose from the stone bed and stretched his limbs, his joints letting out a series of soft pops and cracks.
After three days of recuperation, his injuries were fully healed. It was time to seize the Qingxuan Sect’s gold mining camp.
He walked to the wall and took down the long saber hanging there. Its scabbard was pitch-black, wrapped in silver thread, and felt heavy in his grip.
He hung the sheathed saber at his waist and pushed open the door to the Quiet Chamber.
"Attend me."
Yuan Zhan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a great distance.
"Elder."
A moment later, a middle-aged man in a Steward’s Robe hurried over, bowing in greeting.
"Gather everyone. In one incense stick’s time, we march! Follow me to the Qingxuan Sect’s camp! We will take it for ourselves!"
Yuan Zhan’s tone was ruthless.
"Yes!"
The Steward flinched for a moment, but his eyes quickly lit up with excitement as he hurried to comply.
He turned and strode away, the sound of his footsteps quickly fading.
An incense stick’s time later, over thirty figures had assembled in the open area before the camp.
At the forefront stood several men in Steward’s Robes. Their auras were stable, and all of them possessed Fourth Grade Cultivation.
Behind them were more than thirty Netherworld Pavilion disciples clad in black martial attire.
The men stood in solemn silence, their eyes fixed on the Quiet Chamber.
Yuan Zhan emerged. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the men before giving a slight nod.
"Go."
No more was said, just that single word.
But that one word was enough.
The thirty-odd figures unleashed their Body Techniques in unison, vanishing into the forest like silent, black birds as they sped toward the Qingxuan Sect’s mining camp.
WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH!
In an open area deep within the Qingxuan Sect’s mining camp, Fang Han, dressed in his green robes, weaved and dodged.
He pushed the Wind and Cloud Escape to its absolute limit. His body moved like an invisible wisp of wind, flickering unpredictably across the clearing of several dozen feet.
His footwork seemed chaotic, but it secretly adhered to a profound rhythm. With every step he took, his form would reappear in an unexpected location.
The Wind Realm was subtly infused into every minute detail of his Body Technique.
He could feel his understanding of this Body Technique deepening at a visible rate.
The Transformations that once required conscious effort were now executed with effortless ease.
’Almost there.’
Fang Han came to a halt in the center of the clearing, breathing lightly.
Fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes were astonishingly bright.
Using the Wind Realm to aid his Body Technique Cultivation increased his progress by leaps and bounds, and he couldn’t help but lose himself in the process.
He took a deep breath, just about to continue—
"Senior Brother Fang!"
A frantic cry rang out.
Fang Han turned to see a disciple on duty running from the direction of the camp’s entrance, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror.
"What is it?"
Fang Han’s expression grew taut as he asked in a low voice.
"The Netherworld Pavilion... men from the Netherworld Pavilion are attacking!"
The disciple gasped for breath, his voice trembling with anxiety.
"The Netherworld Pavilion’s Elder, Yuan Zhan, is leading them himself! There are more than thirty of them, and they’re almost at the main gate! Elder Wu sent me to notify you!"
’So the Netherworld Pavilion’s attack has come, just as expected.’
He asked no more questions. With a flicker, his body transformed into a pale green streak of light, shooting toward the camp entrance.
Behind him, the disciple on duty saw only a blur before the green-robed figure vanished from sight.
He stood stunned for a second before scrambling to follow.
When Fang Han reached the entrance to the mining camp, the scene before him made his eyes narrow.
Wu Zheng had already engaged the invaders from the Netherworld Pavilion, leading some twenty disciples from the camp into battle.
The open ground before the main gate had become a battlefield, filled with the glint of blades and the wild flight of Qi Force.
At the center of the fray, Wu Zheng was locked in a fierce clash with a figure whose aura was incredibly potent.
The man was lanky, with a sallow complexion and high cheekbones. The distinctive dark-patterned black robe of a Netherworld Pavilion Elder snapped in the night wind.
In his hand was a long saber, its blade as black as ink. Each swing was wreathed in a dense black aura, exuding a bone-piercing chill.
It was Yuan Zhan.
CRACKLE—
Wu Zheng’s fists moved like the wind, each punch unleashing a bone-chilling frost.
Fine ice crystals condensed in the air wherever his fists passed.
However, with his injuries still unhealed, he was forcing himself to fight. Though his punches were ferocious, he could not sustain the assault.
"Wu Zheng, you dare to fight me in your heavily injured state? You’re courting death!"
Yuan Zhan had obviously noticed. With a cold snort, his long saber suddenly accelerated as he slashed forward.
SWISH—!
The slash was as fast as lightning. The black aura on the blade solidified, letting out a piercing shriek as it tore through the air, heading straight for Wu Zheng’s face.
Wu Zheng’s face fell. He desperately threw both fists forward, sending two ice-blue Fist Seals to meet the Black Saber’s light.
BOOM—!
The Fist Seals and the saber light collided, erupting in a deafening, muffled explosion.
The interwoven lights of ice-blue and pitch-black held for only an instant before the Fist Seals violently disintegrated.
The saber light, its momentum unabated, slashed viciously into Wu Zheng.
PTOO—!
Wu Zheng coughed up blood, his body thrown backward like a kite with its string cut.
He crashed heavily to the ground several dozen feet away, rolling twice before coming to a stop.
"Elder!"
Several Qingxuan Sect Stewards cried out in alarm, wanting to rush to his aid, but they were pinned down by their own opponents and unable to break free.
"Wu Zheng, today you die!"
A cold smile touched Yuan Zhan’s lips. He brandished his long saber, about to press his advantage and finish Wu Zheng off.
Just at this moment—
A green shadow flickered like a phantom, appearing between Yuan Zhan and Wu Zheng.
"Hm?"
Yuan Zhan frowned, but his long saber didn’t stop. In fact, it accelerated.
He intended to cut down the newcomer and Wu Zheng behind him in a single strike.
However, a dark-green longsword was drawn to meet the descending saber.
CLANG—!
The explosive sound of metal striking metal rang out, sending sparks flying.
Yuan Zhan felt an immense force travel up the blade of his saber. His forward momentum was brought to a dead halt, and he was forced to take an involuntary step back.
He looked up to see a young man in green robes standing with a sword, positioned squarely between him and Wu Zheng.
The man’s face was ridiculously young—he looked to be in his early twenties at most—yet as he faced an Elder of the Netherworld Pavilion, his expression remained as placid as still water.
"Who are you?"
Yuan Zhan’s brow furrowed, his gaze locked onto the young man.
’Though I didn’t use my full strength in that last strike, it’s not something an ordinary person could have blocked.’
’Even an ordinary Third Grade Martial Artist would have struggled to parry it, yet this young man blocked it with ease, not even budging an inch.’
"Fang Han of the Qingxuan Sect."
Fang Han said flatly, holding his sword at the ready.
"Fang Han?"
Yuan Zhan’s pupils contracted slightly.
He had, of course, heard that name before.
’Killed Gong Xing... killed Gao Xiao and Tu Gang... gravely wounded Duan Wuya... defeated Meng Xian... and in the end, even You Xin died by this boy’s sword.’
’Sixth on the Celestial Pride List. The most brilliant genius the Qingxuan Sect has produced in centuries.’
His gaze lingered on Fang Han for a moment before a cold smirk slowly spread across his face.
"I never would have guessed. I truly never would have guessed the Qingxuan Sect would send you here."
His hoarse voice carried a trace of unconcealable excitement.
His smirk widened, and his sunken eyes gleamed with avarice.
"The Netherworld Pavilion has placed a handsome bounty on your head, one that comes with great merit. It seems that prize was destined to be mine."