The instant his wooden saber struck home, He Lingchuan pressed a hand against Meng Shan's pauldrons and used the rebound to spring upward. Meng Shan's arms closed on empty air, wrenching a furious roar from his throat.
Flipping backward in midair, He Lingchuan landed behind Meng Shan and struck again!
This time, his target was the nape of Meng Shan's neck—a vulnerable spot left unprotected by leather armor. Even without an edge, a strike to such a vital point would make anyone's vision go black.
Beneath the stage, Sun Fuling furrowed her brow slightly and gave a gentle shake of her head.
Meng Shan ducked just in time, slipping beneath the wooden saber.
After that roar, his movements turned noticeably sharper. His frame seemed to contract by an entire size, and with an agility that defied his massive bulk, he wheeled around in a low dive. His spiked club struck straight for He Lingchuan's upper body—ferocious and blindingly fast.
A thick, fiery red glow erupted from the weapon's wooden studs.
These weapons were plain wooden blanks devoid of special properties. For one to suddenly glow like this could only mean Meng Shan was channeling true power to unleash his finishing move.
Suspended midair with nowhere to dodge, He Lingchuan took the blow head-on and was sent flying over three zhang away!
He came within an inch of tumbling off the stage.
Meng Shan pursued like a shadow, his speed terrifying as he closed the distance in two strides.
To the commoners, it looked like a flurry of afterimages; none of them could tell that in a mere half-second, he had unleashed three savage strikes in three directions. Yet the spectators leaning over the railing felt their hair whipped about by the gale of his swings.
Cornered, He Lingchuan could only channel strength into both arms and brace his saber to block.
Every impact felt like the blow of a giant sledgehammer, numbing his arms and tearing the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers.
Worse yet, with every strike Meng Shan delivered, his momentum surged higher, until an overwhelming tide of force threatened to crush him completely.
He Lingchuan felt completely pinned down, as though Meng Shan's strength was pressing in from every direction, locking him in place so he could not budge an inch.
That was precisely how Wild Boar had gone down moments ago.
During his past challenges against Meng Shan, He Lingchuan had been knocked out of the ring the exact same way at least twice.
Each of Meng Shan's three heavy blows was stronger than the last, culminating in a downward smash aimed directly at the crown of the head—a move of peerless savagery executed like a pile driver running wild.
In truth, whether he wielded iron or wood made little difference at this moment; either way, the victim's head would be smashed open. Even the Gale Army soldiers watching from below felt a chill run across their scalps, wondering how they would have parried such an onslaught.
Yet He Lingchuan evaded the third blow.
Planting a hand on the boards, he rolled sideways and slid right past Meng Shan's flank.
It was as though he had been squeezed out from under the pressure.
Xiao Maoliang let out a long exclamation of surprise, and Hu Min rubbed his eyes.
He Lingchuan moved like a fish in water, contorting at an angle both agile and uncanny as he sprang away using the spring of his back and waist. From an all-encompassing, suffocating press that seemed to leave no way out, he had managed to pry open a sliver of space.
In that split second, he seized his chance.
Sun Fuling narrowed her eyes.
She caught sight of He Lingchuan's wooden saber darting into Meng Shan's flank like a needle as he slipped past.
Leather armor shielded the spot, preventing the wooden blade from penetrating.
With a sharp crack, the weapon shattered to pieces on impact.
A heartbeat later, Meng Shan's hand-shield swept in, aimed directly at He Lingchuan's temple.
A gasp went up from the commoners below.
To their eyes, He Lingchuan had attempted a counterattack only to fail to pierce his opponent's armor, shattering his own weapon in the process.
Skinny let out a frustrated groan and clenched his fists.
How was this any different from their previous bouts? Everyone knew that if this continued, Meng Shan would emerge victorious once more.
Never mind how nimble and pleasing He Lingchuan's footwork looked; Meng Shan was never afraid of agile opponents. He only needed to use sheer force to outlast cunning. One single mistake from He Lingchuan would mean utter ruin.
And who never made mistakes? Time was on Meng Shan's side.
Fortunately, He Lingchuan did not lose his head or linger to trade blows. Gripping what was left of the hilt, he ducked the shield bash by a hair's breadth and rolled more than five chi away.
Meng Shan's shield struck empty air.
Having weathered three heavy blows from Meng Shan, the wooden saber had reached the end of its lifespan, no matter how well-made. He Lingchuan had seen the visible fissures along the blade and felt it could not withstand another clash, which was why he had risked everything to dodge the downward smash.
A martial artist had to maintain an exact read on the state of his weapon.
Missing his strike, Meng Shan followed up immediately with a violent stomp, lunging forward as his club whipped across in a wide arc.
The arena floor shuddered as though struck by an earthquake. Watching the move, Xiao Maoliang and the Gale Army veterans felt a wave of familiarity. Half a year ago in the battle of the Yan River Valley, Meng Shan had bowled over scores of men with that very technique.
His timing was impeccable; He Lingchuan had only just scrambled to his feet and had yet to steady his stance. If he lost his footing now, he would never withstand the gale of the sweeping club.
The heavy club swung across, kicking up a gust that reached over two zhang away. A shrill whistling pierced the air, heavy with crushing pressure.
Though formless, a direct hit from such an attack promised disaster.
By this single move alone, Meng Shan was worthy of being ranked among the generals.
Evidently, He Lingchuan was not the only one who had made strides over the past six months.
Those in the crowd who knew what they were looking at burst into cheers.
Yet the moment He Lingchuan saw Meng Shan raise his knee, he anticipated the move. As the massive foot slammed down onto the stage, He Lingchuan pushed off the floor with one hand and vaulted backward, neatly avoiding the shockwave and landing behind a weapon rack.
The rack was firmly bolted to the edge of the ring, and it took the full force of the club's wind in his stead.
With a loud crash, the rack snapped in half, sending weapons clattering in all directions.
He Lingchuan grabbed a handful of wooden throwing knives from the debris and hurled them at Meng Shan's eyes and throat.
Meng Shan raised his shield and charged forward, deflecting the knives against the wood.
Separated by barely two zhang, his long strides closed the distance in two steps.
He Lingchuan, however, snatched up another wooden saber and engaged him head-on.
In the blink of an eye, more than a dozen exchanges flew past.
Hu Min watched without blinking. "This Broken Saber kid... not bad at all."
Facing an opponent whose sheer power dominated the arena, He Lingchuan consistently evaded by the slimmest margins, occasionally even meeting the strikes head-on. Having mapped out Meng Shan's attack patterns, he moved with growing ease.
One ferocious, one elusive—the duel made for a magnificent spectacle.
The surrounding soldiers and civilians clapped and cheered, thoroughly enjoying the show. Yet the two fighters had tuned out the noise, their focus narrowed entirely to the contest of life and death.
Xiao Maoliang suddenly remarked, "Meng Shan is slowing down."
The casual spectators around Arena No. 7 could not tell, but discerning eyes noticed that Meng Shan's attacks were losing their edge. His turns, his strikes, even his footwork advancing and retreating had fallen behind by half a beat.
With that drop in speed, the mountain-like pressure he exerted was halved.
A glance at Meng Shan revealed his facial muscles twitching, the veins at his temples throbbing violently.
Sun Fuling murmured, "Meng Shan's internal injuries are quite severe."
Her voice was faint, heard only by Commander Xiao, who frowned slightly.
Had He Lingchuan's earlier attacks borne fruit after all?
Meng Shan was indeed wounded.
With every turn, a searing agony flared where the wooden blade had struck his flank; with every breath, his diaphragm grated as though pierced by a knife. He Lingchuan's first two strikes had appeared to bounce off his defenses, but both had sent surges of true power tearing through his insides, stubborn and impossible to purge.
Others could not see it, but Meng Shan knew firsthand that his liver, gallbladder, and lungs had likely sustained damage.
His vision had already dimmed several times, and bile rose in his throat.
*No, I have to end this quickly!*
Meng Shan, who had ruled the arena and toyed with opponents like a cat playing with mice, found himself wishing for once that the bout would end.
His eyes flicked, and he feigned a stumble, leaving his chest wide open.
Such an opening was rare, and no opponent would let it slip.
He Lingchuan shifted the tip of his saber, thrusting straight for Meng Shan's throat.
Meng Shan clamped down on his agony, expanded his chest, and unleashed a ferocious roar directly at the foe before him!
The sound was like a lion roaring beside one's ear, enough to tear the courage from a man's heart.
Though his back was turned to the crowd, several commoners near the edge of the stage collapsed unconscious on the spot.
Directly in his path, He Lingchuan took the full brunt of the sonic assault. The blast was ten times more violent than thunder, physically shoving him backward!
That roar took everything Meng Shan had, forcing blood from his lungs. Having finally cornered He Lingchuan, he was not about to let his last chance slip. He swung his heavy club with his right arm, finally landing a solid hit!
Yet even as He Lingchuan was sent flying, his saber slipped from his grip. Meng Shan leaned backward to dodge the flying point.
Even so, a foot of invisible gangqi extended from the tip, striking him squarely across the Adam's apple!
Amid gasps from the crowd, He Lingchuan was hurled a zhang away. He rolled twice upon landing, spat up a mouthful of blood, and pushed against the ground twice without managing to rise.
Across from him, Meng Shan stood frozen.
The wooden saber clattered against the floor, rolling half a turn before settling.
Sun Fuling murmured silently, "He won."
The arena was dead still for several seconds before Meng Shan suddenly vomited blood.
Once it began, it could not be stopped. Blood gushed like a fountain, and his massive frame collapsed like a toppling golden mountain, his knees slamming into the boards with a dull thud.
His internal organs felt as though churned by knives of fire and ice scraping in turn. His head spun with dizziness, and the approaching figure of He Lingchuan split into multiple blurred silhouettes.
The crowd erupted in astonishment.
Most spectators had no idea what had just transpired. All they had seen was He Lingchuan being knocked flying by Meng Shan's club, only for Meng Shan to end up far worse off, unable to even stand.
It defied all reason.
He Lingchuan reached Meng Shan in two strides and lightly tapped a finger against his temple.
Under that minuscule touch, Meng Shan could no longer hold himself up and collapsed face-first onto the stage.
Silence fell over Arena No. 7, every eye wide with disbelief.
None of them realized that Meng Shan had been fighting through agony after the first two strikes. The internal injuries had steadily mounted until He Lingchuan's third attack triggered the full explosion.
One strike, then another, then the third.
In contrast, He Lingchuan had sustained only superficial wounds from start to finish. In truth, time had been on his side all along.
Clutching his left arm, He Lingchuan shouted toward the courtyard, "Someone get over here! He needs medical attention!"
A'luo vaulted onto the stage carrying a medicine kit and ordered two soldiers to roll Meng Shan over. Blood trickled from the man's facial orifices, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
Only then did the crowd's fervor detonate, applause and cheers crashing like thunder.
His hands flying through treatment, A'luo could not resist asking, "How did you beat him into this state?" He, too, had failed to catch what happened.
"Just got lucky."
"Your shoulder's badly hurt too. Let me patch you up first!" After all, He Lingchuan was one of their own, and A'luo's bias had been clear from the start.
As for Meng Shan, he could wait.
Chapter 292