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At the center of the battlefield, Qian Renhan unleashed his power, his Dark Demon Sword shrouded in a blood-red aura of murderous intent.
"Sword Douluo, it's time to end this."
Crack!
Crack!
The sound of shattering echoed continuously. The blood-red Seven Kill Sword, fused with Sword Douluo himself, clashed against Qian Renhan's blade. Cracks began to form at the tip of the sword where they collided, spreading rapidly along the entire Seven Kill Sword. From each fissure, droplets of blood oozed out.
Chen Xin had merged his body with the sword; they were one and the same. The Seven Kill Sword was his body. Its fractures meant his own destruction.
Qian Renhan's Dark Demon Sword, forged from soul power, could not match the Seven Kill Sword in sheer hardness. However, his sword intent surpassed Sword Douluo's.
The cracks continued to expand. Though Chen Xin's entire body was covered in fractures, his expression remained calm as he pondered how to defeat Qian Renhan and seize a sliver of hope for Ning Fengzhi and Ning Rongrong.
Gazing at the five pairs of wings behind Qian Renhan, Sword Douluo suddenly remembered that Qian Renhan's martial spirit was an angel, not a sword. The weapon in his hand was formed from soul power—it wasn't a real sword. Though he couldn't rival Qian Renhan's swordsmanship, the quality of his Seven Kill Sword far surpassed a sword formed from a mere ten-thousand-year spirit ring.
It was like playing a game: his skills (swordsmanship) were inferior, but his equipment (sword) was superior.
The cracks on the Seven Kill Sword kept widening, threatening to consume it entirely. Just as everyone from the Spirit Hall believed Qian Renhan had won, the sound of friction echoed beneath his feet—he was being pushed back. The sword in his hand also began to crack.
"This guy..." Qian Renhan frowned. The fissures on his Dark Demon Sword were rapidly growing. Sword Douluo was relying on brute strength, trying to win through the disparity in equipment.
"Unfortunately, even if my sword breaks again, your Seven Kill Sword won't last much longer."
"That's all I need—as long as there's the slightest chance."
Sword Douluo mustered all his strength, driving Qian Renhan back. His heel struck a crevice in the shattered ground, a gap just deep enough to disrupt his footing. In that instant, the alignment of their sword tips was broken.
"Now!"
The heavily cracked Seven Kill Sword scraped past the Dark Demon Sword, slashing straight for Qian Renhan's throat.
"Brother!"
"Your Holiness!"
"Grandpa Sword, kill him!"
A blinding white pillar of light shot forth, stunning everyone before the Pope's Palace.
The scene shifted: two-thirds of a black wing crashed to the ground. Behind Qian Renhan, his five pairs of wings had been symmetrically aligned. Now, the frontmost wing on his right side was mostly severed. It had shielded his neck, deflecting the Seven Kill Sword from its intended path, piercing his wing instead.
"That's twice now. Your garbage soul skill—I'll destroy it eventually." Qian Renhan casually discarded the fractured Dark Demon Sword, a cold layer of frost settling over his previously calm face.
"I failed."
Despair crept into Sword Douluo's expression. He had given everything, even burning his life force, to kill Qian Renhan—who hadn't even used his true martial form or his hundred-thousand-year soul skill—and escort Ning Fengzhi and Ning Rongrong to safety. Yet all he managed was to sever part of a wing.
"Sword Douluo Chen Xin, I will honor you with respect."
The nine soul rings beneath Qian Renhan's feet and the wings on his back vanished. Two brand new hundred-thousand-year soul rings appeared beneath him. His left hand glowed blood-red, and the stormy sky turned crimson.
As all eyes widened in disbelief, a blood-red sword spirit materialized in Qian Renhan's hand. About three feet long, it was completely bloodstained, exuding a murderous aura that pierced to the bone. Two hundred-thousand-year soul rings circled it—the second martial spirit: the Shura Sword.
Yu Xiaogang stared in shock. "Twin martial spirits…"
Hatred blazed in Xiao Wu's eyes. The two hundred-thousand-year soul rings on that blood sword had belonged to Da Ming and Er Ming.
"That sword…"
Sword Douluo trembled. He recalled the moment his sword heart was destroyed, when he entered a different realm and saw the death spiral formed by a sword—identical in appearance to the one now in Qian Renhan's hand.
This time, Qian Renhan said nothing. He swung the Shura Sword at Sword Douluo in a single, decisive stroke. The pure sword aura blanketed the sky, freezing time itself.
When everyone regained their senses, the ground was littered with shattered, blood-red metallic fragments of varying sizes. Only the hilt remained intact—once the hilt of the Seven Kill Sword.
Sword Douluo Chen Xin, along with the Seven Kill Sword, was utterly annihilated—reduced to dust, not a trace of his body remaining.
"Uncle Sword!"
"Grandpa Sword!"
This time, Ning Rongrong finally moved. She rushed forward and collapsed before the pile of bloodstained debris, tears falling like pearls from a broken string.
"Ning Fengzhi, you raised a good daughter," Qian Renhan said coolly. With his sharp gaze, how could he not see that Ning Rongrong loved Tang San deeply? She had ignored her father's pleas and the threat of death, shielding Tang San with her own body.
Even if you do not love me and see me only as a friend, I love you. I would give my life for you. If you wish to kill him, step over my corpse first.
Such a beautiful love—it was truly moving.
Hehehehe...
"Father, Grandpa Sword is already..." Ning Rongrong sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. She looked at Ning Fengzhi, who was approaching with bloodshot eyes, distorted features, and disheveled hair.
Ning Fengzhi bent his knees, raised his staff, and struck Ning Rongrong viciously, roaring, "Wretched child! It's all your fault! You fool! You're the one who got Uncle Sword killed!"
His staff lashed out mercilessly, knocking Ning Rongrong to the ground from her kneeling position. Without pause, he struck her again and again—on her thighs, on her head—wherever the blows landed. Driven mad with rage, Ning Fengzhi had lost all reason. Each blow left a fresh bruise on Ning Rongrong's pale skin.
A crazed Ning Fengzhi—so handsome, 24K pure handsome!
He put on an epic performance for the entire Spirit Hall—a father punishing his daughter with a long staff for her disgrace.
"Waaah! Father, please don't hit me!"
Ning Rongrong's desperate, heart-wrenching cries echoed across the entire Pope's Palace square, chilling everyone to the bone.
Ultimately, Ning Fengzhi was still a support-type soul master and lacked stamina. He was already gravely injured from Qian Renhan's earlier soul pressure. After only seven or eight strikes, he was gasping heavily for breath.
"It's best not to have descendants, especially daughters. Native humans of the Douluo Continent have issues in their very bones," Qian Renhan silently commented. Seeing that the drama had concluded, he raised the Shura Sword, prepared to send both Ning Fengzhi and Ning Rongrong to the afterlife.
"Your Holiness!"
Suddenly, another figure rushed out from in front of Shrek Academy, knelt before Qian Renhan, and kowtowed. It was Oscar.
Oscar knocked his forehead to the ground three times and pleaded, "Your Holiness, I'm Oscar, a food-type soul master with innate full soul power. I'm willing to join Spirit Hall—please, I beg you, spare Rongrong and Lord Ning."
A food-type soul master with innate full soul power!
Everyone in Spirit Hall was stunned. Since when did food-type soul masters ever possess innate full soul power? On the current continent, the strongest known food-type soul master was only at Rank 79 Soul Saint, even with Spirit Hall's full support. If a food-type soul master with innate full soul power joined them, under their nurturing, he could become the first ever food-type Titled Douluo. Spirit Hall's power would make a qualitative leap.
"Swear on your life—be a slave."
Qian Renhan lowered the Shura Sword and said coldly. A white-eyed wolf like him wants to join Spirit Hall? He's only fit to be a slave. Qian Renhan would never trust a white-eyed wolf with a lover's brain. Oscar's past declarations, only remembering Spirit Hall's kindness when collecting gold soul coins, otherwise disregarding them, still echoed loudly in his mind.
Oscar trembled. Spirit Hall wanted him to be a tool—a beast of burden, a slave to be used at will.
"Little Ao…"
Ning Rongrong, her face swollen and bruised, her eyes red and puffy, stared at Oscar in shock, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Rongrong, no matter what you become, in my heart, you'll always be the most beautiful."
Oscar turned to look at her, his peach blossom eyes brimming with love. For Rongrong's survival, he, Oscar, would be a slave to Spirit Hall for life—what of it?
"I, Oscar, swear on my life—so long as Spirit Hall spares Lord Ning and Rongrong, I will serve Spirit Hall for life as a slave, as a beast of burden, without complaint." Oscar's solemn voice echoed throughout Spirit Hall.
"Little Ao!" Ning Rongrong cried out, tears streaming once again. She never imagined Oscar would go this far for her. Her heart, once 60% Tang San and 40% Oscar, now beat wildly, racing toward Oscar's side. In an instant, it became 100% Oscar, as deep regret consumed her.
If only she had made her choice sooner. If only she hadn't hesitated because of the sect's rules—none of this would've happened today. Grandpa Sword might still be alive, and Oscar wouldn't have become a slave to save her.
Qian Renhan sheathed the Shura Sword and turned toward Tang San, saying, "Spirit Hall's kitchen—one thousand sausages a day. Fail to deliver, and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan will suffer."
"This world would be better off with no descendants—male or female."
Observing the outrageous actions of Oscar and Ning Rongrong, Qian Renhan added this thought. Otherwise, he feared that encountering a simp, a love-addled fool, or a traitor would tempt him to kill them on the spot.
(End of Chapter)