Chapter Thirty-Four: Comprehending the Realm of Intent

A single drop of rain—a sword. This ultimate move had slain the legendary constable Zhang Tong in an instant, yet it failed to inflict any harm on Master Xuanming. Layer by layer, the sword's power had been honed to its pinnacle.

“No wonder you are called a grandmaster!” Jiang Ming sighed, his tone full of awe. He did not pursue his advantage but instead halted, devoting most of his focus to analyzing the essence of ice. Vaguely, he sensed he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

“A talent like you is truly rare in this world,” Master Xuanming finally regarded him with genuine interest. “I cherish talent and cannot bear to kill you. Why not pledge yourself to my tutelage? I shall lead you to witness the peak of martial arts.”

“You think the realm of grandmaster can hinder me?” Jiang Ming sneered. “You even dream of subduing me—what gives you such confidence?”

“All geniuses are proud, their bones unbending. But once those bones yield or shatter, they are but rotten remains. Very well, with one such as you alive, I shall know no peace.” Master Xuanming strode forward once more, his aura intensifying with each step.

A freezing chill surged from his body, mist gathering above his head—a presence far stronger than before.

Those watching were all astounded.

“What a formidable grandmaster! And Jiang Ming is equally impressive!” The woman in black exclaimed, “Brother Lu, who is he, truly?”

“I don't know either,” Lu Yuan shook his head. After all, how could someone from a humble mountain bandit clan reach such heights? The idea seemed absurd. Truthfully, he was just as curious about Jiang Ming’s real background. “Regardless, after today, Jiang Ming will have a place in this world.”

“More than just a place, I fear...” The woman in black paused, her eyes narrowing. “If he can’t hold on, should we intervene together?”

“You?” Lu Yuan was surprised. “That’s a grandmaster—do you dare?”

“Jiang Ming is worth more than a mere grandmaster. Besides, Master Xuanming is a vicious old man. Now that he’s emerged, who knows what monstrous deeds he’ll commit? If there’s a chance, he must be destroyed immediately.”

“As expected of you. It’s a pity... If only you were a man, perhaps...” Lu Yuan left the sentence unfinished.

The woman in black did not reply. Yet both quietly gathered their energy, ready to strike at any moment.

Meanwhile, Jiang Ming and Master Xuanming clashed once more.

Unable to withstand the collision of their powers, Jiang Ming’s longsword shattered. Without hesitation, he discarded it.

He now unleashed his Dragon-Suppressing Fist, a style fierce and domineering, yet still unable to overcome his opponent.

“Phantom Palm!”

Suddenly, Master Xuanming’s palms summoned howling cold winds, the mist rendering his movements both real and illusory. His palm strikes seemed to blur, impossible to discern.

“Transforming cold into mist, weaving illusions within the fog, merging the palm within—truth and falsehood indistinguishable.” Jiang Ming at once perceived the essence of his opponent’s technique.

Yet understanding it did not guarantee defense.

Master Xuanming moved like a ghost within the dense mist. Though the fog did not hinder Jiang Ming, his foe’s speed was overwhelming—as if he had become one with the chill.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Jiang Ming was forced on the defensive, with wave upon wave of violent assault crashing into him. The cold seeped into his body, stiffening his movements. Fortunately, his blood was as vast as the sea, his inner strength deep as an abyss. Though suppressed, he could withstand the assault.

The onlookers were shaken to their core.

The pervasive cold seemed divine in its might. The force unleashed left them all trembling.

Especially Bai Yunfei—his terror was palpable.

If Master Xuanming sought revenge on the True Martial Sect, who could resist him aside from his own master?

He waved a hand, and a man hurried over. Bai Yunfei gave swift instructions: “Send word back—Master Xuanming seeks vengeance on our sect. He has reached the realm of grandmaster.”

“Yes!” The youth departed at once.

“This is not only a calamity for your sect, but for all righteous factions. If a grandmaster slaughters without restraint...” Tang Xiaotian grimaced, unable to finish.

He, He Qianshan, and the others all frowned deeply.

Elsewhere, the clash between Zhong Erlang and Situ Ming was equally fierce. The two seemed deliberately to avoid the main battle, their fight drifting into the nearby forest. Trees toppled, dust blotted out the sky.

Back to Jiang Ming: within arm’s reach, he endured Master Xuanming’s assault.

“How does he have such endless inner strength?” he wondered. After so many battles, especially against an opponent like himself, Master Xuanming should be exhausted. Yet his power showed no sign of waning—utterly defying logic.

Jiang Ming realized his current tactics could not prevail.

He shifted his footwork and transformed his palms into fingers.

“Phantom Yin Finger!”

“Absolute Yin Finger!”

“Destructive Yin Finger!”

“Severing Yin Finger!”

Each finger thrust was terrifying, aiming straight for Jiang Ming’s heart, throat, temples—every vital point. Combined with extraordinary movement, it seemed as if Master Xuanming had multiplied into many.

Jiang Ming frowned. Suddenly, golden light burst forth—nine layers manifesting, shielding him at the center.

But that was not all. Before the nine-layered Golden Bell Shield’s glow faded, they merged into one, forming a single layer that blocked the first three finger strikes.

Seizing the moment, Jiang Ming drove his opponent back with a powerful punch.

“To think you’ve fused all nine layers of the Golden Bell Shield into one! You’ve reached an unprecedented level—monstrous!” Master Xuanming was genuinely stunned. “And your fists—though I broke through your protective energy, your skin and bones are as tough as Zhong Wanjin’s was. At your age, how have you trained to such a degree?”

A nameless dread rose in his heart.

“Die!” He leapt into the air. At the apex of his jump, he brought his palm down—icy energy roared forth. The surrounding mist surged and gathered, coalescing into a giant palm over ten feet wide.

This was his ultimate move—the Xuanming Great Hand Seal, channeling his might to its utmost.

Jiang Ming glanced at the white imprint left on his fist, his pupils narrowing. With a sudden step, he soared upward, his fist wrapped in layers of energy.

“Dragon Soars in the Abyss, Battles the Nine Heavens!”

This was a killing technique from the Dragon-Suppressing Fist, fusing spirit, will, and inner strength into a peerless strike.

Wind and clouds churned, the force of his punch roaring.

With one blow, Jiang Ming shattered the giant palm print, but he was also struck down, crashing into the earth and leaving a deep pit. The flying earth was like a volley of arrows, piercing several spectators in the distance.

The shockwave sent even Bai Yunfei and the others reeling in horror, forcing them to retreat again.

“So this is the power of a grandmaster? Terrifying—too terrifying.”

“Shouldn’t it be Jiang Ming who’s terrifying? He’s only at the master level, yet he can contend with a grandmaster—a man who’s lived nearly a century!”

This remark left those nearby even more shaken.

They gazed into the deep pit where Jiang Ming stood, a sense of anticipation growing within them.

“You’re still alive?” Master Xuanming, still airborne, watched as Jiang Ming rose, flipped his palm, and thrust it downward once more, “Die!”

“You want to kill me? You have no chance—no, you never had any chance.” Jiang Ming looked up at the descending Master Xuanming and the palm radiating extreme cold, a smile on his lips. “I should thank you. Without you, I might have needed another two or three months to take this step.”

A strange aura was already emanating from him.

It grew thicker and thicker, as if storm clouds gathered and rain poured from the heavens.

At the same time, a system prompt rang in Jiang Ming’s mind.