Book 3 Chapter 18: Mumble Jumble - Martial God

**Chapter 18: Mumble Jumble** The northern wind roared wildly, like an unbridled steed, rampaging through the forest. Within this dense woodland, several innate masters stood in a tense standoff, their hearts as cold and unyielding as the biting wind around them. He Yi-Ming summoned his aura to its peak without reservation, releasing every ounce of his energy. Around him, within the terrifying reach of his massive guandao, the very air shimmered with a strange distortion, as if the heat of subterranean flames were rising. Though young in years, He Yi-Ming was battle-hardened, having clashed with various innate masters, including first-tier talents like Yu Jing-Lei. However, he had always faced individual opponents in his past encounters. Now, standing before him were three innate masters. As he instinctively swung his knife, even he wondered if he had gone mad to attempt facing three opponents at once. These three were not mere bandits skilled in the tenth inner strength levels but genuine innate masters. Yet, the thought was fleeting, quickly dismissed from his mind. He focused wholly, knowing any hidden reserve would be a path to certain death against these three. The intense aura radiating from He Yi-Ming caused the three black-clad figures, with their high noses and deep-set eyes, to exchange solemn looks. They sensed that He Yi-Ming's entire being had merged seamlessly with the surroundings. Especially within a four-meter radius of him, it seemed as if it had become another world, one fraught with danger for them. Most of their attention was fixed on the terrifying weapon glistening with a penetrating chill, eliciting shudders of fear whenever it came to mind. The power of this blade was a consensus they all shared. A soft cough from behind He Yi-Ming broke the tension: "Thank you for your timely rescue, my brother. I'm Yu Xi-Chen of Hengshan, forever indebted. But be cautious, as these three possess martial arts of peculiar nature." He Yi-Ming stood firm as a mountain, seemingly unmoved by the words. All understood he dared not let his concentration waver for even a moment. Upon hearing this, the three black-clad men exchanged glances, their eyes momentarily brightening. The one with the flexible sword suddenly spoke, "Sir, this is a personal vendetta. Since you are strangers, why intervene?" His speech, though in the most common language of the northwestern nations, sounded oddly mechanical, like he was reading from a text, stirring a bizarre feeling. A realization struck He Yi-Ming: as the man spoke, their collective intent noticeably softened. Where there was tension to strike a moment ago, now there lay room for maneuver. It was clear they had no intention of a deadly confrontation. After multiple enlightenments, He Yi-Ming was no longer the novice innate practitioner of old. His 360 internal acupoints were nearly overflowing with qi. He was but a fraction away from Yu Jing-Lei's prowess. Wielding his guandao, his presence had grown staggering. His capability might well be unmatched below the threshold of the first-tier heavens. The three had been driven back by his initial strike, their hesitance a reflection of the tidal wave of power they sensed. Had this been the He Yi-Ming of a year prior, just newly ascended to innate status, they would not have been as reserved. Yet, detecting their reluctance, He Yi-Ming lifted his head confidently, his aura surging, "I know not your grievances, but encountering such fighting, I cannot stand idly by. Ganging up on someone? Cowardly." The three exchanged looks, stunned to encounter a chivalrous figure here. Were he an ordinary hero, they would have long charged in. But the might of the terrifying weapon in his grasp made them wary. Avoiding a fight, if possible, was preferable. As they looked ready to speak, a sudden change washed over their faces, their gaze veering to the spot where He Yi-Ming had appeared. A figure darted out, just as youthful in appearance, swiftly reaching Yu Xi-Chen's side. Flicking his wrist, he produced a porcelain vial, swiftly revealing a thumb-sized white pill, which he pressed to Yu Xi-Chen's lips. Relief washed over Yu Xi-Chen. Resigned to die earlier, he now sensed salvation first in the form of a guandao-wielding youth, followed closely by the Medicine Daoist. With the Medicine Daoist's pill swallowed, his life seemed secure once more. The sight of this action left the three black-clad men momentarily stupefied, their expressions turning sharply grim. The leading man barked fiercely, "You two are together?" He Yi-Ming chuckled, declaring loudly, "Fools, of course, we are together." Before the Medicine Daoist’s arrival, He Yi-Ming had tried all means to stall. But with this ally now by his side, he held nothing back. The trio seethed with rage, realizing too late the advantage. Despite their apprehensions, they understood their window to fight had passed. Now, facing both He Yi-Ming's imposing guandao and the newly arrived Medicine Daoist, hesitation flickered in their eyes. Yu Xi-Chen inhaled deeply, suddenly declaring, "Elder Yao, we cannot let them escape; they stole my innate core." He Yi-Ming’s eyes sharpened, the guandao emitting a menacing whirring sound. This sound was like a cascade of firecrackers exploding simultaneously, or beans sizzling in a pot, inciting restlessness. The three flinched, seeing the guandao’s flash as it swung with overwhelming momentum. Familiar with its fierce might, they did not dare neglect defense, channeling their qi to meet the formidable strike. Yet, as their weapons rose high, they anticipated no deafening crash. Their attacks met empty space, leaving them feeling awkwardly vulnerable, as if striking at clouds. Sensing something amiss, they suddenly found themselves enveloped in mist. Once more, He Yi-Ming's guandao sliced forth, but midway, the fierce momentum dissipated into a soft, powerless flow. The unyielding metal power transformed into an all-encompassing, gentle mist—wind and rain, an impenetrable shroud. This astonishing shift granted He Yi-Ming the edge. With an advantage gained, victory followed... Caught in the misty guandao aura, the three could only manage a weak defense. Yu Xi-Chen, sitting awestruck on the ground, watched in disbelief and amazement, muttering, "From extreme hardness to extreme softness, how did he manage that?" The Medicine Daoist’s lips trembled, sharing the same shock, meekly admitting after a moment, "I don’t know..." The transition from hard to soft was not extraordinary for innate masters, akin to eating or drinking. However, He Yi-Ming’s was uniquely different. His guandao initially unleashed a force of extreme rigidity and strength, the opening move demonstrating metal’s piercing sharpness superbly. But midway, it unexpectedly morphed into the ultimate softness, akin to the gentle flow of water, erased of all vigor. Such an extreme transformation, unexpected and seamless, was a rarity in martial arts. While some practiced multiple, even opposing, martial arts, they had to employ them distinctly or through specific fusion methods during combat. A sudden switch, like turning metallic power to water’s flexibility mid-strike, was something unimaginable. Under such intense concentration, instantly shifting forms could be overwhelming even for an innate master. Especially transitioning abruptly between opposing types of qi within the three hundred-plus acupoints; it's a risky endeavor that could leave one heavily injured. Yet, after deploying such a technique, He Yi-Ming showed no signs of spitting blood or retreating. Instead, he was vibrant and agile, encircling the three black-clad men within the blade's gleam. This perplexing transformation left both Yu Xi-Chen and the Medicine Daoist profoundly shocked and bewildered. Watching closely, Yu Xi-Chen realized that even if He Yi-Ming couldn't secure a victory, he was certainly not in any danger. Relaxing a bit, he asked, "Elder Yao, who is this? Is he an honorary elder of our Hengshan from another sect?" Never averting his gaze from the battlefield, Medicine Daoist replied, "No, he is a newly appointed elder of our Hengshan." "He's one of ours?" Yu Xi-Chen exclaimed in delight. "Indeed." The Medicine Daoist acknowledged proudly. He Yi-Ming was the grandson of He Wu-De, who was the Medicine Daoist's disciple. Naturally, the stronger He Yi-Ming became, the more it reflected positively on him. Initially, He Yi-Ming felt anxious facing these three foes, but as he fully unleashed his guandao's potential, any hesitation vanished. His eyes sparkled with determination, fully merging himself with the guandao. Unconsciously, he had achieved oneness with the weapon. Now, the guandao felt like an extension of his body, utilizing the full force of wind, rain, and mist to absolute mastery. Although the trio were innate masters too, the leader being a high-tier Bai San Tian rank, once trapped in He Yi-Ming’s mist blade technique, they were like mired figures unable to extricate themselves. Amidst the intensifying battle, a robust voice suddenly echoed from the swirling blade gleam: "Mumble Jumble..." This peculiar language was unfamiliar to He Yi-Ming, but he knew it was neither from the northwestern nations nor Dashen. Upon hearing the voice, the three encircled men burst forth as though invigorated with newfound strength. Their weapons flared wildly, but instead of chaos, they followed an incredibly intricate pattern, breaking through the encroaching mist. A chill swept through He Yi-Ming. Before he could respond, their swords clashed fiercely with his guandao. A surge of almost otherworldly power rushed from the guandao, He Yi-Ming's face fell. Their strength was unexpectedly overwhelming, nearly doubling their previous capacity, each wielding force that rivaled the guandao's might. He Yi-Ming deftly shifted his grip, forming a circle with his hand to dissipate the impact within a tight spinning area. Then, like a ghost, he swiftly retreated, detaching from the fray. The trio did not pursue, gasping as if the last strike had drained them significantly. Yet, in their eyes, a strange, sinister red glimmered, enough to chill anyone confronting it. Both Medicine Daoist and Yu Xi-Chen’s expressions darkened sharply, their gazes hardening. Being an innate master, Yu Xi-Chen, though injured internally, had taken Medicine Daoist's remedy and could still draw power from the heavens. While not fully recovered, he held enough might for a short bout. His grip tightened on his steel long sword, casting a shimmering array of sword blossoms. The Medicine Daoist quietly drew his unique weapon, and it was the first time He Yi-Ming had seen the elder's armament. Even in dire times, He Yi-Ming blinked in surprise, doubting his sight momentarily. For in the Medicine Daoist’s hand was a bamboo basket—yes, the ordinary-looking basket typically seen at his waist. He Yi-Ming always assumed it was merely a tool for gathering herbs. However, witnessing it now as the Medicine Daoist wielded it with a formidable aura, he understood at last—it was indeed his exclusive weapon. The three black-clad men let out a fierce cry, leaping with renewed vigor. He Yi-Ming squinted, noticing their figures shrinking in view rather than enlarging. Startled, he realized their plan was not to pursue Yu Xi-Chen but to make a swift escape. "We can't let them get away." Even as Yu Xi-Chen uttered this, another surge of blade gleam erupted like a blinding flash. At that moment, He Yi-Ming swiftly put his words into action. With remarkable speed, he chased them down, again enveloping them in the endless expanse of flashing blade mist. The trio panicked, shocked by He Yi-Ming's speed, blade technique, and the prominent prowess demonstrated. This man's weapon, so terrifyingly potent, seemed rooted in yang strength. Yet, he mastered not only the metal's sharpness but also the command of the mist. Once entangled, escape was near impossible. Furthermore, his footwork was as swift as lightning, outstripping them clearly. Faced with an unbeaten adversary who confounded both fighting and fleeing, anyone would feel overwhelmed. Moments later, as the misty mire threatened again to ensnare them, the leader spoke decisively again: "Mumble Jumble..." Instantly, their combat ability surged, transcending in strength, speed, and mental fortitude. The combined effort shattered He Yi-Ming's guandao mist formation. As the mist cleared to reveal the sky, they wasted no time, moving in unison to flee. He Yi-Ming bellowed, frustrated at being inexplicably pushed back twice. Even Buddhists could get angry thrice; much more so someone like He Yi-Ming, known for his undefeated record and youthful ardor. With his feet just landing, he launched once more, swiftly catching up and encasing them in a renewed wave of blade light. Medicine Daoist and Yu Xi-Chen exchanged uneasy looks, both innate masters themselves, yet feeling out of place in inserting themselves into this clash, leaving them both impressed and awed by He Yi-Ming. Yu Xi-Chen, seeing He Yi-Ming for the first time, couldn't help but internally mutter. Where did this monster come from? "Mumble Jumble..." The eerie chant once more fueled the trio’s breakout from the blade light. He Yi-Ming fumed, shouting, "Elder Yao, what gibberish are they spouting?" Caught off guard, Medicine Daoist, despite his age, was unversed in their chant, having spent most of his life immersed in medicine and thus clueless about their words. Suddenly, an ancient voice emanated from behind Medicine Daoist and Yu Xi-Chen. “These youngsters are chanting…” The voice was long, but saturated with boundless lethal intent: “God says, grant them power…”