Chapter 80: The Final Battle
The final battle was bound to attract the greatest attention, and Su Fan had never expected he would make it this far. Watching yesterday, Su Fan had secretly sighed; whether it was Xiao Lin or Qin Yu, he had not the slightest confidence in defeating either of them. As for Shi Nan of the Azure School, it was said that he had forced Hong Yuan to the brink of defeat multiple times, and if not for the abundance of artifacts and secret arts of the Crimson School, Hong Yuan would scarcely have managed to win.
Outside the Grandmaster’s Hall, the crowds had already gathered. The debris from the platform destroyed during the duel between Qin Yu and Xiao Lin still lay untouched. As Su Fan stepped over the scattered stones and earth, he felt a chill run through him, quietly thanking his luck for not having dueled Qin Yu. To cross spells with someone who valued his life so little could only end badly, for such a man would fight with reckless abandon, considering victory all that mattered and life of no consequence.
Su Fan did not need to guess where his platform would be; the crimson platform was already tightly encircled by onlookers. At a glance, he spotted Hong Yuan upon the platform, smiling and waving to the disciples below.
Suddenly, a deep loathing surged from the depths of Su Fan’s soul. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists, reminding himself not to act rashly, but to proceed with utmost caution.
A voice called out from somewhere: “Su Fan.”
At once, a path opened through the crowds around the platform. Su Fan forced an unnatural smile as he walked toward the viewing stands.
Outside the stands, Su Fan saw the elder in violet robes with eyes half-closed, the crimson-robed elder with a sullen face, and the blue- and green-robed elders, both smiling warmly. There was also the orange-robed elder, whose face showed complex emotions, and Ding Ming, the new head of the Yellow School, whose expression was filled with ridicule and disdain. Confronted by such a myriad of faces, Su Fan felt a helplessness for which he had no words.
The disciples watching seemed to mirror the expressions of their respective heads: some friendly, some hostile, some indifferent. Su Fan cast his eyes around and smiled wryly to himself. He had done nothing, yet had somehow made both friends and enemies.
How ridiculous, he thought, are the affairs of the world; and how pitiful the people in it. Su Fan closed his eyes for a moment, then walked slowly to the side of the elder in gray and bowed low, saying softly, “This junior, Su Fan, pays his respects to the honored envoy.”
The gray-robed elder remained unconcerned, eyes closed, reclining in a chair made of ancient wood, savoring the morning breeze and the pleasure of leisure.
Su Fan turned, casting a glance at Hong Yuan atop the dueling platform, preparing to ascend.
Suddenly, the gray-robed elder rasped out, “You are Su Fan?”
A stir of nervous whispers swept through the disciples. The gray-robed elder, who had ignored even the arrival of the Grandmaster, was now speaking to a mere disciple—how strange!
Even the six heads on the platform, usually immovable as mountains, turned their attention to the gray-robed elder, curiosity in their eyes. The crimson-robed elder, in particular, stared wide-eyed with anger at the gray-robed man.
Su Fan was taken aback, but quickly turned and answered respectfully, “Yes, junior is called Su Fan.”
The gray-robed elder stretched lazily, opened his eyes slowly, and asked in a flat tone, “Have you ever been to the Sword Vault?”
The Sword Vault was a place of the highest honor in Tianyuan Sect, reserved for only the most exceptional. That Su Fan had been there was not, in itself, surprising, yet he could not help feeling curious. He nodded.
The gray-robed elder continued, “I heard you entered the Sword Vault.”
To have entered the Sword Vault—
Countless disciples turned their eyes to Su Fan. The heads on the platform looked embarrassed. They had known of Su Fan’s entry, but, given its significance, had kept it to a select few.
The murmurs among the disciples grew even more heated. The focus, once on Hong Yuan, now shifted entirely to Su Fan. Hong Yuan glared at Su Fan with venomous hatred, wishing he could kill him on the spot to vent his fury.
All eyes were on Su Fan, waiting to see how he would answer, and whether he had truly entered the Sword Vault, a privilege reserved for the heads alone.
Su Fan smiled faintly and replied, “Yes, this junior has indeed entered the Sword Vault.”
The words had barely left his lips when an uproar broke out—sneers, scorn, disbelief, and awe flooded the hall. Yet their faces all bore the same expression: incredulity mingled with the certainty that it was true.
The gray-robed elder nodded slightly and asked, “Did you take any artifact?”
Su Fan paused, then answered gravely, “A sword—a broken sword.”
The gray-robed elder’s body trembled, though his face remained expressionless. Reclining once more, he closed his eyes and murmured, “A broken sword, a broken sword… What a sword, indeed.”
Su Fan’s expression flickered; he turned and leapt onto the dueling platform. Suddenly he smiled, for Hong Yuan’s face was now twisted into an almost grotesque snarl, a rare sight from someone usually so cold. It delighted Su Fan.
Hong Yuan said coldly, “We may begin.”
Su Fan wiped away his smile, met Hong Yuan’s gaze, and answered softly, “Let us begin.”
At once, Hong Yuan formed a spell with his fingers, crimson radiance swirling around him. Scarlet mists enveloped his form, spiraling about him as he swept his hand, sending four streams of red mist rushing toward Su Fan.
The blue-robed elder on the platform snorted, “Hong Yuan begins with a killing blow—does he mean to kill Su Fan?”
The crimson-robed elder frowned. “A duel is like a battlefield. If you show mercy, you become a weakling. Every duel should be treated as war; only then will you have a real chance when facing true enemies.”
The green-robed elder smiled. “The Grandmaster speaks well. Whether duel or battle, you must give your all—this is respect for your opponent and the best testament to your cultivation.”
The violet-robed elder, by contrast, remained impassive, eyes half-closed, gazing at the sky as though lost in thought. The crimson-robed elder glanced at him, then turned his gaze back to the duel.
The four streams of red mist hurtled toward Su Fan—an attack even more ferocious than what had been used on Qi Xuan before. Su Fan frowned deeply, retreating as he tried to cast a spell, but no matter what he did, he could not gather his power.
Panic struck him. There was something wrong with this crimson platform. Suddenly he remembered the violet-robed elder’s gesture in the air that day, and realized the message: the Violet School’s techniques could no longer be used.
But how to counter Hong Yuan’s Crimson Mist Transformation now? Su Fan could think of nothing. In desperation, he fumbled for the Phoenix Feather Crossbow, but before he could channel his energy into it—
A fifth stream of red mist, silent and unseen, swept past his back—there were not four, but five. Su Fan was too late; the mist struck him squarely between the shoulder blades.
His body trembled as he spat a mouthful of blood. His face turned deathly pale. He remembered how, days before, Hong Yuan had repeatedly shown weakness against Qi Xuan—it was nothing but a ruse, meant to lull him into carelessness.
Su Fan let out a bitter laugh and stood his ground, refusing to run. One hand gripped the Violet Moon Blade; with the other, he swiftly channeled spiritual power into the Phoenix Feather Crossbow. It quickly glowed crimson, signaling that an arrow was ready. Still not satisfied, Su Fan poured in more power—the red deepened, as if becoming blood itself.
A second stream of red mist surged at him. Su Fan slashed with the Violet Moon Blade, scattering the mist, but the purple glow of the blade faded noticeably.
His heart clenched in pain; his blade hand was slick with blood. Though he had blocked the attack, it had come at a cost.
He continued to channel his power—the crossbow turned violet, using up the last trace of his inner energy. This shot would be as strong as his greatest attack against Ye Xue.
But Su Fan did not stop; the crossbow continued to change color. He was pale as death, uncertain how much energy he had left, though it was clear he was nearly spent.
Hong Yuan’s face twisted with cruelty as he frantically waved a small flag—a superior spiritual artifact, unmistakably extraordinary. With each movement, the crimson light in the sky drew closer to him, as though at his command.
The remaining three streams of red mist hovered like scarlet dragons, poised to devour Su Fan, who now seemed as insignificant as an ant.
Su Fan’s lips curled into a savage smile. With a flick of his finger, the crossbow, now black as night, released a crisp snap. A pitch-black phoenix soared forth with a thunderous cry, its shriek shaking the very heavens and startling the violet clouds.
The crimson-robed elder stared at the black phoenix in terror—a lord of darkness, a kingly phoenix. “Phoenix Cry,” he exclaimed.
The violet-robed elder spoke casually: “It is but an illusion, a false Phoenix Cry at best.”
Yet the words “Phoenix Cry” had been uttered. This was a sound to shake the world, enough to astound the entire Tianyuan Commandery. The crimson-robed elder said coldly, “What is his connection to the Nameless One?”
The violet-robed elder replied with a faint smile, “The Grandmaster need not worry. The Phoenix Feather Crossbow was a gift from me.”
The crimson-robed elder shot another glare at Su Fan, then turned back to the platform. Amidst all this upheaval, the gray-robed elder remained as before, eyes half-shut, as if nothing in the world could disturb him.
Hong Yuan stepped back—one step, two, three, and halted. His eyes were dark, his fingers flashing through incantations. The crimson light in the sky, like swirling dragons, poured into the three remaining streams of red mist.
The black phoenix spread its regal wings and, with two gentle beats, shot forward like black lightning, crashing headlong into the oncoming scarlet dragons.
The red dragons quivered, as if recoiling, but the crimson currents swept them onward. With renewed vigor, the three dragons hurled themselves at the black phoenix.
The phoenix twisted in the air, striking the dragons. In a blink, all three dissolved into red mist, enveloped by the following waves, while the black phoenix vanished without a trace.
The red mist, now berserk, surged toward the place where the phoenix had disappeared. The black phoenix, as if determined to decide the outcome, rushed to meet the mist head-on.
No earth-shattering roar, no cataclysmic destruction—just silence, and both vanished. Hong Yuan and Su Fan were thrown from the platform, falling to the ground, unmoving, their fate unknown.