Ch. 337 - Take Your Money to Hell

Yang Ming's fist struck like a blazing sun crashing to earth, radiating divine brilliance. 

The punch landed squarely on Lu Ziming's chest, sending shockwaves through his Mindflare, like stones disturbing the surface of a still lake.

Lu Ziming's heart lurched in shock. Yang Ming had been seriously injured earlier—so why was his strength only increasing?!

There was no time for Lu Ziming to hesitate. The moment he deflected Yang Ming's sword with a desperate slash, a sharp pain tore through his side.

Two identical women—ethereal, flawless, yet utterly lethal—had struck from both flanks.

The two "wives" had attacked again.

Twin deep gashes opened along his ribs, their blades cutting through his defenses as if his Mindflare didn't even exist.

"Damn it!" Lu Ziming roared, his fury boiling over. He knew exactly who was behind this nightmare—Fang Xiu.

As long as Fang Xiu lived, this battle would never end.

His eyes burned with killing intent as he swung his sword with all his might. "GO TO HELL, FANG XIU!"

A tidal wave of sword energy erupted from his blade, forming a maelstrom of destruction.

The sheer force of the attack swallowed the battlefield, turning the world into a sea of raging sword torrents, slicing through the air like an unstoppable flood.

The storm of sword energy consumed Fang Xiu whole.

Within the violent current, his body was shredded, slashed into countless pieces, his form scattering into the wind like torn paper.

For a moment, it looked like he had been utterly annihilated—his fragmented body even producing faint projections, mere echoes of what once was.

Then—

The fragments drifted back together.

A dark pulse of energy surged through the void.

Fang Xiu reformed. Whole. Untouched.

Lu Ziming's breathing turned ragged. His pupils shrank. His mind—on the verge of snapping.

"What the hell ARE YOU?!" he bellowed, his voice raw with disbelief.

Everything about this battle was wrong. He had fought fourth-tier psychics, fifth-tier powerhouses, even monstrous psychics before—but this? This was absurd.

One opponent grew stronger the more he fought.

One opponent couldn't die.

And two Specters ignored all defenses and couldn't even be touched.

Winning was no longer an option for Lu Ziming. There was only one choice left.

Escape.

Lu Ziming gritted his teeth and made a decision that crushed his pride—he had to abandon his luxurious 300,000-a-night shed and flee to Yue Lai Inn instead.

Before he could move, Fang Xiu struck first.

Dark flames erupted around him, spiraling upward into a towering inferno. His silhouette, standing amidst the roaring black fire, radiated an eerie majesty, as if the world itself bowed to his presence.

His lips parted. "Raven Death."

At his command, the black flames spread.

His shadowy wings unfurled, and thousands of fiery black crows burst forth, shrieking as they took flight.

The swarm of ravenous fire blocked every escape route.

Lu Ziming's eyes flashed with defiance. He refused to be trapped. Clenching his teeth, he lunged forward, trying to slash through the black fire and break free.

But the moment a single flaming crow touched him, an unbearable sensation ripped through his body.

His Mindflare armor—his supposedly indestructible shield—was pierced.

A hole burned straight through.

Panic gripped Lu Ziming.

Though the flames didn't spread, he could still feel the unnatural corrosion eating away at his energy, and for the first time, a terrifying thought crept into his mind. 'Is my Mindflare… fake?'

That corrosion should have been impossible. Legends spoke of Mindflare's invulnerability, its power to repel all attacks. He had broken through to the fifth tier in the Land Between—yet now, a mere third tier like Fang Xiu was standing against him.

Yang Ming, a fourth-tier, could match him blow for blow.

The "wives" could ignore his defenses entirely, phasing through his Mindflare like it wasn't there. And now, even Fang Xiu's black fire could burn through it.

It didn't matter that it only burned a little—it still burned.

What Lu Ziming didn't know was that he had simply run into the worst possible enemies all at once.

Yang Ming wasn't clashing with Mindflare through brute strength alone—he was using the rule of the universe to amplify his attacks.

Fang Xiu's black flames could burn through Mindflare because they weren't ordinary fire. They were Zhou Qingfeng's greatest masterpiece.

As Fang Xiu's power grew, he could wield more and more of the Genesis Mask's abilities, to the point where his flames could even begin to erode Mindflare's legendary defenses.

And as for "wife"... No one knew why she could ignore Mindflare. She just could.

Her attacks couldn't be dodged. They couldn't be blocked. Her abilities couldn't be countered. It was as if reality itself bent to accommodate her existence, letting her break the rules without explanation.

Truthfully, breaking Mindflare wasn't difficult—at least not for Fang Xiu.

He had plenty of ways to do it.

If he wanted, he could cycle through summoning different Specter Gods, each one wielding enough higher-dimensional power to crush Mindflare outright.

Every Specter God he could summon?

A different method to shatter Mindflare.

But Fang Xiu didn't do that.

With his current strength, he could likely summon a single Specter God to break Mindflare—but it would drain all his Spiritual Energy, leaving him too weak to finish off Lu Ziming.

Here, in the Land Between, Taotie was still the best choice.

Lu Ziming, his movements slowing, was losing ground fast.

Yang Ming pressed him relentlessly from the front, while "wife" harassed him from the sides, delivering deep cuts that ignored his defenses.

Meanwhile, Fang Xiu controlled the black flames and Taotie's massive form, constantly throwing him off balance.

Lu Ziming's Spiritual Energy was draining at a terrifying rate. Even his once-radiant Mindflare had dimmed, flickering unsteadily.

His teammates, who had once been his confidence, were still locked in battle with Wei Xin, the Zombie. Though they had the advantage, Wei Xin's undead body was incredibly hard to destroy, dragging out the fight.

The battlefield remained a chaotic mess.

The sky swarmed with countless snake-like Specters, but their focus was entirely on Taotie.

His rotting flesh seemed to hold an irresistible allure, attracting even Class-B and Class-A Specters, who abandoned everything else in a desperate attempt to devour him.

Yet in doing so, they were devoured in return.

Taotie alone had drawn in every Specter in the area, keeping them from interfering.

Then—

"AAAAHHH!!" A sudden scream tore through the battlefield.

Lu Ziming's body jerked violently, his face twisting in agony.

A deep, gruesome slash ran across his chest, carved by "wife's" merciless claws.

The wound was so deep that his still-beating heart was visible through the gash.

His breath turned ragged, his movements sluggish. The once proud and powerful fifth-tier psychic was now a shadow of his former self. He was covered in wounds, with patches of black fire clinging to his flesh, refusing to go out.

Lu Ziming couldn't believe it.

Once a Chief Commander, now a fifth-tier powerhouse—and yet, here he was, being worn down to the brink of death by a group of low-tier psychics.

His eyes burned with rage and frustration.

"GO TO HELL!" Yang Ming saw his chance and took it without hesitation.

With a furious roar, he raised both hands high above his head, golden energy condensing into a single, devastating strike.

Like a thunderous warhammer, his fists came crashing down.

BOOM!

Lu Ziming had no strength left to block it.

The blow struck his head directly. His body plummeted like a meteor, slamming into the ground with a thunderous crash.

The earth trembled, the impact carving a deep crater into the battlefield.

But Yang Ming wasn't finished.

The moment Lu Ziming hit the ground, he lunged forward, his entire body a blur of motion.

Golden fists rained down like relentless sledgehammers, each blow sending shockwaves rippling through the earth.

Fist after fist. Strike after strike. His speed only increased, his energy burning so brightly that afterimages of his fists filled the air, making it impossible to tell where the real strikes were landing.

The ground beneath them caved in, deepening the crater with each devastating hit.

"No…" Lu Ziming's voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. His body twitched in a final, pitiful attempt to resist.

His wide, disbelieving eyes stared up at the golden blur of destruction above him.

He couldn't accept it.

A fifth-tier psychic like him defeated by a group of nobodies? That was impossible, and unthinkable.

Then, his body convulsed suddenly, his fading consciousness snapping back as a single, desperate thought surged through his mind.

"MY MONEY!" His hoarse scream echoed across the battlefield, filled with pure, desperate grief.

Yang Ming's expression twisted in cold fury. His golden fists glowed brighter than ever, burning with unrelenting killing intent.

With a final, thunderous strike, he roared, "You and your money can go to hell!"

His right fist came crashing down.

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