Chapter 22: Chapter 22 — Flying Sword

Chapter 22 — Flying Sword

Fang Han burst into loud laughter.

Not only did it startle Prince Bao, it also drew the attention of the other princes and princesses of the Great Virtue Dynasty. At the same time, several other young men and women turned their gazes toward him as well.

These men and women carried an imposing aura no weaker than that of royal blood. One of the men, in particular, possessed a presence so deep and restrained that it felt indistinguishable from mountains, rocks, and ancient trees.

As their gazes swept over him, Fang Han felt as if his weight, explosive strength, speed, heartbeat—every sign of vitality—had been completely seen through.

Among them are experts at the Ninth Layer of the Physical Body Realm—Spirit Communication.

Fang Han’s heart tightened with vigilance.

At the Ninth Layer, Spirit Communication, cultivators began unlocking the brain’s potential. Their mental perception became terrifyingly sharp—capable of seeing through an opponent’s life force entirely. They could even observe their own internal organs with perfect clarity, as if examining lines on the palm of their hand.

Such a realm was truly worthy of the word “communion.”

Reaching it required cultivating powerful mental techniques, such as the Astral Spirit Art, which only inner disciples were qualified to learn.

Could these people be inner disciples?

The thought flashed through Fang Han’s mind.

But he had no time to dwell on it.

Prince Bao had already risen to his feet, his icy gaze sweeping over Fang Han.

“Oh? So you’re dissatisfied with your defeat last time,”
Prince Bao sneered.

“You trained bitterly for twenty days, made some progress, and now you want revenge? Your composure is far too shallow. You seek retaliation at the slightest grievance—don’t you know the saying that a gentleman waits ten years to avenge himself? With such impatience, you’ll never amount to anything.”

“If you had endured in silence, I might have respected you. But rushing here to die like this—you’re no different from a street thug. Very well. I’ll reluctantly defeat you again. This time, it won’t end with just coughing blood.”

Fang Han’s expression suddenly calmed.

His voice became steady, almost gentle—yet every word carried weight.

“I don’t seek greatness. I only seek to release the resentment in my heart.
A debt repaid is a debt resolved. Ten years is far too long—only the present matters.”

“The future is uncertain. Life is short, like a mayfly’s dream. To brood for ten years is worse than fighting now. That is courage.”

“You scheme too much. With such a calculating heart, you’ll never achieve the Dao. Immortal cultivation is about fearless advance—cutting down everything in your path. It is not about hidden plots, forced restraint, or bending the mind into knots.”

“The Immortal Dao has no room for crooked paths.”

His words were calm, rational, and sharp—each sentence striking back like a blade.

For a moment, Prince Bao was left speechless.

Since consuming the Nine-Aperture Golden Core, Fang Han’s thinking had grown extraordinarily agile. His thoughts flowed freely, inspired further by his intense study of _The Myriad Worlds_. That book contained not only geography and treasures, but also the insights of the Yuhua Sect’s supreme leader himself—opening Fang Han’s mind and broadening his vision.

At this moment, Fang Han’s demeanor was completely different from before. No one could mistake him for a former stable slave anymore.

“Enough nonsense!”

Prince Bao’s face darkened.

With a sudden _whoosh_, his body appeared directly in front of Fang Han. His footwork was ghostly and profound—unrecognizable.

Fang Han felt his throat numb.

A finger, sharp as an arrow, had nearly pierced his Adam’s apple.

This strike carried a sinister, cold, poisonous intent—utterly different from Prince Bao’s previous techniques.

“Long-Hatred Finger! That’s a martial art from the Demonic Long-Hatred Sect!”
Princess Hongyi shouted.

Prince Bao had mastered not only techniques from Returning Immortal Island, but also martial arts from one of the Seven Demonic Branches—and he showed no hesitation using them in front of Immortal Sect disciples.

Everything happened too fast.

But Fang Han had prepared for this for twenty days.

He stepped forward.

Dominance erupted.

Seven-Star Step!

His body surged like a tidal river crashing against cliffs. Heroes, kings, and emperors seemed to rise in his momentum—one step stabilizing heaven and earth.

His Dao robe billowed as he sidestepped, the demonic finger strike cutting only empty air.

Then his leg moved.

Kui Star Kicks the Dipper!

All his energy churned internally. Muscles, bones, skin, and the newly formed membrane expanded fully—the wrath of the Divine Bravery Realm unleashed like a thunder god descending.

A long breath roared from his lungs, merging into the true mantra of Seven-Star Fist, amplifying the strike:

“Iron hooves trample mountains into ruin,
Kui Star’s kick shifts the Northern Dipper!”

The kick thundered forth like ten thousand cavalry charging—like a celestial god kicking the stars themselves out of alignment.

At that instant, Fang Han felt as though he had become the ruler of the stars.

The lord of constellations.

A mysterious connection formed between his spirit and the vast cosmos.

“What presence!”

Princess Hongyi gasped, then froze in shock.

“Seven-Star Fist… From the Star Sect? How does he know it? How many secrets does he have?”

The surrounding princes and inner disciples were equally stunned.

Prince Bao’s pupils shrank.

He had never imagined Fang Han could improve this much in just twenty days. Fang Han’s limbs were like forged steel, his presence more tyrannical than that of an emperor ruling a dynasty.

Star Sect martial arts were inherently domineering—and the Nine-Aperture Golden Core, refined by the demonic emperor Huangquan, carried ancient, ferocious intent. When that aura merged with Fang Han’s spirit, the result was overwhelming.

Prince Bao instinctively withdrew, crossing his arms defensively.

“You think you can block this?”

Fang Han sneered.

He stepped again, using Seven Heroes Assemble, fingers flicking like a plucked zither—slashing toward Prince Bao’s neck, wrists, and vital arteries.

A brutally lethal move.

Slash!

A long bloody cut appeared on Prince Bao’s face.

“Enough!”

A tall, well-proportioned youth with a jade hairpin suddenly stood up. With a flick of his hand, chilling sword light condensed into a three-foot blade—handleless, clear as autumn water.

It flew out, twisting like a dragon, slicing toward Fang Han.

“Fang Han! Careful—that’s a flying sword spirit artifact!”

Liu Kang and Princess Hongyi shouted in alarm.

Fang Han’s heart sank.

This was no longer martial arts—this was a flying sword, a spirit artifact refined by divine-ability cultivators. A physical body could not resist it.

He retreated—but the youth pointed again.

The sword split into dozens of afterimages, enclosing Fang Han completely and descending.

Slash!

The sword light struck.

At that instant, Fang Han felt the Dragon-Coiled Yellow Springs Diagram bound to his body tremble slightly.

The sword light vanished into his clothes—gone without a trace.

No damage. No wound.

During his training with Hongyi, Fang Han had kept the diagram stored away. Today, sensing danger, he wore it again.

And now, it revealed its terrifying power—swallowing the flying sword.

“What?!”

The inner disciple’s face turned pale.

No matter how he urged it, there was no response—as if the sword had sunk into the ocean.

That flying sword was his life-bound spirit artifact.

Losing it felt like having a piece of his flesh torn away.

“I misjudged you,”
he said coldly, forcing composure.

“I didn’t expect you to possess a high-grade spirit artifact as well. It was a misunderstanding. Please return my flying sword.”

Fang Han’s eyes flickered.

“Want your flying sword?”
he said calmly.

“Come to Purple Lightning Peak to retrieve it.”