What annoyed Jiang Chen most was Yu Jie's condescending tone, as though brandishing the title of a sect disciple entitled him to look down on all living beings and treat every mortal martial artist like an ant.
This arrogance rubbed Jiang Chen the wrong way.
In his previous life, he had been the Son of the Heavenly Emperor, yet even he had never been this arrogant. Across the myriad heavens, regardless of status high or low, Jiang Chen had made friends far and wide, never once putting on a lofty, haughty face just because of his prestigious identity.
"So you're Yu Jie? You've said quite enough nonsense already. First you said you'd settle me with a single finger, then you said no one under heaven or earth could save me. After all that talk, I'm still perfectly fine. If you've got any real ability, then use it. If not, leave Long Juxue here and scram back to your sect!"
Jiang Chen was injured, but thanks to the effects of the medicinal pills, he had already recovered more than half. Besides, his injuries hadn't come from a head-on collision, so the impact was clearly far less severe than Yu Jie's.
Moreover, Jiang Chen knew full well that this Yu Jie was most likely bluffing.
Even if Yu Jie hadn't suffered devastating injuries, he had certainly taken a nontrivial wound. Otherwise, how could a mere mortal martial artist have cut him to the point of coughing blood? Such a humiliation — with Yu Jie's pride, he would have immediately unleashed his most powerful divine ability to retaliate, not waste time talking.
"Fine, fine, fine!" Yu Jie laughed from the depths of his fury, killing intent surging wildly in his heart.
Just as Jiang Chen had guessed, Yu Jie was indeed injured — and it was his meridians that had taken the damage. If he forced himself to fight, he could still muster seventy or eighty percent of his combat power.
If he went all in, Yu Jie was confident he had a ninety percent chance of killing Jiang Chen.
But killing Jiang Chen at the cost of worsening his own injuries — especially given that sudden burst of formidable combat power Jiang Chen had displayed moments ago — the backlash could very well compound his injuries.
If his foundation were damaged during this golden period of cultivation, the consequences could be severe, dramatically slowing his progress or even bringing it to a complete halt.
That price was simply too steep.
But if he didn't fight, he would inevitably lose face in front of Long Juxue. His plans to curry her favor and lay groundwork for the future would go up in smoke.
It was a cruel dilemma.
He had originally intended to probe Jiang Chen's confidence with words before making his next move.
He hadn't expected Jiang Chen to leave him no room whatsoever for probing — a few sharp remarks filled with mockery, backing the so-called dignity of a sect disciple into a corner with no way out!
At this point, if Yu Jie retreated even a single step, it would leave a shadow on his martial path and inevitably leave a poor impression on Long Juxue.
"Jiang Chen, I was originally going to grant you a quick death. It seems you're dead set on opposing my Purple Sun Sect. Very well — today, even at a cost, I will utterly annihilate your Jiang clan. I'll make the world know that the only outcome of provoking a sect is death!"
At this moment, such threats sounded like empty words to Jiang Chen's ears. Even without all this, would those sect disciples have spared his clan?
Yu Jie was spouting all this just to salvage a shred of his pride.
With a cold sneer, the corner of Jiang Chen's lips curled upward. "Yu Jie, are all sect disciples as full of empty talk as you?"
"Sharp-tongued brat! Today, I, Yu Jie, will show you that no matter what meager talent you possess, in front of a sect disciple, you are nothing but a pile of shit!"
Yu Jie was truly enraged. He realized that even in a battle of words, he couldn't gain the slightest advantage over his opponent.
Jiang Chen couldn't help but laugh. "If I'm a pile of shit, then what does it make you that you can't even handle a pile of shit? Something worse than a maggot? If you have any real ability, use it. Enough with the hot air — I despise you for it."
Yu Jie's face darkened. He knew he had zero chance of winning a war of words.
With a low hum, he reached out with one hand, and a sword materialized in his grip.
The blade gleamed like a pool of autumn water, radiating a spiritual energy that sent shivers through the heart.
"The Autumn Water Sword!" Xu Zhen blurted out, a flash of envy and jealousy in his eyes. "Jiang Chen is as good as dead! The Autumn Water Sword — I can't believe Master bestowed such a treasured spirit artifact upon Senior Brother Yu!"
"Xu Zhen, cover my flank and keep those feathered beasts busy! I will personally cut down this vile spawn Jiang Chen!"
Yu Jie issued his command from on high.
Since Yu Jie had spoken, Xu Zhen didn't dare refuse. He chuckled. "It is my honor to serve Senior Brother Yu."
The two sect disciples took positions on the left and right, their spiritual pressure locking down a swath of empty space.
Yet Jiang Chen showed no fear whatsoever. The more they did this, the more it proved they lacked confidence. For someone as proud as Yu Jie to stoop to calling for backup at a time like this — what did that mean?
It meant Yu Jie was definitely suffering internal injuries, and his confidence in himself wasn't as strong as before.
A powerful expert with great strength was fearsome, but not the most fearsome kind.
The most dangerous expert was one whose strength matched an even stronger conviction.
In battle, when two fighters were evenly matched, it was often the one who feared no death, whose fighting spirit was unyielding as steel, who laughed last.
Having cultivated the Heart of Rock, Jiang Chen had long since attained a state of awakening through this battle — he understood well the principle that when two warriors meet on a narrow path, the brave one prevails.
He too was gambling.
He was betting on the power of the Eight Desolations Spirit-Gathering Formation, and on the comprehension of these Golden-Winged Sword Birds.
His rapid stream of commands in Beast Language earlier had been transmitting certain profound mysteries of the Eight Desolations Spirit-Gathering Formation to the Golden-Winged Sword Birds.
He knew that under the pressure of two Spirit Realm powerhouses, relying solely on numerical superiority might hold them off briefly, but could never reverse the situation, let alone turn defeat into victory.