"Go on, speak!" Fu Shu urged hastily.
He didn't have many strong subordinates, and every last one of them was already sprawled on the ground. His only hope now lay with the old man with the goatee.
The goateed elder said, "With the Sacred Tree's protection, Your Highness the First Prince cannot possibly be injured. Since you can't be injured, why are you afraid of him? You're a prince, for heaven's sake — you can channel the power of the Sacred Tree. Even if you can't beat the man, can't you just grab what you want and run? As long as you make it back to your manor, what can he do to you?"
Fu Shu's eyes lit up at these words. He cursed himself inwardly for having been so frightened out of his wits that he'd forgotten something so obvious. The old man was right — with the Sacred Tree's protection, no ordinary person could possibly harm him. And if he couldn't be harmed, what was there to fear?
He hated himself for having been reduced to a stammering, groveling mess moments ago without even thinking of this. He hated Yang Kai even more for making him lose face so spectacularly. He glanced over at Zhu Qing standing to the side, and his courage gradually returned. Slowly, he rose to his feet from the corner where he'd been cowering.
His body still trembled slightly, but it was a vast improvement over the outright begging and scrambling of before.
The earlier commotion had drawn the attention of numerous residents of Human Emperor City. The teahouse was now surrounded on all sides by onlookers, and several patrols of city guards who happened to be patrolling nearby had pushed through the crowd. When they saw the devastation inside the teahouse, every one of them was stunned.
Upon spotting Fu Shu, they hurried forward to bow and inquire about the situation.
"You've arrived just in time." The appearance of the city guards bolstered Fu Shu's confidence considerably. He pointed a finger at Yang Kai. "This man is vicious and dangerous! He attacked my guards and further humiliated this prince. Seize him at once!"
The guards exchanged glances and moved to comply.
A cold smirk spread across Fu Shu's face, and suddenly, the sound of incantations rang from his lips — strange, guttural syllables that left everyone around him completely baffled. But Yang Kai was shocked.
He knew those incantations all too well. The moment they began, his mind was involuntarily flooded with visions of a grand, sweeping battlefield — a time when a hundred thousand soldiers served under his command, the various divisions coordinating in perfect harmony as they charged fearlessly into the ranks of the Demon Race. That was when the witches would chant these very incantations.
The chanting of these spells set the blood roaring, filling one's chest with killing intent, making one want to tear apart everything in sight.
Fu Shu's incantations were brief — modified in some way, perhaps — but the essence was unmistakable.
A burst of radiance suddenly bloomed forth, enveloping the guards.
In the next instant, the vital energy within every guard surged violently. Their bodies swelled outward as if inflated like balloons, the exposed skin on every limb glowing a deep, feverish crimson. Even their eyes burned scarlet.
Fear and cowardice vanished from them entirely, replaced by iron resolve and savage bravery.
"Bloodlust Art!" Yang Kai's eyes nearly bulged from his head. He could never have imagined that after more than a hundred thousand years, he would witness the Bloodlust Art being cast once more by someone else's hand.
Though this version of the Bloodlust Art had clearly undergone some changes, Yang Kai could never mistake it.
Back in the cave, when Steward Liao had performed his techniques, there had been faint traces of shamanic sorcery — though they'd been subtle enough that Yang Kai hadn't paid them much mind. But now it seemed the Samsara World still harbored shamanic arts, though how they had been preserved for so long was beyond him.
Zhu Qing clearly hadn't anticipated this either. Her beautiful eyes studied the transformed warriors with curiosity, a hint of confusion in her gaze.
When Fu Shu's incantations rang out a second time, Yang Kai already knew what type of shamanic sorcery this was. This particular spell had been the single greatest headache for the Demon Race back in the day — one that could not be countered.
It was precisely because of this spell's protection that the Barbarian Race had been able to stand toe-to-toe with the Demon Race.
Yang Kai understood the terror of this sorcery all too well. There was no way he would allow Fu Shu to finish casting it.
He took a single step forward. The Million Swords vanished in a fluid arc, and as his palms clapped together, an enormous Moon Blade hurtled toward Fu Shu with a thunderous roar.
The attack came without warning and carried devastating, unpredictable force — enough to make even the goateed elder's heart skip a beat. Fu Shu was certainly startled, but ignorant as he was of the danger, he clung to the old man's earlier words. Though terror gripped his heart, he made no attempt to dodge or defend, his chanting growing ever louder.
The colossal Moon Blade struck Fu Shu squarely as predicted, only to be blocked by a layer of green light that materialized around his body. This time, however, the green light was exceptionally dense — so vivid it seemed almost ready to drip from the air like liquid emerald. The light served as a protective barrier, growing stronger against greater force, and in doing so, it only underscored the terrifying destructive power of the Moon Blade.
Without a sound, this spatial-devouring technique failed to harm Fu Shu in the slightest. The green light had once again deflected the Moon Blade's attack — but at the point of contact, a tiny, almost imperceptible crack had appeared.
This protection was not invincible, nor was it unbreakable. Yang Kai grasped this instantly. The reason his previous attacks had been ineffective was simply that his power hadn't been strong enough.
But in the brief moment of hesitation this realization caused, Fu Shu had already completed his sorcery.
Another burst of radiance bloomed forth, enveloping the guards once more.
In the unseen realm beyond mortal perception, something invisible seemed to link these men together, binding their lives and deaths as one. The vital energy of every guard merged into a single torrent that surged skyward in a pillar of crimson force.
Zhu Qing's expression changed.
"Life Chain!" Yang Kai growled through clenched teeth. He could never have imagined that he would one day face both the Bloodlust Art and the Life Chain — the two great war sorceries — head-on. In the Thousand Illusion Dreamscape, the Barbarian armies under his command had swept all before them wielding precisely these two spells. It was because of that experience that Yang Kai understood their power better than anyone alive.
The goateed elder's face showed a flicker of surprise. "You actually know of the Sacred Arts?"
"And what, exactly, are the Sacred Arts?" Yang Kai stepped back several paces to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zhu Qing, his cold gaze fixed on the scene before them.