Chapter 12 - Clash

In the Spirit Awakening Realm, warriors could only borrow the energy of heaven and earth, drawing it into their bodies to strengthen themselves. Their power was like a rushing river, forceful, yet unable to be fully controlled.

But those who stepped into the Essence Refinement Realm were different. They no longer simply absorbed energy, they refined it, sinking it into their Spirit Core, and condensing it into liquid essence.

This granted them an overwhelming advantage, allowing their power to flow like a boundless ocean.

It was said that even ten warriors at the peak of the Spirit Awakening Realm would be powerless before someone who had just entered the Essence Refinement Realm.

And Han Yun had already reached the peak of Essence Refinement.

"You may still be a member of the Han family," Han Yun sneered, his voice filled with contempt. "But you've broken the rules. For your defiance, I will use the Han family's sword to bring you to your knees!"

The moment the words left his lips, he moved.

Boom!

A powerful force exploded beneath his feet as his figure blurred. In the blink of an eye, he appeared before Han Zhen, his sword already slashing down with terrifying speed.

The air trembled.

The sharp gleam of the blade split the space between them.

Illusory swords filled the air, flickering and overlapping, distorting reality itself. The sheer number of strikes made it impossible to tell which blade was real and which was an illusion.

This was the Han family's core technique, the Illusive Sword.

It was designed to overwhelm, to deceive. Each strike was both real and false, moving unpredictably, leaving no room for counterattacks. Even a warrior at the Sea Transformation Realm would struggle to escape from this storm of deadly slashes.

And now, that storm was descending upon Han Zhen.

The dense sword mirage cascaded like a black waterfall, their sharp edges reflecting cold light, ready to tear him apart. This was no simple test or warning, Han Yun had unleashed a killing move.

His murderous intent was clear.

To an ordinary warrior of the Spirit Awakening Realm, this was certain death. Even those in the Essence Refinement Realm would barely be able to hold their ground.

But Han Zhen was different.

He did not move.

He simply watched.

To him, Han Yun's swordplay, with all its complexity and deception, was nothing more than a trick, an elegant display, but ultimately meaningless.

He had walked the path of the sword for lifetimes. In his previous life, his blade had cut down the strongest foes, his mastery standing above all others.

The so-called Illusive Sword?

It was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

A flower swaying in the wind, beautiful, but powerless.

To Han Zhen, the so-called Illusive Sword was as clear as an open book. What others saw as an overwhelming barrage of strikes, he saw for what it truly was, an elaborate distraction hiding a single, lethal killing blow.

A faint smirk curled at his lips.

Han Yun was already convinced of his victory. In his mind, Han Zhen had no chance; he would fall, broken and defeated beneath his sword.

From the sidelines, Han Kuan was watching with wild excitement. His hands clenched the armrests of his wheelchair, his whole body trembling with glee.

"Hahaha! Han Zhen, this is the end for you! Die! Go to hell!" he howled with laughter.

The illusory swords were closing in on Han Zhen, but inside him, his blood surged, carrying the life force of his physical body with it.

His figure flickered like a mirage, vanishing from the path of the incoming sword strikes. The deadly swords sliced through empty air, striking nothing but an illusion.

Not a single scratch touched him.

The killing move that should have sealed his fate had been rendered useless. Han Zhen had passed through it effortlessly, as if strolling through a breeze.

By the time Han Yun registered what had happened, Han Zhen was already at his side.

With a swift flick of his wrist, the sword in Han Zhen's hand unleashed a brilliant burst of light, pulling out a beautiful sword flower. He aimed it directly at Han Yun's chest.

Han Yun's pupils shrank. His expression twisted with shock.

Without thinking, he threw himself backward, his sword sweeping out in a desperate attempt to block the strike.

Clang!

A piercing metallic ring echoed through the air as the two blades collided. Sparks flew.

Crack!

Han Zhen's sword shattered.

The blade in Han Zhen's hand broke into two jagged pieces that clattered onto the ground. He had expected something like this, as there was a vast gap in the quality between their swords.

But in that fraction of a second.

Something unexpected happened.

Han Zhen, unfazed by the broken blade, shifted his grip without hesitation.

Without a moment's hesitation, he lunged forward, his gaze locked onto Han Kuan, who sat defenseless in his wheelchair.

He knew his limitations well.

His current body had only just entered the Primary Divine Body Stage; his foundation was weak, and his vitality was still lacking. While his previous attack had been sharp and decisive, his weak body was nowhere near Han Yun's overwhelming power.

On top of that, the sword in his hand was an ordinary weapon. It was barely better than a standard iron blade, its strength nothing extraordinary.

Still, this had all been part of Han Zhen's plan, and he was not disheartened by the outcome.

Han Yun, still recovering from his failed counterattack, realized what was happening a fraction of a second too late. His eyes widened in fury as he saw Han Zhen shift his focus.

"You dare!" Han Yun roared, his voice trembling with rage.

But he had no time to act. His backward retreat had left him momentarily unbalanced. He wasn't fast enough to reach Han Zhen.

Meanwhile, Han Kuan, who had been laughing just moments ago, was suddenly overcome with terror.

"N-No...!" he stammered, his voice trembling.

His face turned ashen as he scrambled to rise from the wheelchair. In his panicked haste, he forgot about the deep injuries on his legs inflicted by Han Zhen earlier.

As he tried to stand, the pain overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to the ground, falling out of the wheelchair.

Before he could even attempt to rise, Han Zhen's half-broken sword flew downward, plunging into his back and tearing through his chest. The weapon buried itself deep into the ground, pinning him there.

The jagged blade sank into Han Kuan's back, driving straight through his chest before embedding itself deep into the ground beneath him.

"AAAAAHH!"

The excruciating pain caused Han Kuan to scream in agony, his voice shrill and desperate.

Tears mixed with sweat on his pale face as he let out a desperate, trembling cry. "Brother... save me! Save me!"