Chapter 534: Chapter 534

Without a doubt, the combat artist realm had always reigned at the top wherever appeared, whether one spoke of the Covert Martial Arts world itself or framed it against the entire supernatural world at large.

For instance, the Dark Hunter Organization, which was an imperial supernatural arm that had lasted a millennium, only possessed six combat artist-level experts across all its branches. Of course, the Dark Hunter Organization still hid unknown powerhouses and operated agencies beyond the Hunters' Association.

Moreover, the royal family and the Hongli Council maintained their own exclusive forces. Taken together, they were by no means weak. Yet they still could not outmatch any one of the four great Covert Martial Arts regions—east, west, south, or north. Each of those Hongli Empire regions had roughly fifty combat artists at minimum.

Some dwelled reclusively in the mountains, while others thrived in their prime. Those who had come to the exchange tournament this time were almost all young and vigorous combat artists at their peak.

As Covert Martial Arts Practitioners, combat artists were remarkably balanced. Speed, strength, defense, skill, reflexes, keen perception, lethality, and stamina all sat firmly in the second echelon. Indeed, some who had mastered special Secret Techniques could even push certain indices into the first echelon. They were, without question, balanced warriors.

Cassius had crossed fists with supernatural forces such as the Shadow Hunters of the Hunters' Association before and could plainly feel how lopsided a Shadow Hunter's build was. Typically, one or two attributes were exceptional with some uncanny, potent ability.

Yet every other facet remained weak. Their proud signature talent might reach the first echelon or perhaps even stand tall there but their remaining traits languished in the third or even fourth echelon.

At times, they only surpassed an ordinary person by a hair. They rather resembled a glass cannon. Undeniably, if combat artists and Shadow Hunters were two military classes, combat artists were clearly the more complete, better suited to be a battlefield mainstay. They could spearhead charges, perform flanking decapitations, or stand guard beside the commanding general. Shadow Hunters, by contrast, had far narrower uses, akin to long-range mages who died the instant an enemy closed in.

Had Cassius commanded a hundred combat artists at this moment, he could have steamrolled every obstacle ahead him like crushing rotten wood!

Of course that was an ideal scenario—one in which every Covert Martial Arts world supported and trusted him. Only then could a hundred-strong band assemble behind Cassius.

Put plainly, that was impossible. He had just thrashed Whale King Arlington, effectively slapping the United States of Yana hard across the face. Combat artists from that camp would never cooperate with him, Gate Organization or not.

The remaining Blue Star Empire and the league of small nations might still field a few interested combat artists. However, their number would be small; they were few to begin with, and being foreigners to the Hongli Empire bore natural gaps of distrust.

All told, if more than five chose to venture to the Eternal Archipelago with Cassius, that would already be good. The main bulk still lay with the Hongli Empire. The Eastern Covert Martial Arts community alone had nearly forty combat artists.

Cassius had stepped forth when the Hongli Empire's martial world had hit rock bottom, and become a veritable savior in the eyes of many juniors. Elders and sect heads alike owed him a favor, for he had restored Hongli's honor and turned the tide.

Besides, Cassius was the first fist technique master to arise in twenty years, which was an event of weighty significance. He now carried ample prestige; given a fitting reason and visible benefit, many of the empire's combat artists would surely raise both hands in favor.

Some would be drawn by Cassius's might, others by profit, and still others would tag along hoping to glean easy spoils. After all, what task could not be achieved by a large contingent of combat artists?

Tagging along for the ride would be free gain for them. It was easy to imagine that such opportunists would be plentiful. Perhaps it would be a third of the contingent, or even half.

But that mattered little; Cassius required only a headcount to roll forward. He would not re-tell this journey to the Eternal Archipelago's ancient ruin as the tale of two or three friends on a risky jaunt.

Enduring hardships and hazards for treasure? No, no—Cassius wanted to see an unstoppable full force advancing, leaving nothing green behind!

It was like tomb-raiding. A tiny band of grave robbers would creep about in fear. They feared traps within and the law outside. But an archaeological team fenced off the site, barring onlookers. With government backing, patrolling guards, and university professionals sent in, they would construct a large base, making excavation and preservation run like clockwork. Everything would proceed openly with broad support.

The analogy might be imperfect, yet that was the mindset Cassius desired. That unhurried confidence, that certainty, and that heavy reservoir of strength. Thus, the usually taciturn man spent an uncommon stretch lecturing the martial world's crowd. He revealed what could be shared, even including some things about the Dark Hunter Organization.

Naturally most of it concerned the Gate Organization. During these talks, the martial communities screened themselves repeatedly. The United States of Yana first declared it would not cooperate nor even listen.

Their morale in tatters, they withdrew to East Sea City quarters, waited on news about Arlington, and planned to sail home in days. The small-nation alliance and the Blue Star Empire showed little more interest; perhaps five or six intended to tag along.

So Cassius, a party from the Hongli Empire martial world, and that handful from other lands headed to East Sea City. Their venue was the roomy, bright Kafka Hall. They conversed at length, deliberating for quite a while. Mid-meeting, Cassius tossed out an item that drew every gaze.

Within that ancient ruin, he said, there existed a fist technique armory. It apparently housed ancient formidable secrets from the heritage of a bygone civilization. He had spied that special zone through the Book of the Devil's map.

The so-called armory held little use or allure to Cassius. He had already reached the extreme combat artist realm, and was aiming for Holy Fist. One might even call him a fist technique grandmaster. Ordinary Covert Martial Arts served him only as a stone to polish jade, glimpses to broaden his view. The World of Calamity's Howling Canyon could provide that in spades, along with sparring partners.

Besides, the deeper Covert Martial Arts grew, the more they demanded refinement. The Southern Dipper Covert Martial Inheritance and the Golem Covert Martial Arts already filled Cassius's practice time. An armory was hardly a drop in the bucket compared with the Southern Dipper Waterbird Fist.

Yet what was chicken feet to his eyes became a sumptuous feast to the Hongli martial world. This was an ancient fist technique armory! How many Covert Martial Arts and secrets might lie inside? All of them could be converted into a sect's foundation!

Heritage was forever what a Covert Martial Arts Practitioner prized most. A fine heritage made crowds squeeze forward and young talents flock. It could even raise a sect's ceiling. A sect that owned only a third-rate Covert Martial Art might see one combat artist sect head emerge in generations. Such a head would only be bottom tier among combat artists.

But if that third-rate master secured an ancient second-rate art from the armory plus a few more potent secrets? Then the sect would soar in the next twenty years.

The overall quality and strength of disciples would rise, and the sect would flourish. Every generation might yield a stable combat artist, one not even counted weak among peers. As the sect grew stronger it would draw more resources, broader influence, and fresh geniuses. Thus it would generate a lovely upward spiral!

The once third-rate sect master who started it could then smile in his twilight years. Barring mishap, the sect would keep thriving beyond his death. In this world, profit always stirred hearts most deeply. Be it Cassius's aura after toppling Arlington, his status as the dual-nation number one, or his revelations against Gate Organization, those were mere scallions atop the main course.

The true magnet was undeniably that ancient fist technique armory. Kafka Hall's spacious lobby was now unbelievably crowded. The din, the flying spittle, the flailing limbs, the shuffling anxious feet made it feel like a marketplace. Yet everyone present was a combat artist—a sect master or elder.

Faces flushed, brimming with excitement. In one corner, three or four small-sect masters from a single county huddled together. They panted heavily, eyes rimmed red, looking almost frantic. This was especially true of the white-haired one-armed elder by the window. His Qi could no longer be contained as it gushed out the window like a roaring flame.

The white-haired elder was named Qiao, from the third-rate Arm-Blade Sect. As its name implied, Arm-Blade Sect members turned both hands into steel knives, boasting fierce cutting power. But thanks to inherent flaws, the art bore severe side effects. Beyond a point, the user’s muscles and bones became terribly fragile and painful.

That was how Elder Qiao had lost his left hand; even his right was swathed in white bands to hold its shape. Everything within it was almost shattered, and he lasted only a short while in combat.

He had brought his prized grandson to this exchange tournament. Both had taken the stage; the grandson performed admirably with great fighting talent. Qiao himself fared poorly, losing to the first combat artist opponent. He was old and the art's side effects had fully manifested; he could not endure the high impact of a battle.

After the tournament Qiao felt both glad and anxious. He was glad because his grandson's gift proved real. He only wielded a third-rate art yet he could duel core disciples of second-rate sects. Clearly both his cultivation and talent were outstanding.

But that also worried Qiao immensely. His grandson had already committed to Arm-Blade and was nearing mastery. The boy might one day repeat Qiao's fate, ending up one-armed or worse.

At the tournament, Qiao had even hesitated. He pondered whether to let the lad switch sects rather than waste such talent on a harmful art. However, changing one’s lineage was extremely hard, since transference rules were strict. Other sects normally would not accept a youth already trained, much less one with a combat artist grandfather.

Qiao felt helpless and ashamed. There was no way out. His martial attainment could not birth an entirely new art. At best, he might lessen Arm-Blade's side effects, which was akin to a cup of water on a blazing cart. There was no real solution.

At times, Qiao watched core disciples of great sects strut around the ring with powerful Covert Martial Arts and rich Secret Techniques. Then he glanced at his silent grandson. How guilty, how unwilling he felt. Arm-Blade's ceiling was visibly low.

But now, inside Kafka Hall, the martial world's new number one who had toppled Arlington unveiled startling news. There was an ancient ruin in the southeastern sea containing a fist technique armory!

That set Qiao's blood boiling on the spot. He supported Cassius without hesitation, determined to follow. Qiao would win a formidable Covert Martial Art for his sect and his gifted grandson! If possible, he'd even take a few extra Secret Techniques. The more the better!

In the end, he was nothing but a bag of old bones. The worst that could happen was death, and he only had a few good years left. It was better to seize this chance and trade his battered body for his sect's prosperity! ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI★Fire.net

Splendid indeed! Qiao practically cheered inside.

At that moment, almost every small-sect master in the hall thought the same. They had nothing, hence they longed immeasurably. Thus, when Cassius candidly explained that foes and hazards might block their southeastern voyage, Kafka Hall erupted.

Qi billowed like steam from every Hongli combat artist. Their hair grew disheveled; their eyes became bloodshot; and their teeth were bared in fury.

"If anyone blocks us, kill! Kill, kill, kill!"

"Whoever bars us from the fist technique armory is our enemy! And for enemies? Only slaughter and destruction!"

"Tear them! Trample them! Grind them to dust!"

In a corner, Elder Qiao roared, his lone sturdy arm swinging with force. His aged face looked half-mad. Clouded eyes shone with a terrifying resolve.

"Who dares stand before us has but one fate—death!!!"