Chapter Eighteen: Innate Interception and Slaughter

The Minor Mastery level of the Geng Metal Finger was not only astonishingly powerful, but the speed at which it could be cast had also increased dramatically compared to before.

Most importantly, however, was the newfound ability to control its activation at will. Even after the spell had fully formed, it could be dispersed in an instant without difficulty.

Zhou Changwang vividly remembered the days when he practiced the Geng Metal Finger. Back then, he tried to dissolve the spell after it had taken shape, hoping to conserve spiritual power while increasing his proficiency. The result, however, was the loss of control—the spell would suddenly collapse with explosive force.

Now, with the technique at Minor Mastery, he could freely form and dissipate the spell, finally achieving his original objective. The only drawback was that the consumption of spiritual power had not diminished. Once a spell was cast, it naturally resonated with heaven and earth—energy leaving his body was returned to the world and was not easily retrieved.

“Friend Zhou, there’s no need for more thanks. Tonight, let’s return together and visit Crane Immortal Tower—I’ll treat you to a meal,” Xu Zhong said, his excitement barely contained as he surveyed his now pristine spirit fields.

“That won’t be necessary. I have matters to attend to tonight. Let’s get together another time,” Zhou Changwang replied, offering a cupped fist in polite refusal.

By now, evening was settling in. If he accepted the invitation, darkness would have fallen by the time they finished. The outer area of Phoenix Cry Market was far from safe—especially at night. He dared not wander aimlessly, for at any moment, a rogue cultivator might be unable to restrain themselves and make a move against him. Even an ordinary vagrant cultivator, seeing him alone, might be tempted to strike, transforming from a seemingly decent neighbor into a bandit in an instant.

Here, weakness was a crime.

…

As he stepped into the outskirts of the marketplace, dusk had already deepened into darkness. Zhou Changwang walked through familiar alleys, steps growing lighter as he neared home.

At that very moment, he froze, body recoiling explosively.

A small blade, swift as lightning, plunged into the ground where he had just been.

“Who’s there?” Zhou Changwang’s eyelids twitched wildly. He instantly spotted a figure clad in black and masked with dark cloth, rushing at him with a longsword in hand.

Simultaneously, another figure appeared behind him—likewise dressed in black, face shrouded, wielding a curved blade. Though his pace seemed casual, he moved like a phantom, bridging the distance in a few swift steps. The blade slashed out at an oblique angle, sharp and unpredictable.

As the blade was drawn, a streak of blade light, bright as a silken ribbon, had already reached him.

The two attackers wasted no words. They struck instantly—fast and merciless.

“Two of them? Martial artists? Both at the Innate Realm?”

Zhou Changwang’s heart leaped in terror.

He had never imagined that two Innate Realm martial artists would ambush him on his only route home.

Had he not been a cultivator—his body refined and senses honed by spiritual energy to an extraordinary degree, able to hear cicadas a hundred meters away and see the slightest detail within ten paces—he would never have detected this ambush. He likely would have been struck by the very first flying knife.

Seeing the incoming slash, he had no time to think. He raised his spirit hoe to meet the blade light head-on.

Clang!

Sparks flew in all directions. The spirit hoe was jarred aside, a fresh notch gouged into the head.

Though unremarkable in appearance, the hoe could be infused with spiritual energy and was forged from extraordinary materials—hard as a legendary weapon among mortals.

But these two were martial artists at the Innate Realm. Their true energy could be unleashed, and their weapons were naturally of the highest quality. No wonder his spirit hoe was chipped in the clash.

If this continued, the hoe would not withstand many more blows.

“Damn it!” Zhou Changwang cursed.

A longsword, wielded by the first assailant, thrust upward from below. Sword light flared, sword energy flickering at its core.

The attacker had already closed in, stabbing straight at him.

Zhou Changwang rolled desperately to the side, barely evading the strike.

Springing to his feet, he wasted not a second. Spiritual power surged within him, and under the control of his mind, he rapidly constructed the runic framework of a spell.

He knew all too well: these two, as martial artists, far surpassed him in speed, strength, and skill.

All he could rely on was his magic.

The only offensive spell in his repertoire: Geng Metal Finger.

“He’s casting a spell. Interrupt him!” a sharp female voice shouted.

The swordswoman sprang lightly off the wall, moving like a swallow, sword flashing as she thrust at him.

“Don’t worry!” the other barked. He lunged forward, footsteps rapid as a Zen master’s, curved blade gleaming like the crescent moon as he hacked down.

One sword, one blade—their coordination seamless.

Innate true energy poured into their weapons, making them shine with an inner radiance. Sword and blade light danced dangerously with each attack.

Zhou Changwang’s face turned pale. He swung his spirit hoe wildly, blocking frantically, his body driven backward by the relentless impacts.

Yet amid the chaos, his mind remained calm, spiritual power surging as he maintained his focus on forming the spell.

Thanks to his newfound mastery of Geng Metal Finger, he was intimately familiar with the technique. His control over spiritual energy had grown immensely—otherwise, he could never have maintained spellcasting during such a fierce battle.

“He’s almost done with his spell!”

“Weren’t cultivators supposed to stand still to cast? How is he still going—how is he so fast?”

The two Innate martial artists were astonished.

“Tempest Blade!” one shouted, his curved blade blazing with light as he brought it down in a flash.

Zhou Changwang felt his hand grow suddenly light—the spirit hoe, battered by his frantic defense, was cleaved in two.

“Swiftwind Sword!” cried the other, whose sword blossomed into a hundred points of starlight.

But at that very instant, Zhou Changwang’s spell was complete.

Geng Metal Finger!

Without hesitation, he jabbed forward.

A golden flash flickered and vanished in the blink of an eye.

With a wet sound, a bloody hole appeared in the swordswoman’s forehead.

Moments later, blood began to pour from the wound.

She was dead.

The starlit sword energy she had unleashed faded and then dissipated as her life fled.

“Xifeng!” the other man roared, eyes turning blood-red. He raised his curved blade and attacked Zhou Changwang in a frenzy.

But just then, a strange spiritual light descended upon him, slowing his movements dramatically.

Overjoyed, Zhou Changwang didn’t stop to wonder who had intervened. He instantly retreated from his assailant’s reach and began gathering spiritual power to form another spell.

One breath. Two breaths. Three—

With the spell complete, he pointed a finger.

Even though the black-clad man managed to bring his blade up to block, the golden light of the Geng Metal Finger pierced through the blade and, without losing momentum, bored through his skull.