Countdown to the "Violence" Mission

Fang Jueming threw a punch, engaging in combat with Qian Xiu.

His Flash Fist grew stronger with each successive strike, its power stacking relentlessly.

But the drawback was obvious—the true force had to be built up blow by blow. If the chain was broken, he had to start again from the first punch.

Meanwhile, the battle between An Yi and the Dark Taoist was far more explosive.

Their clash sent sand and stones flying.

The guests at the evening banquet, watching from behind the villa’s glass windows, were too terrified to even spectate properly.

The Dark Taoist was clearly taking this seriously. His horsetail whisk slashed through the air, carrying a fierce energy that forced An Yi to keep his distance, relying only on nimble footwork to tangle with his opponent.

No wonder he’s a master of hidden force!

An Yi pondered.

When it came to harnessing energy, masters of hidden force and those of Ming Jin were on entirely different levels.

At the very least, he couldn’t create such massive destruction—flying sand and shattered stones.

That whisk was especially deadly. Earlier, a waist-thick plane tree in the courtyard had been cleanly severed by its energy without even being touched.

If that thing struck a human body, the consequences were unimaginable.

"Kid, weren’t you so arrogant earlier? Got the guts to stop running?"

The Dark Taoist sneered coldly.

An Yi retreated, eyeing him with defiance. "Just giving you a chance to sober up. Wouldn’t want you thinking I won unfairly."

"You shameless little—!"

The Dark Taoist’s chest heaved, his urge to kill barely contained.

Suddenly, several shards of broken brick shot through the air with a sharp whistle, hurtling toward him.

"Pathetic tricks! You dare show off such amateur skills?"

With a contemptuous flick of his whisk, the Dark Taoist batted the debris aside.

An Yi’s hidden weapon skills were only at LV1—far from enough to threaten an opponent of this caliber.

But he hadn’t expected those stones to do any real damage.

Then—

The Dark Taoist’s spine prickled with instinctive alarm. He barely twisted aside as a razor-sharp blade of air grazed past his shoulder.

A deep gouge was carved into the villa’s courtyard wall.

"That damn kinetic light wave again?"

No—this attack was different, sharp as a blade.

The Dark Taoist’s expression darkened. He realized now—this kid was dangerous.

An ordinary Ming Jin martial artist would’ve been crushed already.

SHRIIIIK!

Another air blade screamed toward him.

The Dark Taoist hastily raised his whisk to block, shattering the attack.

But in that moment, An Yi had already closed the distance, a combat dagger flashing toward his throat.

The Dark Taoist’s face paled.

"This little bastard—nothing but dirty tricks!"

The dagger strike was fast—but the Dark Taoist was still a master of hidden force. His reflexes were sharper.

With a vicious yank, his whisk coiled around An Yi’s wrist, wrenching him down with brutal force.

THUD!

An Yi was slammed into the ground, his arm pinned under the steel-like strands of the whisk. His dagger slipped from his grip.

"Dragon’s Wrath Palm!"

The Dark Taoist roared, driving his palm into An Yi’s chest.

SPLURT!

Blood sprayed from An Yi’s mouth as the devastating impact cratered the ground beneath him, spiderweb cracks spreading outward.

"AN YI!"

Qin Yao’s scream echoed from inside the villa.

Shen Muxuan’s eyes flickered with a pale blue light, an icy aura swirling around her.

Despite the brutal strike, An Yi’s gaze remained sharp, cold.

His left hand moved—the black ring on his finger morphing into another dagger.

In one fluid motion, he slashed upward.

SHRIIIK!

Blood arced through the air.

An arm thudded to the ground.

"AAARGH!"

The Dark Taoist staggered, his face twisted in agony. The grip of his whisk faltered.

Seizing the opening, An Yi slashed again—reducing the whisk to a rain of shredded strands. He broke free.

"You—you little snake! Nothing but underhanded tactics!"

The Dark Taoist’s face contorted with fury and pain, his severed arm still dripping.

"Takes one to know one."

An Yi wiped the blood from his lips, his voice calm. The dagger in his hand—now back in his right grip—shifted seamlessly into a ring again.

A weapon that could transform like this was perfect for ambushes.

Yang Heng, seeing the Dark Taoist lose an arm in mere moments, snarled: "Dark Taoist! I gave you my family’s heirloom! You can’t lose to this brat!"

"Heirloom? No wonder."

Wu Tong shook his head slightly.

"Yang Heng’s ancestors must be rolling in their graves."

Once a proud and fearsome lineage, now reduced to this—a wastrel squandering their legacy.

The Dark Taoist glared at the ruined whisk, then discarded it. His eyes burned with a sinister, almost inhuman intensity.

"Kid, you’re strong. Among the younger generation, you might even be called the strongest. But you’re still green."

With a wave of his hand—

The severed arm on the ground exploded into a mist of blood.

"The hell?!"

An Yi tightened his grip on the dagger, instantly wary.

A wave of danger prickled his senses—

Then, the Dark Taoist’s remaining palm shot forward, slamming directly toward the dagger.

SHRIIK!

The blade pierced clean through his hand—but An Yi froze as he felt the weapon being sucked into the Dark Taoist’s flesh.

An Yi was slightly startled and quickly withdrew his strength, transforming the dagger back into its ring form, which returned to his finger.

However, it was now covered in a layer of bloodstains, and no matter how much energy he channeled into it, he couldn’t revert the ring into the Dragon Fang Dagger.

"That dagger of yours is a spiritual weapon, isn’t it? This is the Blood Poison I refined from the essence of a thousand slain souls. Your spiritual weapon is likely tainted now. Let’s see what you’ll use to fight me next," the Dark Taoist said with a bone-chilling laugh.

An Yi examined the blackened ring on his finger—there was indeed a hazy layer blocking his energy from flowing into it. But he figured it would probably work again once he cleaned it off.

"This is a weapon forged by Yama himself! How could a mere old Taoist like you destroy the Dragon Fang?"

"I’ll beat you to death with my fists alone!"

An Yi declared arrogantly, his figure darting forward like the wind as he launched an attack at the Dark Taoist.

It was none other than the Flash Fist technique!

Not far away, Fang Jueming’s eyes lit up with excitement when he saw An Yi using the Flash Fist.

This was the secret martial art of his Fang family!

The Dark Taoist’s body had taken on a grayish-green hue, his skin as tough as tree bark.

An Yi’s punch landed—but to no effect.

"Your fist technique is rather mediocre!" the Dark Taoist taunted, feigning arrogance.

But inwardly, his shock remained.

He had assumed this kid was only skilled with a dagger, but it turned out his hand-to-hand combat abilities might be even stronger!

Having lost an arm, which was still bleeding profusely, his chances of winning against this brat were no more than thirty percent.

"Keep talking tough. Next, I’ll finish you off!" An Yi said leisurely, summoning an air blade in his hand.

The old Taoist was a master of the Dark Force realm, but after losing an arm and having his horsetail whisk destroyed, the Dark Taoist’s combat power had plummeted.

Grinding him down with Qi Slashes wouldn’t be too difficult.

Suddenly, An Yi’s expression froze.

He had just noticed that, on his system interface, the [Violence] mission had already reached 23/100.

"Damn it!"

How could he have forgotten about the system mission?!

The 60-minute time limit was almost up—only three minutes remained.

"Shit!"

An Yi suddenly erupted in fury, clenching his fists as he charged at the Dark Taoist with terrifying ferocity.

Seeing the murderous look on An Yi’s face as he rushed toward him, the Dark Taoist was momentarily stunned.

Had he provoked this kid somehow?