Two Avengers

Mighty One. On one hand, the title implied having vast divine abilities. On the other, it referred to possessing an utterly stupendous volume of energy. Within every Mighty One was an astonishing reservoir of power. Only through the twin pinnacles of energy and rules could their simplest gestures wield the might to shatter heaven and earth. Furthermore, Mighty Ones who cultivated different rules drew conceptual energy from different phenomena. A practitioner of earth rules drew energy from the existence of the earth; one of fire rules drew from the flickering of flame; one of chaos rules drew from the shifting tides of disorder. Naturally, one who cultivated the rules of the blade drew energy from the act of slashing. This meant that any Mighty One walking the path of the blade could sense slashes across a certain distance. Every swing, every slaughter, every severing cut was like a hand softly plucking at the strings of their heart. When Quan Juehua unleashed that supreme strike, its reach had been vast beyond measure, and the ripples it caused were unimaginably terrifying. If an ordinary person's slash was a pebble dropped into water creating faint ripples, Quan Juehua's slash was a tsunami! Such a colossal disturbance drew the gazes of countless Mighty Ones in an instant. In the ruins of a certain world, a pair of blood-red eyes slowly opened. In the next breath, terrifying crimson energy surged into the heavens, and the world—already reduced to ruins—instantly dispersed into raw energy. The owner of those crimson eyes had vanished without a trace. "Quan Juehua!" "Quan Juehua, Quan Juehua, Quan Juehua!" Just as Quan Juehua and his disciple were preparing to part ways, two voices rang out simultaneously. The next instant, a black sun descended upon them. Quan Juehua raised a hand, and an enormous palm woven entirely from the energies of disparate rules materialized instantly, blocking the sun's impact. From the other side, a crimson saber of blood slashed down. Luo Jiu had no choice but to meet it. A long sword appeared in his grip, parrying the blood-colored blade light. Luo Jiu's sword was peculiar: it was exceptionally long yet remarkably slender. Mounted at the center of the crossguard was a fishing reel wound with line, and the tip of the blade bore a uniquely shaped fishhook. Resembling a ship's anchor, whether it could catch fish was anyone's guess, but its sheer sharpness made it clear that flicking it forward could plunge it straight into a target to reel in an opponent. "Perfect! We master and disciple haven't fought side by side in years. One for you, one for me!" Quan Juehua chuckled. With a thrust of his great palm, the black sun was instantly hurled tens of quadrillions of light-years away. Stepping forward, he teleported directly before the black sun and struck with another palm. Meanwhile, Luo Jiu had zero desire to trade blows with some random enemy. Yet he understood all too well that if he did not fight this battle, Quan Juehua would likely be displeased—and if Quan Juehua was displeased, he was finished. Quan Juehua had never been generous; he was petty, vindictive, a smiling tiger, and a treacherous dog who stabbed people in the back. If not for the overwhelming gap in strength, Luo Jiu would have killed him long ago. But circumstances were stronger than men, and he had no choice but to obediently play along. "Hmph! If you want to kill my master, you'll have to get through me first!" Ten thousand treacherous thoughts flashed through Luo Jiu's mind, yet his face showed none of them. Instead, he bellowed at his foe with utter solemnity. Unfortunately for him, his opponent was Zhang Shou—a man who had endured countless brushes with death and crawled back from the brink time and time again, all for the sake of revenge. After leaving the Aska, Zhang Shou had searched everywhere for Quan Juehua, but Quan Juehua had already gone into hiding to nurse his injuries. Unable to find his target after a century, Zhang Shou shifted his strategy: to put it simply, wherever danger lurked, he threw himself into it. Whenever he encountered a melee of Mighty Ones, he plunged straight into the fray, slaughtering indiscriminately. At first, both sides in a conflict would assume he was aiding the enemy. Only later would they realize he was a madman who had come out of nowhere, prompting them to join forces to surround and kill the lunatic before resuming their feud. It was under such circumstances that Zhang Shou cultivated with utter disregard for his own life. Whenever enemies assumed he was dead, he would drag himself back to his feet and plunge into the next slaughter. In truth, this method proved frighteningly effective. A Mighty One's potential was virtually limitless. Combined with a mental state hovering on the edge of chaotic frenzy, Zhang Shou's blade had become lethal in the extreme. His saber intent was absolute: either the enemy died, or he did. Once he targeted a foe, there was no way out except a fight to the death. And because he was still breathing, the powerhouses he had marked had naturally all fallen. One could only imagine how terrifying his growth had been. "You're Quan Juehua's disciple? Excellent! Then I'll wipe out his bloodline!" Hearing Luo Jiu's proclamation, Zhang Shou's eyes flared with savage light, and a surge of vicious drive seized him. *Wait... no! Quan Juehua's death would suit me just fine!* Luo Jiu suffered in silence, but he was given no chance to explain. Gripping his saber, Zhang Shou charged straight ahead, his entire body enveloped in black and red energy. He resembled a tiger raising its claws, hell-bent on tearing its prey to shreds. With no alternative, Luo Jiu exerted all his strength to parry with the Angler Saint Sword. Yet the moment sword and saber collided, a flash of red light swept across hundreds of light-years. Leaking energy shattered all surrounding matter, sending the Mighty Ones secretly spectating scurrying back in sheer horror. Enveloped in his feather robe, Luo Jiu was hurled backward by the strike, countless feathers severed. Only after being thrown back an unfathomable distance did his feather robe unfurl. He glanced at the weapon in his hand, his expression instantly darkening. The Angler Saint Sword had been cleaved in two. Zhang Shou gave him no time to catch his breath. The moment the first blow ended, black and red energy surged around him once more, and he lunged forward, blade in hand. "Desperation—Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill!" With a low roar, Zhang Shou unleashed another slash. Not daring to meet it head-on, Luo Jiu relied purely on speed to flee frantically, watching the terrifying saber aura vanish into the void. Yet Zhang Shou did not alter his technique. Pivoting, he unleashed yet another strike—one even faster than the last. This technique was known as the Desperate Seven-Kill Saber. Put simply, it unleashed seven waves of saber aura in a single breath, each strike carrying greater killing intent and greater speed than the one before. Few could ever survive all seven. Luo Jiu had genuinely not anticipated that a move of such staggering power could be unleashed again so quickly. Though a Mighty One possessed an immense reserve of energy, wielding it required the coordination of mental strength and rule power. With mental strength serving as the primary guide, channeling colossal energy naturally drained one's vitality and focus. It was like an ordinary person writing an essay: after finishing an essay with total concentration, they would certainly need to pause and rest their mind. Magnified countless times, that represented the mental toll exacted when a Mighty One acted—comparable to an ordinary person working ten years straight, doing overtime day and night without a break. Well, ten years of nonstop overtime would have killed an ordinary person long ago. But assuming they survived and clocked out after a decade, they would surely need a rest. Zhang Shou, however, took no rest. He threw himself straight into the next task, working another ten years of nonstop overtime on the spot—which was the equivalent of this second slash. The greater a technique's power, the longer the necessary buffer time. Luo Jiu had miscalculated, never expecting Zhang Shou to unleash another strike immediately. Caught completely off guard, he had no time to dodge. All he could do was draw his feather robe tight around himself and mobilize his energy for protection.