Darius, full of murderous intent, strode forward and said in a deep voice:"Arrogant youngster who knows nothing of heaven or earth—very well, I shall let you strike first!"
Even before the words had faded, Jingneng, mindful of Jingjing's earlier setback, immediately launched the first strike. With a fierce shout, his qi surged from the dantian, and his left fist shot out with a gust of force, swift as a meteor and thunderous as a storm, aimed straight for Darius's face. The punch carried tremendous power, its force like a gale scattering leaves.
Darius snorted coldly, shifted aside, and flipped his right palm outward. White vapor coiled from his palm as heavy inner force surged forth to meet the blow. Bang! The two forces collided, erupting into a blast of wind that made the robes of the onlookers flutter wildly, leaving them all exclaiming in awe.
Jingneng realized at once that Darius was not only steady as a mountain but also possessed profound internal strength. Knowing this fight would not be easily won, he pressed on without hesitation. His body spun like a dragon overturning seas, unleashing seven or eight fierce attacks in succession, each fist and palm carrying thunderous force aimed at Darius's vital points.
Darius countered with exquisite footwork and calm defense. Each time Jingneng's strikes neared, he either raised a palm to block or shifted position to evade, leaving Jingneng unable to land a decisive blow. The exchange of blows sent palm winds and fist shadows flying, the whistling of force resounding all around. The crowd dared not even breathe too loudly, afraid to miss a single instant of the duel.
When his onslaught failed to break through, Jingneng suddenly let out a cry and spun like a whirlwind, his left palm brimming with explosive force as it drove toward Darius's chest. But Darius was no less fierce—he inhaled sharply, stamped the ground, and soared upward like a great eagle. Twisting midair, he slammed his palm down at Jingneng's crown. The force alone, before contact, pressed downward like a weight of a thousand catties.
Jingneng's eyes flashed. He hurriedly retreated, his palms fluttering in rapid succession to dispel the force before it could land, stabilizing himself. Then, with another shout, he roared:"Now taste my palm!"
Quicker than lightning, he shot forward low to the ground, then sprang upward, his right palm surging forth like a mighty wave, thundering straight toward Darius's chest.
Boom! A thunderous crash shook the ground. Darius crossed both palms to block, but the impact forced him back seven or eight steps, his feet skidding across the earth and raising clouds of dust. The spectators gasped in shock—blood trickled faintly from the corner of Darius's lips. For the first time, he had been forced into retreat, revealing a hint of defeat.
The battlefield fell silent, a tense stillness like the calm before a storm. Both men faced each other once more, their auras climbing higher still, the duel far from over.
It was early spring. The northern wind still carried a biting chill, yet the two sides burned with fiery tempers. Both sects had long clashed over territory, and today's duel—though unlikely to end their quarrels—served as a matter of honor. Victory would elevate one sect's prestige across the martial world. Thus the challenge was issued according to the unwritten rules of Jianghu: when foes meet on a narrow path, the brave triumph; when the brave clash, the wise prevail.
The Lama Sect had come deliberately to provoke, but the Jing Sect seized the chance to turn it into both a contest of courage and of cunning. Their martial monks were carefully chosen and well prepared. Darius, proud and arrogant, now found himself shaken—driven back by the strike of a mere junior monk. His face darkened with fury.
"You impudent little monk! You dare flaunt your strength before me? Come—take a few more of my moves!"
Jingneng planted his stance firmly, voice steady and heroic:"Since senior insists on guiding my humble skills, this monk can only accompany you to the end!"
Without warning, Darius launched two swift strikes, pressing hard to smother Jingneng's rising momentum. But Jingneng had spoken plainly, neither boastful nor evasive, simply truthful. These words only enraged Darius further. His pride wounded, he sought only to beat Jingneng down to vent his wrath.
The two exchanged another thirty moves in rapid succession. The longer they fought, the angrier Darius became. At last, when one of his palms struck empty air, he roared in rage:"You're courting death!"
Jingneng answered calmly:"Please, senior, do not be angry. This humble monk only fulfills his duty to accompany you. I beg your forgiveness."
His courtesy only fanned the flames. Darius's face reddened, veins bulging with fury. "You… a little monk like you dare speak my name?!"
As they continued trading blows, Jingneng struck again with words:"Senior, beware—anger harms the body. Do not let fire consume your qi!"
This only made Darius roar louder:"Sharp-tongued brat! I'll not spare you today!"
Enraged, he abandoned caution, unleashing dozens of wild strikes. Jingneng countered with the Jing Sect's ultimate art—the "Void-Sundering Palm." The attack forced Darius's offense into disarray. Jingneng immediately followed with "Swift as Wind, Fierce as Lightning"—a sweeping horizontal palm, an elbow strike, a left-hand blow, and a turning strike with his right elbow, the sequence flowing without pause.
The speed was dazzling. Darius, reckless in his rage, could no longer keep up. Breath ragged, his true qi dissipating rapidly, he faltered. Jingneng seized the chance, spinning into "Worlds Bloom Like Flowers"—three consecutive palms split the air. Darius barely evaded the first two, but the third struck solidly against his abdomen.
Crash! He staggered back, blood surging wildly inside him before he spat out a mouthful of crimson.
Jingneng clasped his hands and bowed:"This humble monk Jingneng… begs your pardon."
With two champions already defeated—Tibetan warrior Zongzan and the "Great Darius of the Pamirs"—the disciples of Master Geleba grew anxious. Marpa, his foremost disciple, thought grimly: The Jing Sect's martial arts are truly unfathomable… but we cannot return empty-handed.
Just then, the thunder of hooves echoed. A group of riders galloped up, reining their mounts sharply so that the horses reared high, neighing loudly. Dust swirled as they dismounted.
Wu Tong focused his gaze and recognized the arrivals—none other than the Two Freaks of Jiangnan, Zhu Feng and Zhou Jie, along with the infamous Three Black Fiends.
The Jiangnan Freaks strode forward. Zhu Feng called out boldly:"Marpa! We've come late!"
Marpa's face lit with relief. "Perfect timing, honored seniors! Our warriors Zongzan and Darius have both been defeated. We cannot afford to lose face any further!"
Zhu Feng was tall and lanky, Zhou Jie short and plump—their mismatched figures a comical sight. Yet Zhu Feng's voice rang out firm and clear:"Leave this to us! With the Jiangnan Freaks standing behind you, these arrogant monks of the Jing Sect shall not run rampant!"
Marpa's expression brightened further. "With such esteemed seniors lending their aid, our side will surely avenge this humiliation!"