Chapter Thirty-One: The White Crow

The referee hurriedly stopped Gao Wu, anxiously examining Yang Lin’s neck and cervical spine. After probing for a while and finding no signs of twisting or fracture, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Gao Wu stood quietly by, watching with a hint of sympathy for the unconscious Yang Lin. It wasn’t that he intended to be ruthless; rather, it was because advanced martial artists possessed such resilient bodies that ordinary methods rarely succeeded in knocking them down. If not for the referee’s vigilant, almost defensive glare, he really would have gone over to help Yang Lin up and perhaps use the Azure Dragon Spiritual Energy Spell on him.

They were opponents, not enemies. Lending a hand was always a good deed, not for the sake of a little merit... Even if Yang Lin’s arrogant demeanor was somewhat irritating, he didn’t deserve such misfortune. Seeing the referee’s expression ease, Gao Wu also relaxed. If Yang Lin’s cervical spine really had been fractured, no amount of wealth could spare his family from suffering.

“The Drifting Dragon Palm has already reached the beginner’s level—quite impressive,” Han Yang remarked with a smile, watching the live broadcast on the tablet in front of him.

Beside him, Yang Ru gazed greedily at Han Yang’s profile. His sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, his well-defined features, flowing long hair and fringe, and skin as fair as jade—all made his side profile strikingly handsome. More captivating, however, was Han Yang’s confident elegance, his noble bearing reminiscent of a prince, which was utterly enchanting. She commented offhandedly, “He’s just a poor kid relying on supplements, lacking any foundation. Not worth paying attention to.”

As a direct descendant of one of the Four Great Families, Yang Ru naturally looked down on those outside her circle. Training in martial arts was easy; achieving anything required sufficient resources. A low-level fighter like Gao Wu could seize the limelight for a moment by risking his life. Without proper resources to preserve his body, he’d be ruined in less than two years. She felt there was no need to pay him any mind.

Han Yang turned his head and reminded her, “Look at Gao Wu’s left hand.”

“Hm?”

“He struck with such force, yet his fingers had to endure the same pressure. Gao Wu’s left hand isn’t red or swollen. Either his technique is so refined he can dissipate the counterforce, or his body is so tough he can withstand it. Notice, he was first kicked in the neck by Yang Lin—Yang Lin’s scythe-like kick carried a force of at least a thousand kilograms, enough to snap an average person’s neck with ease. Gao Wu managed to endure that blow. It shows he has extraordinary physical strength.”

Han Yang spoke gently, “Among the masses, there will always emerge extraordinary talents. Though we have advantages in resources, we must not underestimate others.”

“Second Brother, you’re absolutely right.” Yang Ru’s pretty face was all sweetness. Her family and Han Yang’s were old friends, so she affectionately called him Second Brother.

After thinking for a moment, she added, “But you’re ranked first in Dongjiang with a commanding lead in points. No matter how impressive Gao Wu is, he poses no threat to you.”

“This young man posts training videos every day. He’s proactive, positive, and quite interesting. I rather admire him,” Han Yang said with a slight smile. “On the match day after next week, when we face Ninth High, we’ll get to meet this newly advanced martial artist prodigy…”

Yang Ru smiled confidently, “You won’t even need to intervene, Second Brother. I can handle him myself!”

Han Yang laughed heartily, “Very well, I’ll leave it to you then…”

First High was also competing, but their opponents were so weak that neither Yang Ru nor Han Yang needed to take the stage, allowing them to relax and chat from the sidelines.

Meanwhile, Zhang Hao, also watching the live stream, was in a foul mood. He glared at Gao Wu on the screen, grinding his rows of white teeth so hard they creaked, consumed by jealousy and wishing he could tear Gao Wu apart.

That move just now—Clearing Clouds to Reveal the Sun—was clearly a supreme technique of the Drifting Dragon Palm. He had learned the form but not its essence. Gao Wu had been training for less than a month and already wielded the Drifting Dragon Palm with such finesse!

Tie Dalong was blatantly biased. Tie Ying, that old woman, only took advantage of him without giving him any benefits. Despicable!

“You all deserve to die, every last one of you!” The more Zhang Hao brooded, the more furious he became; his agitated blood made his eyes bloodshot and he howled like a wolf.

The bound woman nearby recoiled in terror, trying to call for help, but her mouth was stuffed—her muffled cries barely audible.

Her movements caught Zhang Hao’s attention, and his gaze shifted to her, his face twisted with malice. That group had said that using a person as a sacrifice would grant the power of the Demon God. Since the woman was here, why shouldn’t he try?

He glanced at the offering table, where a statue about a foot long stood: a bird-headed, human-bodied figure with snow-white wings sprouting from its back, its only eyes two bloody dots.

The statue resembled a raven’s head grafted onto a human body with wings. It was said to represent the White Crow King, one of the twelve supreme Demon Gods of the Pantheon Cult.

The Pantheon Cult, also known as the Beast Cult or Demon Cult, worshipped Demon Gods from other worlds, supposedly possessing unimaginable powers.

The Alliance had explicitly legislated that the Pantheon Cult was a heretical organization; joining it was tantamount to betraying the Alliance and all humanity. The Alliance took the most severe measures against anything related to the cult.

Anything concerning the Pantheon Cult was taboo within the Alliance.

Zhang Hao had only recently joined and understood little. He had used too many supplements, his body unable to endure any longer, and his path upward was blocked. Provoked by the young Gao Wu, he had rashly joined the Pantheon Cult through a friend’s introduction, carrying out a blood ritual with a captive to pass the initiation and become a follower.

Following instructions from above, Zhang Hao caught another person as a sacrificial offering, but after nearly two days at home, his patience was wearing thin.

Seeing Gao Wu display the Drifting Dragon Palm again, his rage overwhelmed him, and he lost all reason. Now, he was only intent on completing the blood ritual and gaining power from the Demon God…

Light flickered across the computer screen as the second bout began.

Four High’s main fighter, Han Song, took the stage. This eighteen-year-old youth was already balding, with a thickset frame, coarse skin, and mature features, resembling a man in his forties or fifties.

Zhang Hao snorted, instantly noticing that the balding youth had relied on too many supplements, his body visibly aged. He felt no pity, only scorn—another one propped up by drugs!

Cheers erupted once again from the martial arts pavilion stands at Four High. Han Song’s appearance was unimpressive, far less popular than Yang Lin. But his strength was greater, and with Yang Lin’s defeat, the teachers and students pinned their hopes on Han Song.

Compared to the earlier synchronized shouts from the girls, this time it was the boys who led the chorus, their voices fuller and more robust.

The two fighters clasped fists and saluted. Without a word, Han Song let out a thunderous roar at Gao Wu.

Han Song’s mature looks made him seem honest and straightforward, but now his facial muscles strained as his blood surged and his tendons flexed. His latissimus dorsi suddenly expanded, swelling his body to nearly three times its size, as if a housecat had transformed into a fearsome, man-eating tiger.

With a single roar, his momentum surpassed even the coordinated cries of thousands of spectators.

Such ferocity truly resembled a tiger’s roar in the forest, subduing all beasts and shaking the heavens!

Standing opposite, Gao Wu immediately felt tremendous pressure. It was no exaggeration to say Han Song’s expanded latissimus dorsi even blocked the lights above the ring, plunging his vision into darkness…