Chapter Forty-Nine: Lu Han Faces Zhang Mang

The moment the two stepped onto the stage, the air was thick with tension. Everyone below watched them in utter silence, their gazes fixed upon the combatants. Their eyes met, each searching the other with inscrutable intent. For Lu Han, this was a battle he had to win; for Zhang Mang, the stakes were no less critical.

“Boy, I hope your skills live up to your boasts,” Zhang Mang said coldly, his voice brimming with domineering confidence.

“Let’s begin. True strength reveals itself in action,” Lu Han replied, extending his right hand as a faint chill coalesced in his palm.

“You’re not yet worthy to make me go all out!”

Outside the ring, Zhang Ren turned to Zhang Yuanqin. “Father, that boy even injured Duan Jiang. Should we warn Mang?”

Seeing Zhang Mang underestimate Lu Han, Zhang Ren couldn’t suppress his concern.

“Just watch. Mang knows what he’s doing. Don’t forget, he still holds a trump card,” replied his father calmly.

No sooner had the words fallen than, beneath countless watchful eyes, Lu Han and Zhang Mang moved in unison.

“Heavenly Garment,” Lu Han murmured, and a thin veil of frosty mist enveloped his upper body. Remembering Old Man Ling’s advice, he dared not be careless; before even attacking, he had already donned the Heavenly Garment.

A ferocious silhouette and a white shadow collided.

A loud thud echoed as the arena erupted. Their fists crashed together, neither gaining the upper hand.

Lu Han, despite being one level below Zhang Mang, chose to meet him head-on.

He felt his arms tingling from the impact. “Zhang Mang’s attacks are truly savage. He seems even stronger than most at the peak of the Ninth Postnatal Realm. Even with the defensive and strengthening power of the Heavenly Garment, I’m still at a disadvantage—after all, I’m a level lower,” Lu Han murmured, shaking out his arm.

Most in the audience thought the first exchange was even, but in truth, Zhang Mang had retreated five steps, while Lu Han had staggered back five and a half.

“Boy, you’ve proven yourself worthy of my full strength,” Zhang Mang said, his tone grave as he felt the lingering chill in his fist. He had expected Lu Han to be embarrassed or injured by that blow, but not only had Lu Han blocked it, his internal energy harbored an icy essence that gave Zhang Mang pause.

Suddenly, Lu Han charged forward of his own accord.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. To strike first against a superior opponent required remarkable courage.

A surge of cold gathered in Lu Han’s palm, flashing like white lightning as he drove his palm at Zhang Mang.

Zhang Mang stood immovable, like a steel tower, as Lu Han’s fierce energy whipped his clothes.

Unflinching, Zhang Mang’s fist clenched, the color of his palm shifting from a bronze hue to a pale white.

“I practice the Stonewall Technique, renowned below the Profound rank for its defense. If you can’t break my guard, how can you hope to defeat me?” Zhang Mang’s aura exploded, even his face blanching with the intensity.

He struck at Lu Han with a fist faster than before.

Sensing the wild force, Lu Han withdrew his fist and twisted aside. Zhang Mang’s punch grazed his ear, the raw energy stinging his cheek.

Lu Han barely dodged, then spun with a push from his toe, landing a palm strike on Zhang Mang’s back.

Another echoing blow—Lu Han felt as though he’d struck solid rock.

He pulled back, springing up in a blur, delivering several rapid kicks to Zhang Mang’s back.

Zhang Mang spun around, but Lu Han used the recoil to leap away, landing steadily on the stage.

A savage grin spread across Zhang Mang’s face as he rushed forward at blinding speed.

“Enjoyed yourself? Now it’s my turn!”

Lu Han frowned. His earlier assault seemed to have done little damage.

As Zhang Mang closed in, his body tensed like a drawn bow, then unleashed a punch.

Knowing he couldn’t dodge, Lu Han channeled his energy furiously, gathering white frost in his fist and met Zhang Mang’s attack head-on.

Zhang Mang sneered, “You dare meet me blow for blow?”

With another resounding clash, Lu Han’s face paled as he was driven back several steps.

Zhang Mang’s eyes flickered with surprise. Even among those at the ninth level, his body, strengthened by the Stonewall Technique, was formidable.

“Boy, have you been training your body as well? Otherwise, at the eighth level, you’d be gravely injured by now,” Zhang Mang remarked.

If not for the protection of the Heavenly Garment and his reinforced physique, Lu Han would have been seriously hurt.

Just as Zhang Mang prepared to advance, his expression shifted.

“What’s this…” He felt a thin layer of ice crystals forming on his right arm.

“Ice-element techniques? No wonder there’s a chill—even my arm is slowed.”

“I take back what I said. You’re worthy of facing my weapon.”

Slowly, Zhang Mang drew the black saber from his back. Bathed in sunlight, it appeared even more menacing.

With a ringing sound, Lu Han drew the Biluo Sword.

Without hesitation, Zhang Mang slashed at Lu Han, his saber a streak of black lightning.

Lu Han flicked the Biluo Sword in his hand, meeting the blow head-on.

Metal clashed resoundingly.

Lu Han blocked the strike but was forced back two steps.

Drawing a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the Biluo Sword and lunged forward, thrusting at Zhang Mang.

Zhang Mang’s expression remained unchanged as he swung his saber once more.

The Biluo Sword was knocked from Lu Han’s grasp, embedding itself in the stage’s floor.

With the sword in hand, Lu Han had always needed to use his energy to resist its chill. Now, with it gone, he clenched his fists—this, he thought, was when he was at his strongest.

Zhang Mang’s hand felt a sudden chill, especially when his blade had clashed with Lu Han’s ancient sword.

He had no time for further thought.

Lu Han formed a seal with his hand, his right fingers poised like a sword. Soon, a gray-white orb of light appeared in his palm.

The seal shifted, and his internal energy surged wildly.

“Dark Raven Finger!” he intoned, sending the orb flying from his fingertip, transforming into a shadowy raven a foot long, streaking toward Zhang Mang.

“Begone!” Zhang Mang slashed at it, but the moment his blade touched the raven, a freezing cold invaded him—not just his flesh, but as if his very soul had been frozen.

He struggled to dispel the cold with his energy, but for a moment, his mind faltered.

“A perfect opening.”

Lu Han leaped forward, appearing before Zhang Mang in an instant. His sword-hand transformed into a palm as the Heavenly Frost Chill was pushed to the limit.

“Heavenly Frost: Star-Shattering Palm!”

Lu Han’s voice was clear as he struck.

His palm landed, speed surging anew.

A cruel smile twisted Zhang Mang’s face. He swung his fist at Lu Han, making no effort to defend himself.

“Stonewall Seal!”

Everyone in the arena stared, holding their breath.

Zhang Mang, relying on his defensive technique, made no attempt to guard.

Suddenly, the fight shifted to close combat—a perilous shift, for a single misstep could spell disaster.

“This kind of life-for-life exchange doesn’t bode well for Han,” Old Master Meng thought, his own energy quietly gathering. Win or lose, he wouldn’t let harm come to Lu Han.

Under countless eyes, both men landed their blows.

A thunderous impact flared at their feet as both were hurled backward.

They crashed heavily to the floor, yet neither fell from the stage.

Zhang Mang lay on the ground before slowly rising. Much of his energy had gone into dispelling the icy haze in his mind, and the last blow had left him badly wounded, though not fatally so.

He wiped blood from his lip, using his black saber to steady himself as he stood.

“Elder Guo, can you announce the result?” Zhang Mang, not glancing at the still-prone Lu Han, turned to the elder by the ring, panting.

Elder Guo was about to step forward—

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the audience!