Book 2 Chapter 49: The Battle of the Innates - Martial God

Chapter 49: The Battle of the Innates Fan Haori suddenly raised his head, glaring at He Quanxin with unrestrained hatred in his eyes. It was a searing, unforgettable hatred. Just one glance, and everyone could feel an uncanny sense: this man's latter half of life would be overshadowed by thoughts of revenge. He Quanxin shivered involuntarily, despite his ten-layer internal force cultivation, unable to resist a wave of cold that washed over him. "Those are the armbands of Uncle Xiao and Uncle Xiao II. Where did you get them?" Fan Haori asked through gritted teeth. He Quanxin frowned, his heart filled with questions. These armbands were placed on him by He Yiming with incredibly skillful dexterity just before he entered the scene. He Yiming's actions were so quick that even He Quanxin himself didn't notice until the armbands were on. At that point, asking about their origin was impossible. Unexpectedly, today's battle was so perilous that without these armbands... He Quanxin glanced at the breathless body of Fan Shuhe; without these armbands, he himself would be the one lying there. Yuan Chengzhi's eyes lit up bright; seeing Fan Shuhe dead filled him with a sense of relief, as if a heavy stone had been lifted from his heart. The Fan family was not a famous household but was solely propped up by Fan Shuhe, a peak practitioner with ten layers of internal force. Given a century to develop, they might have become a new prestigious family. But now that Fan Shuhe was dead, the small family would have no future prominence. Not to mention that the Yuan family would undoubtedly settle scores with the Fan family, who wouldn't let go of such an opportunity, as would those families previously annexed by the Fans. Seeing He Quanxin frowning and not answering, Yuan Chengzhi assumed that He Quanxin disdainfully ignored the question. Good-naturedly, he stepped forward and said, "Nonsense, you're too young to know better. By saying it’s yours, does it really belong to you? I could say everything from your Fan family belongs to me." Yuan Chengzhi's voice was loud, filled with undisguised glee, and his words shamelessly bared his ambition to annex the Fan family's current assets. With a dismissive smirk, he continued, "Young Master Fan, you've seen how your father fought just now; every move was lethal. Sadly, your father wasn’t skilled enough and was killed by He Quanxin. That's what happens when one acts so ruthlessly and pays the price for it." He lifted his chin, addressing the crowd, "Gentlemen, am I not right? Is it justified for Fan Shuhe to kill, but not for someone to kill him?" Fan Haori's face turned ghastly. Looking back, all his servants and retainers were timidly inching away, not one daring to stand by his side. Moreover, many were leaning forward, nodding, seemingly acknowledging Yuan Chengzhi's words. At that moment, Fan Haori realized that the Fan family was finished... Suddenly, a clear voice rang out. "What if I say these armbands are mine?" The voice was soft, like a whisper, yet everyone present heard it clearly. Hope flickered on Fan Haori's face, like a drowning man grasping at straw. He knew only if this person would lend a hand would there be a last chance for the Fan family to rise. Yuan Chengzhi's gaze sharpened, and in front of this formidable person, he dared not show the slightest disrespect. After all, the inexplicable immense pressure from a few days ago had deeply affected them. He hesitated, "May I ask who you are..." The curtains of a sedan chair lifted gently, and a tall figure calmly stepped out, capturing everyone's attention. Although slightly greying at the temples, the person exuded an unmistakable vitality that everyone could feel. Because of this, no one could guess his age. Yuan Chengzhi and the others’ faces changed dramatically. Though they didn’t know him, his appearance matched exactly the descriptions given by the gatekeeping servants of the Zhuang residence. At that moment, all their hopes shattered. An innate master—so the Yuan family really had an innate master. Yet, what puzzled them was that if the Yuan family had such a powerful ally, why did they waste time initially by letting the Fan family make a move, which ultimately led to Fan Shuhe's death? The man began to speak, leisurely but under everyone's gaze, saying, "I am Lu Xinwen; have any of you heard of me?" Upon his words, the place fell into an eerie silence. Shortly after, a soft "thud" was heard. People turned towards the sound to see a weapon had fallen from the hands of a middle-aged man in the Yuan's camp, his face drained of color. In fact, faces along that direction mirrored his, as if overcast by a dark cloud, appearing lifeless. In contrast, Yuanzewu and his group were elated, particularly the Fan household retainers, who shed their earlier defeated expressions. Those who had been nodding sycophantically now looked like they had swallowed a fly, speechless. Lu Xinwen's gaze landed on the golden armbands on He Quanxin. He spoke softly, "The vitality elixir is consumed by you, and the armband treasure used by you—did you kill my three disciples?" He Quanxin fought against the urge to turn around, finally understanding that this had to be He Yiming's doing. But what was this vitality elixir? At this moment, he had no time to think, taking a deep breath, "Yes, I bear sole responsibility for this matter." "Your doing?" Lu Xinwen's face showed a hint of mockery, "With your mere strength, could you have killed my three disciples?" He Quanxin was speechless. Anyone with some wit knew by now that the Xiao brothers, and the internal force expert who challenged them that night, were Lu Xinwen's disciples. However, judging by Lu Xinwen's tone, those three seemed all dead. Who could wield such terrifying power? He wondered. He Quanxin's lips moved, ready to speak, when something rectangular obscured his view. He hesitated, "Yiming..." "Uncle, leave it to me." He Yiming's voice, laced with a smile, resonated like magic, reigniting He Quanxin’s hope. Smiling slightly, He Yiming said, "Junior He Yiming greets Senior." Lu Xinwen smiled faintly, "Once you've stepped into the innate realm, there's no longer the distinction of senior or junior." He Quanxin's mouth gaped, eyes wide. Looking at his nephew with disbelief, Did Lu Xinwen just say— He blankly turned, finding everyone around with the same ghost-seeing expressions. At that moment, everyone feared they were hallucinating! He Yiming chuckled, his voice spreading far, waking everyone from their daze, their view of him now transformed. Especially for those who knew He Yiming, like He Quanxin and Yuan Chengzhi; disbelief gave way to new hope in their eyes. He Yiming spoke loudly, "Brother Lu, are you so sure your disciples are dead?" Lu Xinwen's gaze dropped, "Brother He, haven't you just entered the innate realm? How could you not know this?" He Yiming's expression turned serious, "Indeed, I do not. Please, enlighten me." Lu Xinwen smirked, "Those of us in the innate realm have profound impressions of close ones’ auras. As long as they’ve been somewhere recently, there’s no hiding it from us." He sighed, "The underbrush in front of Yuan's manor retains the potent aura of my three disciples. Such dense aura is only possible at the moment of violent death." Recognition dawned on He Yiming's face. Though he had advanced to the innate realm, he hadn't fully grasped some of its unique abilities. Lu Xinwen suddenly said, "Initially, I thought Brother He left those traces as a challenge to me. Now, I see it was an oversight. If Brother He plans to cover his tracks next time, practice an innate martial art there to completely confuse the aura, making it undetectable." He Yiming chuckled ruefully, cursing inwardly, If I had known this trick earlier, would I still be facing you now? Lu Xinwen asked thoughtfully, "Brother He, I'm curious. My three disciples are not impulsive; they wouldn't provoke an innate master. And given your youth and attainment, you wouldn't care for some armbands and a few vitality elixirs. So why did you act against them?" He Yiming looked over at Lu Xinwen, who seemed genuinely puzzled. Nodding slightly, He Yiming spoke seriously, "That day, your disciple Zhuang Yuan sneaked into Yuan's estate. After he left, I followed him and encountered your three disciples in the grove. Initially, I did not intend to act, but they threatened to bring you to annihilate my He family, leaving none alive. Given such a threat, how could I spare them?" A chill ran down the spines of those around him as they finally understood the reason. Anger flashed in their eyes towards Lu Xinwen. Wiping out the He family village? If not stopped, where was the justice? Lu Xinwen sighed, "I see. So that's how it is." He laughed heartily, "If annihilating your family was my disciples' wish, then let me fulfill it for them." An almost tangible, heavy killing intent rose from him, unwavering and fierce. He Yiming showed no surprise, knowing this animosity was irreparable once the threat to obliterate his family had been made. Now that everything was clear, he wouldn't hold back either. He stepped back half a pace, standing firmly. Without removing the bundle from his back, he slowly raised both hands. A mysterious seal appeared, fingers interlocked, palms hidden, with a subtle bulge, as if concealing something. This was the Needle Press Seal, a seal art adapted from the Cloud and Rain Seal, and He Yiming was using it in actual combat for the first time. He Yitian watched his younger brother with wide eyes, the only one among them having seen Lin Taoli's hand seal techniques. While he didn't understand the intricate techniques, the basics looked strikingly similar. He knew the He family lacked any unique hand seals. He pondered, could Lin Taoli have passed down his family technique to his younger brother? But Lin Taoli didn't seem that foolish! Once He Yiming adopted the Needle Press stance, he seemed to vanish. People could see him, but he felt like a lifeless stone compared to Lu Xinwen's potent vitality. Everyone held their breath, hearts filled with indescribable feelings. All knew this duel would decide the day. The victor would gain immensely, while the loser might lose their life. Though not fighting themselves, their fear and anxiety surpassed the combatants'. Suddenly, Lu Xinwen moved. In a blink, he was three steps from He Yiming, leaving no trace of his movement as if he’d disappeared and reappeared. Doubts crept into the timid hearts—was he a supernatural being inducing illusions? Just then, He Yiming moved. A slight hand gesture and a golden flash crossed everyone’s vision—so quick, it was almost imperceptible. Lu Xinwen shuddered peculiarly, retreating with speed beyond logic. Though his advance was unseen, his retreat left a clear trail. A series of afterimages stretched from three meters before He Yiming to twenty meters back, where Lu Xinwen finally halted with an upright hand at his chest. A flicker of gold emerged on his palm, then vanished. Catching the golden light, Lu Xinwen’s form paused, then whirled again. Faster this time, he circled He Yiming multiple times in an instant. From an outsider's perspective, the elder's form vanished, replaced by a swirling mist—a blur even He Quanxin, a ten-layer expert, couldn’t fathom. His face turned ashen. Though He Wude had claimed innate masters surpassed postnatal ones unimaginably, seeing was believing. In the eyes of innate masters, even a peak ten-layer master was but a slightly larger ant. Finally, he completely believed. Either of the fighting men—He Yiming or Lu Xinwen—could take his life at will. His only solace: He Yiming was an innate master, and his sole prayer: that He Yiming wins the duel. If overwhelmed, at least escape. Young as he was, He Yiming had time for vengeance. With everyone outside lost in their thoughts, the two fighters focused solely on each other. Lu Xinwen moved like the wind, becoming a cloud, a mist. Around He Yiming, the mist circled endlessly, compressing the air with each lap, increasing the pressure. He Yiming clearly sensed a vortex-like energy, pressuring him relentlessly. Water attribute techniques, innate water techniques. Now, He Yiming understood Lu Xinwen's innate attribute. Against the engulfing pressure, He Yiming stood firm, his fingers flying, releasing waves of innate true energy from his palms. Every Needle Press strike pierced a hole through the swirling mist, relieving the natural pressure and rendering it ineffective. The speed of He Yiming’s Needle Press exceeded Lu Xinwen's expectations and capacity. With a long roar, Lu Xinwen leapt back tens of meters, finally giving all a clear view. Somehow, his hands now held a white garment. His rapid movement gave the garment the appearance of cloud and mist. But now, the garment was tattered, beyond repair...