The arena thrummed with anticipation as the main tournament began. Chen Feng stood in the preparation area, watching the first match through a viewing formation two sixth-level cultivators exchanging techniques with impressive precision. The crowd roared with each significant strike.
He tuned it out, focusing inward on his cultivation base. The Celestial Demon Scripture pulsed quietly in his meridians, a constant reminder of what he had become. Three months ago, he couldn't have imagined standing here, preparing to fight the sect's elite outer disciples.
Now, it felt inevitable.
"Chen Feng." An attendant gestured toward the entrance tunnel. "You're next."
He followed the attendant through corridors carved from mountain stone, each step bringing him closer to the arena proper. The roar of the crowd grew louder, a living sound that vibrated in his bones.
Then he stepped onto the platform, sunlight washing over him, and two thousand eyes turned his direction.
His opponent was already waiting , Shen Qiu, a tall youth with sharp features and a spirit spear that gleamed with azure light. Fifth level of Qi Condensation, son of Elder Shen who had presided over Chen Feng's humiliation in the punishment hall.
Not a coincidence.
"Chen Feng." Shen Qiu's voice carried across the arena, projected by spiritual energy. "I've heard interesting stories about your sudden improvement. Some say you found a fortuitous encounter. Others whisper darker rumors."
Chen Feng said nothing, drawing his sword with unhurried calm.
"No denial?" Shen Qiu smiled thinly. "How disappointing. I was hoping for drama before I crush you."
The referee stepped forward. "Combatants ready? Begin!"
Shen Qiu moved instantly, his spear transforming into a blur of azure strikes. The technique was called Azure Sky Dance ., a complex series of thrusts and sweeps designed to overwhelm opponents with sheer volume of attacks.
Chen Feng retreated, his blade deflecting strikes with minimal movements. The Celestial Demon Scripture's combat forms emphasized reading spiritual energy flow, predicting attacks before they fully manifested. Shen Qiu's technique was impressive but rigid, each strike following predetermined patterns.
Patterns could be exploited.
"Running away?" Shen Qiu's voice held forced amusement. "I expected more from someone who killed a fifth-level wolf!"
Chen Feng continued his measured retreat, circling the platform's edge. He was waiting not for an opening in Shen Qiu's technique, but for his opponent to commit fully, to invest enough spiritual energy that the drain would be devastating.
There.
Shen Qiu launched his finishing move, a technique called Heaven Piercing Strike. His spear gathered concentrated spiritual energy at its tip, glowing bright enough to cast shadows in midday sun. The attack came like lightning, impossible to dodge at close range.
Chen Feng didn't dodge.
He stepped into the strike, sword rising to meet spear with a technique that looked like suicide except at the moment of contact, Devouring Strike activated at full power.
The collision sent shockwaves across the platform. Shen Qiu's Heaven Piercing Strike met an energy void that swallowed it whole, consuming the technique's power and converting it directly into Chen Feng's meridians.
Shen Qiu's eyes widened in shock as his most powerful attack simply... disappeared. And in that moment of confusion, Chen Feng's counter-strike found its mark a precise cut along Shen Qiu's spear-arm meridians.
Not deep enough to cause lasting damage, but sufficient to disrupt spiritual energy flow.
Shen Qiu's grip faltered. His spear clattered to the platform. Before he could recover, Chen Feng's blade was at his throat.
"Yield," Chen Feng said quietly, just loud enough for his opponent to hear.
Shen Qiu's face cycled through emotions --shock, rage, humiliation before settling on cold acceptance. "...I yield."
The referee's voice rang out: "Victor, Chen Feng!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed. Cheers from those who enjoyed an underdog story, silence from those connected to the Shen family, and intense whispers from disciples and elders analyzing what they'd just witnessed.
Chen Feng sheathed his sword and bowed to the referee, then to his defeated opponent. Shen Qiu didn't acknowledge the gesture, stalking off the platform with barely contained fury.
Back in the preparation area, Chen Feng found himself surrounded by curious stares. Other disciples kept their distance, but he could feel their assessment, their recalculation of his threat level.
Good. Let them worry.
His next match was scheduled for the following day a mercy allowing fighters to recover and strategize. Chen Feng used the time to meditate and reinforce his cultivation base. The rapid advancement through beast core consumption had left his foundation solid but not perfectly integrated. Each fight helped, forcing his spiritual energy through stress-patterns that revealed weaknesses.
That evening, Elder Han summoned him to the Medicine Hall.
"Impressive performance," the old alchemist said without preamble. "You've become the talk of the sect. Even the Sect Leader is asking questions about your sudden rise."
Chen Feng's expression remained neutral. "Is that problematic, Elder?"
"Depends on how you handle it." Elder Han studied him over his spectacles. "Let me be direct. I don't care about your cultivation method ... orthodox, unorthodox, demonic, or some bizarre hybrid. What I care about is competence and not being stupid enough to draw unwanted attention prematurely."
"This disciple understands."
"Do you?" The old man's tone sharpened. "You've gone from waste to tournament contender in three months. That kind of dramatic transformation invites investigation. If you're using methods that would... upset... certain traditional elders, you need to be prepared for consequences."
Chen Feng met his gaze steadily. "What would Elder Han advise?"
"Win or lose, do it convincingly. Don't reveal more than necessary. And for heaven's sake, don't use any techniques that are obviously demonic in nature." Elder Han paused. "That energy-draining sword strike you used today...it's borderline acceptable. Clever cultivators will recognize it as unorthodox, but you can claim it's a family technique or something you developed to compensate for your damaged meridians. Push further than that, and you'll find yourself answering very uncomfortable questions."
"I appreciate the warning, Elder."
"Good. Now get out of here and don't embarrass me by getting yourself executed for heresy." The old man waved him away dismissively, but Chen Feng caught the concern hidden beneath the gruff exterior.
He left the Medicine Hall deep in thought. Elder Han was right...he had been so focused on gaining power quickly that he hadn't fully considered the political ramifications. The Azure Peak Sect tolerated many things, but openly demonic cultivation was not among them.
He would need to be more subtle going forward.
The next day brought his second-round match against Wu Yingjie...a sixth-level cultivator known for her palm strike techniques. She was beautiful in a dangerous way, like a flower hiding thorns, her movements graceful but deadly.
"I've watched your matches," she said as they faced each other on the platform. "Your energy-draining technique is interesting. I'm curious to see how it handles the Crimson Phoenix Palm."
Chen Feng remained silent, falling into his combat stance.
"Not much for conversation? Very well." Wu Yingjie smiled. "Let's dance."
Her attack came in waves...palm strikes that projected spiritual energy in the form of crimson fire, each hit carrying devastating force. The Crimson Phoenix Palm was an advanced technique, far superior to anything Chen Feng's previous opponents had used.
And Wu Yingjie wielded it with masterful control.
Chen Feng found himself genuinely pressured for the first time in the tournament. He couldn't simply absorb attacks this powerful...the volume of energy would overwhelm his meridians before he could convert it. Instead, he had to rely on pure technique, deflecting and evading while searching for openings.
The fight stretched on, both combatants trading positions across the platform. Wu Yingjie's attacks grew more intense, her spiritual energy burning bright as she pushed toward a finishing blow.
Chen Feng let her.
It was a calculated risk. By appearing increasingly desperate, by letting Wu Yingjie believe she was winning, he created the conditions for her to overcommit. And when she launched her ultimate technique...Phoenix Descent, a massive palm strike empowered by her full cultivation...Chen Feng was ready.
He didn't try to absorb or deflect the attack.
Instead, he moved with it, riding the spiritual energy like a leaf on a flood, letting the technique's momentum carry him across the platform while simultaneously using Devouring Strike in its most refined form not to consume the attack's power, but to drink the spiritual energy Wu Yingjie had invested in maintaining her technique.
The Phoenix Descent dissipated mid-flight as its fuel source abruptly cut off.
Wu Yingjie stumbled, shocked by the sudden energy loss.
Chen Feng's counter-strike was almost gentle....a sword-tap to her shoulder that nevertheless carried enough force to spin her around and send her off-balance.
"Yield," he said, "or I continue."
Wu Yingjie steadied herself, evaluated her remaining spiritual energy, and nodded with professional respect. "I yield. Well fought."
The crowd's reaction was stronger this time. Chen Feng had defeated a sixth-level cultivator without apparent difficulty, using a technique that turned superior power against its wielder.
In the VIP viewing area, Sect Leader Yun turned to Elder Mo....the old master who had promised Chen Zhen to watch over his son.
"Your judgment appears vindicated," she said. "The boy has surprising depth."
Elder Mo stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Or concerning secrets. His cultivation method is... unusual."
"Heretical?"
"Difficult to say without closer examination. But troubling."
Sect Leader Yun considered this. "Continue observing. If he presents a legitimate threat to sect orthodoxy, we'll act. Until then, talent is talent."
The tournament progressed. Chen Feng won his quarter-final match against a seventh-level sword cultivator, this time employing more conventional techniques mixed with occasional uses of Devouring Strike to keep opponents off-balance.
The semi-finals approached, and with them, the match everyone anticipated.
Chen Feng versus Zhao Tian.
The young master had carved through his bracket with overwhelming power, each victory decisive and brutal. His Lightning Blade technique was the stuff of outer disciple legends...a cultivation method passed down through the Zhao family, combining speed and destructive force in ways that few could defend against.
The night before their match, Zhao Tian visited Chen Feng's quarters.
"May I enter?" His tone was polite, almost respectful.
Chen Feng considered refusing, then gestured invitation. "As you wish."
Zhao Tian stepped inside, his presence filling the small room. He examined the sparse furnishings with undisguised curiosity, as if unable to comprehend how someone could live with so little.
"I wanted to speak with you privately," Zhao Tian said, "away from the crowds and politics."
"I'm listening."
"Your rise has been... remarkable. Unprecedented, truly." Zhao Tian's tone remained even, conversational. "Three months ago, you couldn't circulate spiritual energy properly. Now you're in the tournament semi-finals, defeating cultivators multiple levels above you. That kind of transformation doesn't happen through normal means."
Chen Feng said nothing, waiting.
"I'm not here to accuse you of demonic cultivation or heresy," Zhao Tian continued. "Frankly, I don't care what methods you've used. What I care about is winning tomorrow's match and securing the resources that come with tournament victory."
"Then we want the same thing."
Zhao Tian smiled, but it was cold, calculating. "No, Chen Feng. We don't. You want to prove yourself, to escape your past humiliation. I want to maintain my position as the sect's rising talent. Our desires are fundamentally opposed."
"Is there a point to this visit?"
"Yes." Zhao Tian's expression hardened. "I'm giving you the opportunity to withdraw from tomorrow's match. Claim injury, illness, anything believable. In exchange, I'll ensure you receive resources and support going forward. You'll have a future in this sect—perhaps even advancement to inner disciple status eventually."
Chen Feng studied the young master, seeing the calculation behind the offer. This wasn't mercy or generosity. Zhao Tian was hedging against the possibility of losing, offering an escape route that would prevent the humiliation of a direct defeat.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then tomorrow I will defeat you in a manner that ensures everyone remembers you challenged beyond your station." Zhao Tian's voice dropped lower. "I will break your cultivation in front of the entire sect, Chen Feng. Not enough to kill you....that would violate tournament rules...but sufficient to cripple your future advancement. You'll spend the rest of your life trapped at the second level, forever wondering what you might have achieved."
The threat hung in the air like poison.
Chen Feng considered his response carefully. He could feel the weight of the moment, understanding that his next words would determine not just tomorrow's match, but possibly his entire future.
"I appreciate the offer," he said finally. "But I must decline."
Zhao Tian's eyes narrowed. "You're making a mistake."
"Perhaps. But it's my mistake to make."
The young master stared at him for a long moment, searching for something...fear, doubt, weakness. Finding none, he nodded slowly.
"So be it. Tomorrow, then. No holds barred, no complaints afterward." He turned toward the door, paused. "Chen Feng... you've come far. Farther than anyone expected. But you're still just a second-level cultivator with unusual tricks. Against my Lightning Blade, tricks won't be enough."
"We'll see."
After Zhao Tian left, Chen Feng sat in meditation, preparing his mind and body for the coming battle. The young master was right about one thing—his Lightning Blade technique was legitimately formidable, perhaps beyond Chen Feng's current ability to counter.
But the Celestial Demon Scripture had taught him more than just cultivation methods. It had taught him about opportunity, about sacrifice, about the willingness to risk everything for the chance at true power.
Tomorrow would reveal which philosophy was stronger: Zhao Tian's orthodox superiority, or Chen Feng's demonic hunger.
The morning of the semi-finals arrived with ominous clouds gathering over Azure Peak. Disciples whispered about the symbolic nature...darkness challenging light, orthodox facing unorthodox.
Chen Feng ignored the superstition. Weather was weather; the match would proceed regardless.
The arena was packed beyond capacity, disciples and elders standing shoulder-to-shoulder to witness what many called the tournament's true final. The other semi-final match between two seventh-level cultivators was expected to be skilled but conventional.
This match promised something different.
Chen Feng and Zhao Tian faced each other across the platform, the space between them crackling with anticipated conflict. The referee stood to one side, his expression grave.
"This is a semi-final match. Standard rules apply, but given both combatants' demonstrated skill, I'm authorized to intervene if I judge the conflict approaching lethal levels. Is this understood?"
Both fighters nodded.
"Then... begin!"
Neither moved immediately. They circled slowly, each reading the other's stance, searching for tells and weaknesses. The crowd's noise faded to hushed anticipation.
Zhao Tian struck first.
His blade became lightning not metaphorically but literally, spiritual energy converted into crackling electrical current that wrapped around steel. The Lightning Blade technique was a pinnacle achievement of the Zhao family, combining elemental manipulation with supreme sword work.
The first strike came faster than thought.
Chen Feng barely deflected it, his own blade ringing like a bell as electricity arced across metal. The shock numbed his arm, disrupted his spiritual energy circulation. He retreated, buying time to adjust.
Zhao Tian pressed the advantage, his attacks coming in thunderous waves. Each strike carried enough force to shatter stone, each movement precise and devastating. This was the power of an eighth-level Qi Condensation cultivator wielding an elite family technique.
Chen Feng couldn't match it directly.
So he didn't try.
Instead, he fell back on the Celestial Demon Scripture's fundamental principle: superior power means nothing if it consumes itself. Every lightning-enhanced strike Zhao Tian threw required spiritual energy to maintain. Every flashy technique drained his reserves. The young master was strong, but strength had limits.
Chen Feng just needed to survive long enough to find them.
He wove between attacks, his footwork a dance of millimeters ...close enough to demonstrate skill, far enough to avoid fatal damage. Each near-miss drew gasps from the crowd. Zhao Tian's frustration mounted with every failed strike.
"Stop running!" The young master's voice cracked with anger. "Fight me!"
Chen Feng said nothing, conserving breath and energy. Let Zhao Tian rage. Anger made people sloppy.
The pattern continued for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes. Zhao Tian's attacks grew more desperate, more powerful, more wasteful. Lightning scored the platform, leaving blackened scars in stone. The air smelled of ozone and burning.
And slowly, incrementally, Zhao Tian began to slow.
Not much. Not enough for ordinary observers to notice. But Chen Feng, with his enhanced perception trained by demonic cultivation, saw the infinitesimal delays, the fractional reductions in speed and power.
The young master was approaching his limit.
Now.
Chen Feng transitioned from pure defense to aggressive counter-attacking in a heartbeat. His blade, which had only deflected and evaded, suddenly struck with surgical precision. Not powerful blows...he couldn't match Zhao Tian's strength ..but targeted strikes aimed at disrupting energy circulation.
Devouring Strike activated with each contact, but subtly, carefully measured. Not enough to be obvious, but sufficient to accelerate Zhao Tian's energy depletion.
The young master realized the strategy shift too late.
"You!" Zhao Tian began, then had to abort the sentence to defend against a strike aimed at his wrist.
They exchanged positions, roles reversing. Now Chen Feng pressed forward while Zhao Tian retreated, conserving his dwindling spiritual energy reserves. The crowd's noise level increased proportionally with the action's intensity.
Zhao Tian's expression twisted with rage and desperation. He was losing—actually losing to the sect's former waste. The humiliation of it drove him toward a decision that Chen Feng had been waiting for.
The young master gathered his remaining spiritual energy, channeling everything into one final technique. Lightning condensed around his blade until the weapon became a column of elemental fury, bright enough to cast harsh shadows across the entire arena.
"Heavenly Lightning Execution!" Zhao Tian roared, launching himself forward with speed that transcended his cultivation level.
This was the Zhao family's ultimate outer disciple technique...a single strike that sacrificed all remaining spiritual energy for overwhelming destructive force. Against an equivalent opponent, it would obliterate defenses. Against a weaker opponent, it would kill.
The referee tensed, preparing to intervene.
Chen Feng stood his ground.
The technique roared toward him like divine judgment, inescapable and absolute.
At the last possible instant, Chen Feng activated the Celestial Demon Scripture's first true combat technique not Devouring Strike, but Devouring Void.
His blade didn't move to intercept.
Instead, his entire body became a vortex of spiritual energy consumption, his meridians opening wide in patterns that defied orthodox understanding. The technique was dangerous, potentially self-destructive, converting the user temporarily into a pure energy vacuum.
Zhao Tian's Heavenly Lightning Execution struck the void.
And disappeared.
Not deflected, not blocked ..consumed. The lightning, the spiritual energy, the technique's fundamental power....all of it poured into Chen Feng's meridians like water into infinite emptiness.
The sensation was indescribable. Too much power, too fast, his cultivation base straining toward the breaking point. Pain erupted along every spiritual pathway. Blood vessels burst in his eyes. His meridians felt like they were being carved with hot knives.
But the Celestial Demon Scripture held firm, channeling the absorbed energy through patterns designed specifically for such excess, converting foreign power into his own through the dark alchemy of demonic cultivation.
When the light faded, two figures remained standing on the platform.
Zhao Tian, sword extended, face frozen in shock, spiritual energy completely exhausted.
Chen Feng, blade lowered, blood streaming from his nose and eyes, but very much functional.
The arena was absolutely silent.
Then Chen Feng moved...a simple advancing step that somehow carried inevitability. His sword rose, not hurried, not flashy, just utterly certain.
Zhao Tian tried to defend, but his arms moved like lead, his spiritual energy depleted beyond recovery. Chen Feng's blade stopped a hair's breadth from the young master's throat.
"Yield," Chen Feng said, his voice rough from internal damage but clear enough for all to hear.
Zhao Tian's face cycled through emotions...disbelief, rage, humiliation, and finally, defeated acceptance. "...I yield."
The referee's voice seemed to come from far away: "Victor, Chen Feng!"
The crowd exploded into chaos....cheering, arguing, demanding explanations. Half the audience couldn't believe what they'd witnessed. The other half couldn't stop discussing it.
Chen Feng paid them no attention. He sheathed his sword carefully, bowed to the referee, then to his defeated opponent. Zhao Tian didn't acknowledge the gesture, staring at the platform's scorched surface as if seeking answers in burnt stone.
Then Chen Feng's legs gave out.
He caught himself before fully collapsing, but the weakness was obvious. Medical personnel rushed onto the platform, Elder Han among them surprisingly.
"Foolish boy," the old alchemist muttered, checking Chen Feng's meridians with experienced fingers. "You nearly burned yourself out from the inside. If you'd absorbed even slightly more energy..."
"But I didn't," Chen Feng managed.
"No. You didn't." Elder Han shook his head. "Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Then get off this platform before everyone starts asking questions you can't answer. I'll handle the medical examination.....at least I know enough not to report findings that would get you executed."
Chen Feng nodded gratefully and forced himself to stand, moving toward the exit tunnel with deliberate steps. Behind him, the crowd's noise continued unabated. He had just defeated the Zhao family's pride, using a technique that would raise serious questions among knowledgeable elders.
The consequences would be significant.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, he needed to survive long enough to face his final opponent.
In the medical room, Elder Han worked in focused silence, using spiritual techniques and alchemical preparations to stabilize Chen Feng's overtaxed meridians. The damage was extensive but not permanent....his hybrid cultivation foundation had proven resilient enough to withstand the strain.
"You absorbed an eighth-level cultivator's ultimate technique," Elder Han said conversationally. "That should have killed you, you know."
"I'm aware."
"Yet here you sit, battered but functional." The old man's eyes were calculating behind his spectacles. "Your cultivation method is far more sophisticated than I initially thought. This isn't just some unorthodox family technique, is it?"
Chen Feng remained silent.
Elder Han sighed. "I'm not going to press you for details. But understand—what you demonstrated today will have consequences. The Sect Leader, the elders, even Zhao family leadership will want explanations. You can't just claim natural talent anymore."
"What would you advise, Elder?"
"Honestly? Lose the final match."
Chen Feng's head snapped up. "What?"
"Lose intentionally, but honorably. Make it close, demonstrate skill, then accept defeat with grace." Elder Han's expression was serious. "If you win the tournament....if you defeat another high-level cultivator using these same energy-devouring techniques...the pressure to investigate you will become overwhelming. Demonic cultivation isn't taken lightly, Chen Feng. Even suspicion can ruin lives."
"So I should accept second place to avoid scrutiny?"
"I'm saying you should weigh ambition against survival." The old man finished his treatment and stepped back. "You've already proven yourself beyond anyone's expectations. Taking second place in the Outer Disciple Competition is still an enormous achievement. It guarantees advancement to inner disciple status, access to better resources, a real future in the sect."
Chen Feng considered the advice carefully. It was rational, pragmatic, probably wise.
It was also everything he had spent three months fighting against.
"I appreciate your concern, Elder Han. Truly. But I didn't come this far to settle for second place."
The old alchemist studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Then I hope you've prepared for what comes after victory. Because that path is considerably more dangerous than anything you've faced in this arena."
Chen Feng rested for the remainder of the day, using meditation to further stabilize his cultivation base. The damage from absorbing Zhao Tian's technique was healing rapidly ..another benefit of the Celestial Demon Scripture, which enhanced recovery rates as part of its predatory nature.
That evening, Lin Mei visited, her expression complex.
"The whole sect is talking about you," she said, sitting across from him. "Some say you're a hidden genius who only recently broke through mental barriers. Others claim you must have found an ancient inheritance in the mountains. And a few..." She paused. "A few are whispering about demonic cultivation."
"And what do you think?"
Lin Mei met his gaze directly. "I think you're my friend, and I don't care how you achieved your strength. But Chen Feng, you need to understand....those whispers will grow louder if you keep demonstrating abilities that can't be easily explained. The sect has executed people for less."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're deliberately drawing attention to yourself."
Chen Feng smiled slightly. "Sometimes the best defense is being too valuable to eliminate casually."
"That's a dangerous game."
"Living is a dangerous game, Senior Sister. I'm just playing to win."
She shook her head but didn't argue further. "Your final opponent is Jin Wu...seventh level of Qi Condensation, Iron Body specialist. His entire cultivation focuses on defense and endurance. You won't be able to drain his energy as easily as you did Zhao Tian's flashy techniques."
"I'm aware. I've watched his matches."
"Be careful tomorrow. Please."
After she left, Chen Feng returned to meditation, but his mind kept circling back to Elder Han's warning and Lin Mei's concern. They were both right....he was drawing dangerous attention, playing with fire while standing in a powder keg.
But what choice did he have? Retreat to safety meant returning to invisibility, accepting mediocrity, living under the heel of those who would crush him whenever convenient.
No. He had chosen this path. He would see it through.
The tournament final dawned clear and cold. The entire sect seemed to have turned out—even elders who rarely attended such events were present in the viewing stands. Chen Feng's matches had become the tournament's main attraction, overshadowing what should have been Jin Wu's moment of triumph.
Jin Wu himself seemed unbothered by the shifted focus. He stood opposite Chen Feng on the platform, his body emanating solid, earthlike spiritual energy. The Iron Body technique transformed flesh into something approaching metal, granting superhuman durability at the cost of mobility.
"I've watched your matches carefully," Jin Wu said, his voice deep and rumbling. "Your energy-draining technique is impressive against aggressive fighters who burn through their reserves quickly. Against me, it will be far less effective."
Chen Feng nodded acknowledgment. Jin Wu's assessment was accurate....the Iron Body technique emphasized passive defense and efficient energy use. There would be no flashy ultimate attacks to absorb, no wasteful expenditure to exploit.
This would be a battle of attrition, and Jin Wu's cultivation level gave him a significant advantage.
The referee raised his hand. "Final match of the Outer Disciple Competition. Victory by any legal means. Combatants ready?"
Both fighters nodded.
"Begin!"
Jin Wu didn't charge. Instead, he advanced slowly, methodically, his defense already layered with spiritual energy reinforcement. His strategy was obvious ..weather Chen Feng's attacks until exhaustion forced mistakes, then capitalize with overwhelming force.
Chen Feng circled, probing with quick strikes that sparked against Jin Wu's iron-like skin without penetrating. Each impact sent jolts of force back through his blade, numbing his hands. It was like attacking a mountain.
"Your technique is sharp," Jin Wu commented, continuing his advance. "But sharpness alone cannot cut through absolute defense."
He was right. Chen Feng's sword, even enhanced with Devouring Strike, couldn't significantly damage Jin Wu's reinforced body. The energy he could drain was minimal compared to what the Iron Body technique naturally conserved.
This was the worst possible matchup for Chen Feng's current abilities.
So he would have to change the matchup.
Chen Feng sheathed his sword.
The gesture drew gasps from the crowd. Jin Wu paused, confusion crossing his features. "What are you doing?"
"Your defense is absolute against external attacks," Chen Feng said calmly. "So I'll attack from within."
Before Jin Wu could process the statement, Chen Feng launched forward...not with his sword, but with open palms. His hands struck Jin Wu's chest, not to damage but to make contact.
And through that contact, Chen Feng activated Devouring Void at its maximum intensity.
The technique wasn't designed for this...it was meant to absorb attacks, not drain opponents through direct touch. But the Celestial Demon Scripture was adaptable, its principles flexible enough to be repurposed by a sufficiently desperate practitioner.
Chen Feng's meridians became pathways not just for his own energy, but channels attempting to forcibly extract Jin Wu's spiritual cultivation through physical contact.
Jin Wu's eyes widened as he felt his carefully conserved energy beginning to leak away. He tried to retreat, but Chen Feng's hands locked onto his wrists with desperate strength.
"Release me!" Jin Wu commanded, spiritual energy flooding outward to reinforce his body against this unexpected attack vector.
Chen Feng held on, even as pain exploded through his system. He was essentially trying to drink from a raging river...too much power, too fast, threatening to drown him from within. But he had no choice. Against Jin Wu's defense, this was his only strategy.
The two fighters became locked in a deadly embrace, neither able to disengage. Jin Wu couldn't pry Chen Feng loose without dropping his defensive technique. Chen Feng couldn't release his grip without losing his only avenue of attack.
Spiritual energy churned between them, flowing from Jin Wu to Chen Feng in quantities that would kill a normal cultivator. Chen Feng's body temperature skyrocketed. Blood vessels burst throughout his body. His meridians felt like they were being forged in a furnace.
But the Celestial Demon Scripture had prepared him for exactly this...consumption beyond reasonable limits, pushing past the breaking point where orthodox cultivation would shatter, surviving through sheer predatory hunger.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The crowd watched in horrified fascination as two cultivators stood locked in what looked like mutual destruction.
Jin Wu began to weaken first.
The Iron Body technique, for all its defensive prowess, required constant spiritual energy to maintain. And Chen Feng was draining that energy faster than Jin Wu could replenish it from ambient sources.
"Impossible," Jin Wu gasped, his iron-like skin beginning to revert to normal flesh as his technique failed. "Your cultivation base should have exploded by now..."
Chen Feng didn't respond, couldn't respond, all his focus dedicated to channeling the absorbed energy through patterns that prevented self-immolation. His consciousness was fracturing under the strain, the world reducing to pure sensation,pain, power, and the iron determination to survive.
Finally, mercifully, Jin Wu collapsed.
Chen Feng released his grip and stumbled backward, barely maintaining his feet. He stood swaying, looking more dead than alive, steam rising from his overheated body.
The referee rushed forward, checking Jin Wu's condition. "Unconscious but stable. Victor Chen Feng!"
The arena exploded into noise...cheering, shouting, demands for investigation. But Chen Feng heard none of it, his consciousness already fading as the accumulated damage caught up with him.
The last thing he saw before darkness took him was Elder Han's concerned face swimming into view.
Then nothing.