Wei Zhong didn't respond, his expression grave as he stared at the crimson figure.
The creature stood twice the height of an ordinary man, its limbs long and slender. The central head barely retained the recognizable features of Candle Daoist.
No skin covered its body; blood-red muscles lay exposed, emitting a nauseatingly pungent stench of blood.
This was the monstrous fusion of Candle Daoist and his blood-colored clone, its aura surging to Mid-Stage Foundation Establishment.
Wei Zhong's mind tensed, a faint stinging sensation prickling between his brows, as if a venomous snake were watching him, ready to strike at the slightest lapse in vigilance.
Just as Wei Zhong gripped another black orb, the stinging intensified. Without hesitation, he retreated backward.
The blood from the earlier Spirit Rain, now manipulated by Candle Daoist's spell, had transformed into crimson threads that surged toward him. The tips of these threads split open, revealing what appeared to be rows of sharp teeth.
This won't work. The Cloud Soaring Technique can't withstand such a barrage.
Wei Zhong immediately activated his Second-Tier Magic Robe. Golden runes materialized across the azure fabric, interconnected by shimmering golden threads that layered upon each other, instantly transforming the robe's color to a radiant gold.
To onlookers, it appeared as if Wei Zhong had been enveloped in a golden aura, effortlessly intercepting all the blood threads before calmly extricating himself from the crimson web.
Wei Zhong had barely escaped the perilous situation and hadn't even had time to celebrate when a towering figure materialized before him. It was the Candle Daoist, who had used a teleportation technique to close the distance while Wei Zhong was defending against the blood threads.
The Daoist's massive, ten-foot-tall frame loomed over Wei Zhong, his hand wielding a colossal stone shears that he swung downward with crushing force.
Instantly, a broad, dark magic sword materialized in Wei Zhong's hand. He raised it overhead, channeling his spiritual energy into the blade until its dark surface glowed with a faint light.
The two artifacts clashed with a deafening boom.
Wei Zhong's ears rang as the immense force drove him to his knees, his legs sinking halfway into the rock. The surrounding stone shattered into fragments under the transmitted force—a unique technique of Wei Zhong's water-based spiritual energy to dissipate impact.
Without this technique, Wei Zhong would likely have been gravely injured by the blow.
Just as the Candle Daoist was about to activate his magic tool to sever Wei Zhong's sword, a sudden alarm surged through his mind. A beam of spiritual light shot directly toward him.
It was the second black sphere Wei Zhongfei had hurled. Though hastily activated, its power remained terrifying at such close range.
Too close, far too close.
Candle Daoist watched helplessly as the spiritual light hurtled toward his head. He could only slightly shift the stone scissors in his hand, attempting to alter the attack's trajectory while desperately tilting his head to avoid the full impact.
But he had underestimated the force of the Flying Throwing Technique. The black sphere merely grazed the stone scissors, yet the transmitted force nearly ripped the weapon from his grip, violently jerking his arms and the scissors upward.
Though the sphere's trajectory was slightly altered by the collision, it still sheared off half of Candle Daoist's head, simultaneously shattering his raised arm at the elbow.
Wei Zhongfei seized the opportunity. His greatsword shifted from defense to offense, sweeping forward in a horizontal slash aimed to sever Candle Daoist's head and remaining limbs in one stroke.
Yet despite the grievous injury, Candle Daoist's movements showed no hesitation. He leaped backward with the stone scissors in his remaining hand, narrowly evading Wei Zhongfei's slash, then retreated several steps to widen the distance between them.
Wei Zhongfei's strike missed its mark. He retracted his sword to resume his defensive stance, while the severed limbs and blood transformed into crimson threads that slammed against his magic sword.
While maintaining his defenses, Wei Zhong kept a wary eye on the Candle Daoist in the distance, his expression puzzled.
Even a Foundation Establishment Daoist should have perished from such a devastating strike. Yet this monstrous transformation of the Candle Daoist remained remarkably agile despite losing half its head.
In the distance, the Candle Daoist's remaining half-mouth twisted into a malevolent grin. Muscles and blood surged toward the severed end of its arm, instantly reconstructing a new limb. Similarly, its skull gradually reformed under a crimson shroud, returning to its original shape.
Having endured two consecutive attacks of such immense power, the Candle Daoist's resolve began to waver. But then a red glint flashed in its eyes, and a surge of violent rage flooded its mind.
Kill, kill, kill! Tear this thief who damaged my Dharma Body into eight pieces! Rip out his bones and drain his marrow!
Wei Zhong remained oblivious to this inner turmoil, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.
Such a fatal wound had vanished in the blink of an eye. The unfolding events defied everything he had learned through years of cultivation.
Wei Zhong realized he could no longer treat the monster before him as an ordinary Foundation Establishment Spirit Cultivator.
Typical Spirit Cultivator combat revolved around Flying Sword Techniques and ranged spells, avoiding close-quarters engagement whenever possible. But the Candle Daoist had charged in with a blade from the start, abandoning all conventional tactics.
Moreover, he possessed the mana of a Foundation Establishment Spirit Cultivator, and his physical strength seemed no weaker than that of a Foundation Establishment Body Cultivator. He even had such bizarre healing methods.
Wei Zhong sighed. His first opponent after advancing to Foundation Establishment was a tough nut to crack.
No choice, Wei Zhong thought. I've never liked fighting weaker opponents.
Dao of Time,
Activate!
For the first time, Wei Zhong channeled his Mid-Stage Foundation Establishment cultivation, unleashing a torrent of spiritual energy from his body. The faint black spiritual energy deepened into a dark, heavy aura, its oppressive weight becoming increasingly palpable.
But this wasn't enough. He was now only barely matching the Candle Daoist's spiritual energy, while his opponent still held a physical advantage.
Then, for the second time, Dao of Time.
Spiritual energy several times heavier surged forth again, its color now almost pure black, as dark as ink.
Wei Zhong instantly advanced from Early Foundation Establishment to Late-Stage Foundation Establishment. Witnessing this transformation, the Candle Daoist's rationality briefly returned, and he tried to flee the cave.
But Wei Zhong wouldn't give him the chance. With a casual flick of his sleeve, he instantly manipulated the spiritual energy within the spirit ground.
Dark clouds gathered at the cave's ceiling. A sharp snap echoed—not thunder, but the click of Wei Zhong's fingertips colliding.
As if pressing a trigger, drops of ink-black rain began to fall, each one like a bullet pelting the Candle Daoist's head.
Candle Daoist halted his advance, raising the massive shears above his head. Under the influence of his spiritual energy, the black stone shears' surface began to glow with crimson magma-like patterns.
The black raindrops hissed as they struck the scorching stone shears, like water hitting a hotplate.
But no single pair of shears could completely block the relentless downpour. Raindrops that slipped through the defenses pierced his body like razor-sharp blades, leaving countless gruesome wounds in an instant.
"Hah!"
Sensing the danger, Candle Daoist retrieved a crimson stone, crushed it into powder with his spiritual energy, and sprinkled it over the shears.
As if adding a powerful accelerant to a flame, the magma-like patterns on the shears surged outward until the entire weapon glowed red-hot, resembling a fiery branding iron. A crimson aura erupted from within, forming a massive, handleless umbrella that completely shielded him from the rain.
The intense heat radiating from the shears was unbearable even for Candle Daoist's hands, which began to emit a faint burning smell. The acrid stench mingled with the metallic tang of blood, creating a nauseating atmosphere.
Poison too?
Wei Zhong flicked his sleeve, summoning a layer of ink-black water to dispel the encroaching poison gas. Simultaneously, he gathered the scattered black pellets with his spiritual energy, preparing to use the Flying Throwing Technique to end the battle.
Candle Daoist, still struggling to withstand the Spirit Rain's onslaught and trapped within its range, suddenly felt a premonition of danger. Glancing down, he recognized that damned Technique again.
With a roar, he abandoned all concern for the Spirit Rain above, lowering his crimson greatsword to brace it vertically before him.