C20 Defeated the Black Flood Dragon

Nangong Fan dragged himself back to his small wooden cabin and collapsed weakly onto the bed. The voice he had been muttering to himself gradually grew fainter as he lay there.

A muffled cry echoed through the room, heart-wrenching and soul-shattering.

It moved listeners to sorrow and brought tears to their eyes.

I once had love before me, but I missed it due to my own insecurities and cowardice. In this life, I vow to no longer be weak, to not let opportunities slip by again.

Eventually, Nangong Fan rose from the bed, the image of the blood shadow he encountered in his mind's eye during the Wildhearth Clan's inheritance ceremony lingering in his gaze.

His numb body mimicked the leaping blood shadow's movements, tirelessly practicing the bear-like actions over and over.

Sweat fell mercilessly to the floor, but he paid it no mind.

Perhaps, at this moment, only the sweat could quell the unspeakable anguish within his heart.

...

The following day at noon.

The area beneath the dueling platform was already teeming with people from the Black Mansion.

Small groups huddled together, murmuring among themselves.

"Has Hei Ze lost his mind after being stripped of his direct lineage? He's actually accepting a duel with the Black Flood Dragon. Maybe he's injured and looking for an easy win? Tsk, he was already considered useless, now he might just earn the title of fool too."

"Right? I heard that the reject is about to be kicked out of the Black Mansion and is planning to seek tutelage at the Shushan Sword Sect. Without the Black Mansion's direct descendant's prestige, who would give a second glance to such a nobody?"

"Let's not kid ourselves. If that reject really leaves, the Black Mansion will lose so much entertainment. We won't be able to pick on those lofty direct descendants anymore."

"Isn't it almost noon? That idiot probably hasn't realized the time and won't have the guts to show up, right?"

"If I were him, I wouldn't show up either."

"There's a ruckus over there. Could that idiot actually be showing up?"

"Supreme grade indeed. He's truly a warrior among fools."

Amidst the noisy crowd, a figure drenched in sweat made his way slowly through the path cleared by the onlookers. Beads of sweat slid down his resolute face, more determined than ever, and dropped onto the stone floor, creating a crisp, rhythmic sound.

The newcomer seemed to exist solely in his own world, utterly oblivious to the surrounding chatter and opinions.

With a vacant gaze, he made his way directly to the martial arts platform, intent on fulfilling his promise to conclude the tedious competition before retreating to his secluded cabin to work up a sweat in solitude.

Below the platform, Mo Yu stood by a wooden table that held a milky-white crystal. Those nearby felt a soothing comfort wash over them, as if the sweltering heat was being completely repelled by the stone, replaced by a refreshing coolness.

This was a medium-grade spirit stone, and it gleamed under the sun's rays, drawing covetous looks from the crowd. Possessing such a stone could transform their lives—granting them a longer journey on the path of martial arts, along with increased longevity, wealth, and the company of beautiful companions.

Nangong Fan's ring emitted a black gleam, revealing the Black Dragon Sword and ten radiant yellow papers arrayed neatly on the table.

He approached the platform step by step, then awkwardly clambered onto it, using both hands and feet, eliciting a wave of chuckles from the onlookers.

"He's probably the first person to ever climb onto the martial arts platform in such a manner."

"His clothes are drenched! You can smell the sweat from here. He must have hastily prepared some incredible technique. Maybe he'll defeat the Black Flood Dragon in a single move."

"If you really think so, go place your bet on Hei Ze winning. The odds are incredibly high—this is your chance to make a fortune."

"Are those three masked figures behind the betting station fools? I've wagered all I have on Hei Ze's victory. The odds are 1:1.03. I've put down 3,000 taels of silver and 300 low-grade spirit stones. I stand to gain roughly 100 taels of silver and nine low-grade spirit stones in return—enough to cover three months of my wages."

"I didn't expect anyone to be foolish enough to set up betting for this match. I might as well place a wager and earn some extra cash."

The crowd pushed eagerly towards the back, eager to take advantage of what seemed like an easy win—after all, no one would turn down free money.

Among the three masked figures at the betting station, only the slender one in the middle sat down, while the other two stood respectfully behind, stepping forward only to handle bets when someone approached.

"Boss, looks like we're in for a hefty bonus this time. Nobody's betting on the Young Master to win." A figure brimmed with the joy of a bountiful harvest, a feeling that surpassed even the excitement of a prosperous year for spiritual herbs.

"Hmm... Let's consider it a perk for the main hall of the Dark Guard. We'll share the spoils with the brothers."

"Boss, your wisdom is unparalleled."

"The Young Master is clearly blowing off steam. Make sure to bring him two vats of spiritual water and a couple of demon beasts to help him recover. We can't have him breaking down. Just deduct the cost from my account."

"Yes, boss." The voice eagerly tallied the bets, already aware that this was essentially free money. Though they were duping their own kin from the Hei Family, he felt not a twinge of guilt. The Dark Guard operated in the shadows, with little overt connection to the Hei Family. Even with their own sources of income, nothing compared to the quick windfall of this event.

Imagine, each person betting a hundred or so stones, and those folks thinking they had a surefire investment. More than a hundred stones? The combined value here was over ten medium-grade spirit stones. Opportunities to strike it rich like this didn't come around often.

The Black Flood Dragon stood erect on the dueling platform, his right hand swinging with vigor. The shoulder that once bore a gaping wound was now healed. Cloaked in black, he radiated confidence, like an emperor ready for his coronation.

In stark contrast stood Nangong Fan, who could barely keep upright, his body drenched.

"Kid, I didn't think you'd have the guts to show up," the Black Flood Dragon sneered.

Nangong Fan stood numbly, his eyes hollow and devoid of any spark of life.

At Mo Yu's command, "Begin the duel," the battle commenced.

Amidst the murmurs of the crowd, the Black Flood Dragon proudly approached Nangong Fan step by step.

"Why isn't this idiot moving? A waste is indeed a waste."

"Did you actually come to witness a duel? Or did you come to watch a scion fall from grace and take a beating?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

The Black Flood Dragon stood before Nangong Fan, nonchalantly lifting his foot for a kick. Clearly, he hadn't taken this famously inept figure to heart.

However, when the Black Flood Dragon's foot connected with Nangong Fan's stomach, it was like kicking a solid rock, and a massive recoil followed.

Caught off guard, the Black Flood Dragon's expression shifted dramatically before he tumbled to the ground.

The onlookers hadn't even had time to react when a twinge of pain jolted Nangong Fan out of his reverie. His previously vacant eyes sparked to life as he instinctively lashed out with a powerful kick, his foot connecting with the Black Flood Dragon's body with a thunderous boom.

The Black Flood Dragon shrieked as he was propelled across the stage by an irresistible force, skidding with a grating noise and spewing blood before tumbling off the platform.

Nangong Fan had no desire to cause further harm. With a single move, he had vanquished the Black Flood Dragon. The brilliance in his eyes faded once more, and he seemed lost in thought, his energy waning.

With a stagger, Nangong Fan descended from the stage. He approached Mo Yu, collected the items on the table, and, before the crowd could process what had happened, he hobbled away.

The three masked men at the betting station were beaming. They exchanged glances and vanished from sight. With their pockets full, there was no reason for them to stick around and face the wrath of the disgruntled crowd.

Upon returning to his cottage, Nangong Fan found two large vats brimming with Spirit-infused water in the courtyard.

A touch of warmth flickered in Nangong Fan's otherwise dull eyes. He stepped forward, lifted the ladle, and drew some of the Spirit Water to his lips. Gulping down two generous mouthfuls, he quenched the thirst of his body, weary from a night of rigorous cultivation.

Without pausing to rest, he shut the wooden gate of the courtyard and resumed practicing the Bear Fist, a technique he had perfected long ago.

Time flies in the realm of cultivation, and twenty days passed in the blink of an eye.

During that time, Nangong Fan stayed within the confines of his home, and the two vats of Spirit Water gradually depleted. Aside from Hei Yushang, who brought him meals daily and seemed to have time to spare, no one else paid him any mind.

Some individuals with ties to the Hei family were keen on visiting, yet they were all turned away at the door.

Others harbored hidden agendas, eager to probe whether Nangong Fan had regained his ability to cultivate, but they too found no opportunity to confirm their suspicions.

Nangong Fan managed with a mere two hours of sleep each night, devoting the remainder of his time to meals, which he and his nephew consumed in silent haste. They spent their days practicing the Bear Fist with tireless repetition.

The meat they ate now was tougher and more satisfying than before, and with each meal, a comforting warmth would rise within his dantian, clearly indicating the high quality of the demon beast flesh.

Over the past twenty days, Nangong Fan's once slender frame had bulked up considerably. His every movement exuded an explosive power that was beyond words, reminiscent of a robust bear.

Now, it was time for lunch once more.

Nangong Fan gazed at the slender silhouette before him, his eyes brimming with warmth, "Aunt, you've been so worried these past days. Zer is alright now."

"Silly boy, there's no need for such formality with me," Hei Yushang said as she stroked Nangong Fan's cropped hair. "Only ten days remain until the Dragonstone Mystic Realm opens. Sigh."

Her sigh carried a mix of reluctance and affection.

"It's alright," Nangong Fan said, his eyes narrowing with a boundless fighting spirit. He set down his bowl and chopsticks with precision, effortlessly assimilating the heat within his dantian and focusing on the spiritual energy that was on the verge of coalescing. His fighting spirit intensified.

Rising to his feet, Nangong Fan's now more muscular body was draped in a black robe. "Aunt, I'm going to take a quick shower and then walk around for a bit."

"Alright, but don't be so reckless with your training. You can't just practice martial arts like that; it's harmful to your body. You need to balance work and rest, understand?" Hei Yushang said as she stood up gracefully and began to clear the empty dishes.

With a goofy grin, Nangong Fan watched her carry away the dishes before heading back inside the house.

In the center of the room was a bathtub, already filled by the servants. Nangong Fan disrobed and stepped in, sitting cross-legged as the warm water enveloped him up to his neck, offering an immensely soothing sensation.

"That feeling is so familiar." Nangong Fan sat cross-legged in the bathtub, murmuring to himself. His eyes conveyed a mix of bewilderment and warmth.