"Whoa!" Gasps and cries of shock erupted simultaneously from the rooftops and tall buildings on both sides.
Although it was plain to see that he was still at a disadvantage, the fact that he could stand his ground after taking Weize's strike head-on, and even force Weize back two steps with the recoil—just where could he rank?!
For now, there was no answer to this question.
Or rather, only life or death in the end could provide the answer. If he died under Weize's blade tonight, then no matter what rank he might have held, it would be utterly meaningless.
Conversely, if he could kill Weize, then from this moment on he would naturally be recognized as one of the top three combatants below super rank in the City of Iniquity. Perhaps even higher.
It was just that this possibility seemed very slim right now. Weize had only unleashed his first strike, and it appeared he hadn't even gone all out.
"Seems you're stronger than I thought. A pity you still fall short. I'll finish you off... and make Boss Dao hurry up."
Through that single clash just now, Weize had already gauged his opponent's source energy surge. It was thick and robust, but compared to his own, there was still quite a gap.
He decided to end this quickly.
With that, he suddenly let out a hoarse howl: "Aaaooogh!" On Weize's bare upper torso, dense blue veins and black spots erupted across skin that already resembled a corpse's...
In an instant, the entire man seemed like a demon.
Screams rose all around.
Amid the screams, Weize roared, "Die!" He lunged forward, and his second blade came crashing down!
The terrifying might of this second strike was evident even to the weakest person present. Yet under countless bewildered gazes, the figure in black chose to raise his blade and meet it in a head-on slash.
*Clang... boom!*
The two blades collided, air detonating as the figure in black blasted backward.
He braked roughly fifty meters away, forcing himself to a halt.
But immediately, another bestial roar came: "Ye-aaooogh!"
With a low, raspy roar like the frenzy of a zombie, Weize's burly frame closed in, swinging his blade into another attack...
It seemed to be the exact same strike, with only one defining feature: heavy!
Each strike heavier than the last... and this third strike was the heaviest, far heavier than the previous one.
*Boom!*
With this blow, the clashing of metal was completely drowned out by the eruption of flying dirt and stone. The yellow glow of the streetlights was far from enough, and through the haze of swirling dust, everyone's vision was obscured...
The rasp of a blade grinding through earth and stone reached their ears.
Only when the dust settled could people finally see clearly. The young man in black was still standing, this time roughly a hundred meters away. The sleeve on his right arm was shredded, blood seeping from his skin...
He still gripped his blade. Before him lay a long trench he had plowed into the ground by driving his edge into the stone to force a stop.
*Pffft!* At last, he lowered his head and spat out a mouthful of bloody water.
The outcome was decided... so it seemed. The young man had not struck back even once.
Weize did not press his attack right away, and a brief silence settled over the street.
"Actually, I mean what if—what if when he took that second strike, he just let himself fly back instead of trying to brake and take the third strike? Wouldn't he have been hurt less?" someone on a rooftop whispered.
Beside him, someone nodded without hesitation. "Even if he wanted to test himself against the second strike, by the third strike he should've known his limits. He shouldn't have forced himself to stand his ground."
The situation was obvious. The man in black shouldn't have endured Weize's second strike head-on, and he especially shouldn't have forced himself to brake twice... Letting himself fly backward was the best way to cushion the brunt of the kinetic impact.
"He's injured. Pushing himself too hard, sigh," someone in their own battle formation muttered out of concern.
"Probably lacks combat experience, especially when fighting from a disadvantage," the person next to him added heavily.
"No," Uncle Shiliang said quietly amid the chatter, turning to look at A Zha. "They don't understand..."
A Zha blinked blankly. "Huh?"
"If he fell back any farther, he would cross the blade mark left by the Legion Commander. With Weize's fighting style and destructive power, the blade mark would be destroyed beneath his feet."
Xu Shiliang turned his gaze toward the street ahead. The spot where Ah Jing had stopped was less than a meter from the blade mark left by Chen Buer.
At this moment, blood was trickling down from behind Ah Jing's ear.
"He's... injured. Seems pretty bad," Lynne said dully, having leaped across several rooftops before finally getting a clear look.
"Yeah. He's already very strong. Unfortunately, he's facing a devil," Jenna said, watching closely.
At this moment, many spectators were lamenting. A story of a brilliant prodigy bursting onto the scene, only to encounter an adversary far too powerful and ferocious in his very first battle... Story over.
Muffled discussions carried all manner of emotions.
...
"Qingzi is hurt. Wu Xu, let's get down there!" Rusty Sister urged anxiously, reaching to draw her blade and preparing to leap straight out the window.
He Tangtang also drew his blade, his other hand pressing onto the windowsill.
At this moment, if Wu Xu hadn't spoken, the people of the City of Iniquity would have witnessed ahead of time Stream Vanguard's coordinated charge—the very teamwork that had once slaughtered a super.
Wu Xu said calmly, "No. Qingzi is about to win."
Compared to Rusty Sister and He Tangtang, Wu Xu understood that split second between life, death, victory, and defeat much better—or rather, the decisive details of mortal moments—because he had lived through far too many of them.
Right now, Qingzi was indeed inferior to Weize in pure combat strength, but he was already on the verge of victory.
Awkward with words and unable to elaborate, Wu Xu didn't know how to explain it to Rusty Sister and He Tangtang after saying his piece, so he simply pointed toward Wen Jifei standing outside the distant convenience store.
Even at this stage, under these circumstances, Wen Jifei stood there lighting yet another cigarette, still not making a move to touch the "Elegy of the Square" on his back.
This showed he shared the exact same judgment as Wu Xu.
In this world, no one understood Han Qingyu better than Wen Jifei.
After the first clash, knowing full well the vast gap in raw power and that his frontal combat strength fell short, he had still chosen to meet two more strikes head-on. That was not Han Qingyu's style of fighting.
Weize was about to die.
From the two strikes that cut down the Little Prince to the three strikes against Qingzi, five strikes in total had breached his opponent's guard every time. His mental inertia had already been guided into place, his instincts convinced that crushing with surging source energy was all it took—that simply continuing to hack away like this would be enough.
Without a doubt, his next strike would be another downward slash just like this, swinging through at least a semicircle...
Yet in reality, no one could swing a blade with such a wide arc in front of Major Qing.
Perhaps the few standing at the very peak of super rank might be able to—and only might. But of everyone else, not a single person could continuously swing their blade in such wide, sweeping strokes before Major The Qing without paying the price.
Because in real combat, once that particular logic was established, it was impossible for anyone to be faster than Qingzi.
Rumors in the City of Iniquity claimed that Weize possessed the heaviest first strike and the fastest second strike below super rank... Wen Jifei hadn't seen it and didn't know just how fast that strike was, but he was certain of one thing: it couldn't be faster than Qingzi.
Therefore, Weize was about to die.
If he knew who was standing opposite him, he might have had a chance. But he didn't know.
Had his opponent tonight been Rusty Sister, this battle might have shaken heaven and earth and shattered the long boulevard. But as things stood, he was going to die a completely different death.
He was already trapped in the death choreographed for him. In a few moments, there would be a split second where his blade fell below his center of gravity. And because of that, he would die.
In the middle of the street, just before the blade mark Chen Buer had left years ago, the figure in black lifted his head. Wiping the bloody saliva from the corner of his mouth with his forearm, he looked at Weize and said, "My turn."
"What did he say?" someone asked loudly.
"His turn!" someone shouted at the top of their lungs.
Just when everyone thought he was defeated, he said his turn had only just begun.
"He—"
Before the chatter on the flanking rooftops could fade, the wind on the street stirred, the man moved, and the blue light behind the black-clad figure flickered, trailing into a fading mist of luminescence.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the figure in black was already airborne in front of Weize, roughly level with his chest.
"Whoa! So fast!" The explosive speed of the black-clad youth's first counterattack was faster than most eyes present could follow.
People asked themselves: if this strike came at them, could they react?
The answer was definitely no. This newcomer was terrifyingly strong.
Yet Weize reacted.
Because his blade was fast—reputed to be the fastest below super rank in the City of Iniquity. Slashing head-on once more, he struck true. Dead iron clashed... a thunderous, exhilarating collision.
The blade plunged downward.
The figure in black was shot backward through the air.
Yet one thing did not travel with him. The rectangular, cloth-wrapped object strapped to his back had its cord severed by the violent shockwave, whirring in rapid spins upright in midair...
In truth, people on the scene didn't directly notice this detail in the moment, just as their sorrow and sympathy at that instant were things only faintly recalled afterward.
On this night, everyone present believed they remembered this strike—or more accurately, that man's first official strike in the City of Iniquity.
Yet when people later asked them what had actually happened, not a single one could describe the exact sequence of events.
Because everything had happened too fast, unimaginably fast.
"You can't describe that moment with 'flying,' you know? Even 'streaking' isn't enough, it falls short. Anyway, I don't know how to put it into words... In short, he was slashed backward through the air, left one afterimage midair, then two, and it was over. The blades touched, there was a faint sound, but by the time I heard it, he was already standing behind Weize."
"Then about three seconds later, or two, an object dropped down from midair. *Thud.* It landed standing upright on the ground. Later they said that thing had originally been strapped to his back."
That night, nearly all of the thousands present only saw the final scene.
Only the three to five people lurking in the darkness watching the battle managed to catch a semblance of the process—and only barely, because the distance was a bit far... Relying on the blue light from the metal casing of the source energy apparatus, combined with their own deduction, they reconstructed that moment:
The figure in black flew backward through midair, leaving an afterimage roughly 150 meters away—a spot directly above the blade mark, making it seem as though he had slashed his way out from the very mark Chen Buer had carved.
The next afterimage appeared right before Weize, descending from midair.
If the blue light hadn't been misaligned, during his flight back he must have performed a lateral barrel roll, head to the left and body to the right.
A lateral roll, and the blade in his right hand slashed down.
Weize might not have even reacted in time; it was very likely pure defensive instinct. He had forcibly hauled up his freshly swung long blade, straining to guard his throat and neck.
Hence that faint sound of collision.
Yet it was useless. By reasonable deduction, the instant the blades touched, the young man had already turned his wrist. The downward-slashing edge spun leftward, slicing across the side of Weize's neck.
Then, he touched down behind Weize.
The object landed on the other side. With a *thud*, it stood upright.
Chapter 475