Chapter 4803 — The Fight Goes On

Meanwhile, Leng Rufeng was closing in step by step, and the ice blade in his hand had grown ever more vast and terrifying without his even noticing. By now it stretched a full ten zhang across, more than enough to sweep half the arena in a single casual pass. Even with Wei Zhao's speed, dodging it cleanly would be no easy feat.

He could see the man was about to bring the blade down again. Last time he had escaped only by sheer surprise. A second time, there was no telling whether he would come away whole. In that desperate instant, a sudden flash of inspiration lit Wei Zhao's mind. He had it!

Before Leng Rufeng could swing again, a blue arc of lightning flared to life in Wei Zhao's palm. The sight genuinely startled Leng Rufeng. With his blade force already formed, he feared nothing—nothing, that was, except lightning arts.

For whether it was the icy wilderness all around him or the ice blade in his hand, both were excellent conductors. He could cleave the five-element killing aura in two with a single stroke, but he could never cleave lightning, not without sending it racing even faster into his own body!

This brat has no end of tricks up his sleeve! For the first time, Leng Rufeng began to regard Wei Zhao with real seriousness. If the boy had brought out his lightning art from the very start, then even if he could not have fought him head-on, he would at least have had a fighting chance, and would not have been so thoroughly humiliated a moment ago.

Watching the electric arc leaping in Wei Zhao's palm, Leng Rufeng's first instinct was to withdraw his blade. The giant ice sword he had gathered was a tremendous means of pressuring Wei Zhao—but at the same time, it was a natural target. Wei Zhao did not even need to strike at him directly; he need only fling the arc onto that giant blade, and the blow would land regardless.

That was precisely what Wei Zhao had in mind. A ghostly blue light streaked out, and the arc leapt onto the giant ice blade in an instant. Yet at the same moment, Leng Rufeng's reaction stunned him: instead of discarding the blade, the man simply swept it across regardless of everything, with all the manner of a man staking his life.

The man is a ruthless bastard! Wei Zhao's expression changed, and he hurriedly employed the Transcendent Butterfly Microstep to evade. But the ice blade was simply too vast, and here at the arena's edge his room to maneuver was limited. At his present speed, there was no chance of dodging cleanly; even if he managed to avoid the blade itself, he could never escape the terrible blade force that followed in its wake!

Boom! Wei Zhao was instantly crushed to the ground beneath the blade force, the impact hammering out a human-shaped crater, and then he spat out a great mouthful of blood. His internal injuries were severe.

At the same time, Leng Rufeng across from him was caught as well. The lightning power raced along the giant ice blade and invaded his body in an instant, and a numbness seized him from head to foot. Even his frozen expression, unchanged for ten thousand years, turned rather more colorful for it.

Yet after a moment, once the lightning power in his body had dissipated entirely, Leng Rufeng did not collapse. Apart from a lingering numbness, he was essentially unharmed. Looking coldly down at Wei Zhao, crushed to the ground by his blade force, he said, "What a pity. The one art you had that could deal with me is pathetically weak."

He was no feeble specimen like Kang Jingming, and unlike Kang Jingming he was not trapped inside a shell of iron. Back then, Wei Zhao at full power had been able to leave Kang Jingming half dead with his lightning, but applied to Leng Rufeng now, it amounted to little more than a tickle.

At those words, Wei Zhao, still coughing blood under the press of the blade force, could only smile bitterly. Ever since he had mastered the power of lightning at the Western Isle trial, he had never found the chance to train it properly. This whole stretch of time had brought him, one might say, no progress at all—otherwise he would not have fallen into such an awkward pass.

Had he known it would come to this, he should not have spent that month at sea occupied with piloting the ancient warship. If he had devoted himself wholeheartedly to cultivating his lightning power, it might well have produced wondrous results. But such thoughts came too late now.

Leng Rufeng advanced on Wei Zhao once more, the cold tip of his blade resting squarely against Wei Zhao's forehead. His ultimatum was simple: "Yield, or die."

Wei Zhao grinned, but before he could open his mouth, someone below the arena cried out in alarm, "The incense is out!"

A clamor ran through the crowd at once. The time of one stick of incense had elapsed, and by the rules the challenge should end there. Of course, this was no formal competition; whether to honor the rule lay entirely with the two men on the arena. Unless Leng Rufeng chose to, not a soul would whisper a word against him for bringing that blade down again.

But Leng Rufeng had no intention of finishing him off for good. The icy wilderness around them melted away soundlessly, and the ice blade pressed to Wei Zhao's forehead vanished with it. His face expressionless, he said, "You've lost. Hand over the Beauty Pills and the Thunder Mystic Vine."

Wei Zhao laughed. With great difficulty he clambered up from the ground, and without a word turned and started limping toward the edge of the arena.

Leng Rufeng frowned and was about to move to stop him, when Wei Zhao abruptly halted, turned, and said to him seriously, "Which eye of yours saw me lose? Was I beaten to death, or did I yield with my own mouth?"

"You—" Leng Rufeng was choked speechless for a moment. Who had won and who had lost, even a blind man in the crowd could judge. Yet he had to admit the fellow had a point: he was not dead, and he had not spoken a word of surrender, so who had decreed that Wei Zhao must be the loser?

Still, by any fair measure, Wei Zhao's conduct smacked of welching. Leng Rufeng was never a man who cared overmuch for principles—if the other party wanted to play the rogue with him, he would not mind settling it in private. Playing the rogue before absolute power was simply courting death. But Wei Zhao's next words made him abandon the idea.

"Tomorrow we continue." Wei Zhao waved a hand with effort, then leaned on Ning Xuefei and, under the eyes of all present, limped away.

Leng Rufeng stood on the arena and looked deeply after Wei Zhao without a word. Then he leapt down, and departed with Yang Qianshuang, who had donned her veil once more.

"What the hell is Cold-name playing at? What's he going soft over this thing for? He should've just cut Wei Zhao down with one stroke just now—why go through all this trouble?" Ren Zhongyuan was hopping mad, cursing at the sight. He had paid the price of a Beauty Pill, and not to watch these two admire each other and call it a friendly spar. He had been hoping for blade after blade drawing blood, one of them dead and the other alive—and this was the result he got!

"Leng Rufeng isn't a fool, after all. Killing Wei Zhao is easy, but doing so would bring the Western Isle's fury down on him. No matter how formidable he is, he can't afford the Western Isle Lord's wrath, so of course he doesn't dare strike the killing blow lightly." Yi Xiaotian chuckled and consoled him. "But this isn't over yet. Since the two of them are going at it again tomorrow, then let them fight. We'll just sit back and watch the tigers battle—whoever dies, whoever lives, we come out ahead."