Every Man for Himself

Forming a core was not as easy as Cang Ling made it sound. Still, with Patriarch Han's aptitude and the favor of a Core Formation cultivator, his chances were far greater than most. Such fortune could not be envied. As they conversed, they finally flew out of the Luandao Waters. Concealing their auras, the group continued skimming low over the surface of the water. Before they had flown far, everyone came to a halt in unison. As one, they raised their heads to gaze into the distant sky, their expressions varied. It was noon. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky of spotless blue. Yet to the south, where water met the horizon, an extraordinarily eye-catching crimson cloud hung, blotting out a vast expanse of the sky. Crimson vapors churned, as though concealing countless man-eating fiends within. Even across such a distance, Qin Sang could faintly sense the terrifying aura emanating from the red cloud, sending an involuntary tremor through his heart. Such a cloud could never have formed naturally in the Yuncang Great Marsh—the battlefield was right there! "Stay sharp, everyone," Cang Ling cautioned. A brilliant sheen lit up his robes before fading away, and his aura receded to the absolute limit, perfectly hidden. Qin Sang discreetly formed the seals for the Spirit Concealment Art. After a moment's thought, he drew a three-foot green blade and held it in his grip. This spirit sword was the finest piece he had crafted with his own hands in all his years studying sword-forging. Infused with cold metal, it was a top-grade spirit sword whose quality ranked among the best of top-grade magic tools. Qin Sang had forged countless swords, yet he had produced only one of this caliber. After years of lavish use, the cold metal was exhausted. Qin Sang had named the sword "Cold Metal" to commemorate it. Even so, Cold Metal was far inferior to the ebony sword—and not merely because the ebony sword was a magic treasure. The gap between them was not just a matter of quality. The ebony sword was Qin Sang's life spirit sword! His cultivation method, its innate divine abilities, and his life spirit sword were an inseparable triad; not one could be missing. The Sword Qi Thunderclap divine ability could only be unleashed through the ebony sword. No matter how fine another spirit sword might be, Qin Sang could not execute Sword Qi Thunderclap with it, nor could it match the ebony sword's might. Losing the ebony sword would drastically reduce his combat strength. Yet as formidable as the ebony sword was, it was unwise to use it openly under these circumstances. As the life spirit sword cultivated through his soul, Qin Sang could temporarily rein in its aura as a magic treasure, but such concealment would not last. In the midst of combat, especially in moments of crisis when attention was split, revealing a flaw would be all too easy. To Core Formation cultivators, magic treasures were precious rarities. A Foundation Establishment cultivator holding a magic treasure was no different from a child parading through a crowded market flaunting gold; who could guarantee they would not covet it? There was no shortage of Core Formation cultivators on the battlefield. The moment Qin Sang slipped up, he could never hide it from their senses, and what followed would almost certainly be ruin beyond redemption. Thus, Qin Sang had resolved not to use the ebony sword unless absolutely necessary. Even if he had no choice, he would stay far from the battlefield in some secluded spot—or keep it as a trump card to catch an enemy unaware. With the Cold Metal sword in one hand, Qin Sang held the Yin-Yang Compass in the other. In a chaotic melee, the compass could work wonders. The others prepared themselves as well. Qin Sang leapt forward to catch up with Cang Ling. The three late Foundation Establishment cultivators took the lead, while the rest followed close behind. After speeding forward for some distance, the crimson cloud in their sight grew ever clearer. It was immense, staining nearly half the sky. Even the Yuncang Great Marsh had not escaped; the waters beneath were dyed crimson, churning with monstrous waves of terrifying intensity. The clouds billowed like the fiery dusk of nightfall illuminated by a setting sun. The crimson haze blocked their line of sight, making it impossible to tell who was clashing inside, how many combatants there were, or who had the upper hand. Without knowing the state of the battle, they could make no decisions. Unease gnawed at everyone's minds as they inwardly cursed Pei Qin's ancestors a hundred and eighty times over. Right then, a resounding dragon's roar drifted in from afar. The crimson cloud suddenly split down the middle, as if cleaved by a sword from within. A beam of deep-blue sword light burst through the haze, darting in and out like a swimming dragon. The light was razor-sharp, sweeping up the world's spiritual energy and shaping it into a terrifying hurricane armed with thousands of blades. The crimson cloud was heavily battered under the light's slashes, yet it was still far from dissipating. Judging by its terrifying might, the object within the beam of sword light was undeniably a magic treasure! The group was stunned by the sudden emergence of the light. If the crimson cloud could contend with a magic treasure, was it one as well? With two magic treasures clashing, they could not tell who had the upper hand, nor did they know whom to root for, since they had no idea who wielded them. Soon, however, they noticed that the object inside the deep-blue sword light was not a spirit sword, but a needle-shaped magic treasure! "It's Martial Uncle Fang's magic treasure, the Heavenly Escape Needle!" Qiao Jiang pointed at the light, his expression turning ecstatic. "The Heavenly Escape Needle is Martial Uncle Fang's life magic treasure, known to everyone in our Xuling Sect! Martial Uncle Fang is fine, there's no need to worry!" Hearing this, the group's anxious hearts finally settled a bit. It was this Martial Uncle Fang who had dispatched Cultivator Liu to seek help at the trade fair. Terrified by Liu's gruesome state, everyone had feared that Martial Uncle Fang might also be mortally wounded. But from the terrifying might shown by the Heavenly Escape Needle, his condition seemed decent enough—hardly the picture of a gravely injured man fleeing in panic that they had imagined. With Pei Qin coming to reinforce him, the Lesser Cold Domain side could at least hold its ground and avoid crumbling at the first blow. "Let's go! Move in closer and see!" Cang Ling gritted his teeth and picked up speed. They were still far from the battlefield. As long as the cloud remained unbroken, they could see nothing clearly, unable to tell how the real battle was unfolding. Qin Sang frowned slightly. He looked at Cang Ling's back, hesitated for a moment, but leapt forward to follow. His vigilance was raised to its absolute peak. Their pace slowed as they crept cautiously toward the cloud. Yet they still could not see through it, hearing only the howling roars of spiritual power ahead. Before they had advanced much farther, Qin Sang's expression shifted. He came to an abrupt stop and waved a hand sharply behind him. Cang Ling and Fan Zhen were only a fraction slower, arresting their flight lights almost simultaneously. All three directed their gazes toward a stretch of water before them, exchanging glances before springing into motion together! To prepare for the coming battle, they had already practiced their formation. Moving with tacit coordination, Qin Sang and Fan Zhen flanked to the left and right while Cang Ling pressed straight ahead, sweeping over the water to encircle the area. The others looked at one another, bewildered as to what had happened, and froze in place, not daring to move. Before the three could even steady their footing— *Splash!* Spray burst into the air. A dark shadow shot up from the water like a loose arrow, its speed blinding as it surged to break past their encirclement.