CHAPTER 122: 122- SCAR-LIP [2] (BONUS)

Fang Bong exhaled, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles.

His sleeves were shredded, revealing bruises and gashes, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

He looked back once at Elder Ruì.

"Fang Bong, stand down for now," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

He stepped back, his hands clenched.

Scar-Lip wiped a trickle of blood from his cracked lip, smirking. "So, you’re the one in charge, huh? Thought you’d keep hiding behind brats and come out only when I’m exhausted."

Fang Ruì’s robes rustled as she stepped forward, silent and precise.

She drew her sword, not flashy, just a slender curve of spiritual metal that shimmered faintly with condensed light.

Scar-Lip cracked his neck.

His aura flared, the early stages of Qi Transformation, raw and unrefined, but still dangerous.

Spiritual pressure thickened the air, sending dust and debris into swirls.

"You know," he said, sliding into a low stance, "if you hand over your cargo, maybe I’ll just break your arms instead of your neck. And of course, give me that boy as compensation."

Fang Ruì didn’t reply. She closed her eyes for a breath.

Then she opened them, focused, calm, and cold.

The Tyrant Light Sword ignited.

A beam of sharp radiance snapped into place along the blade’s edge, humming with dangerous restraint.

"First Form—Divine Line."

She thrust forward.

A streak of light shot from the tip of her sword, thin as thread, sharp as judgment.

It pierced through the air in a straight line, whistling toward Scar-Lip with lethal precision.

Scar-Lip’s eyes widened.

He barely tilted his head aside as the light grazed his cheek, slicing a shallow but clean cut from jaw to ear.

"Cheeky bitch! As expected of the Fang family!" he roared.

He lunged with a spinning crescent axe, spiritual force swirling around the weapon in a wave of violence.

Ruì’s hand flashed into a different seal.

A golden shimmer erupted around her.

"Golden Shell Armor—First Form: Cowardice."

A radiant shell of golden light enveloped her body, opaque and gleaming like molten coin.

The axe slammed into it with a resounding clang, sparks flying as the shield held firm.

She gritted her teeth.

The energy drain was immense.

Holding this form for long was suicide.

She pushed forward, dispelling the shield the moment his axe rebounded.

Her sword flashed again.

"Tyrant Light Sword—Second Form: Star Form."

Two beams of light shot outward and spiraled around her sword, meeting above its tip like twin arcs forming a half-star.

She slashed downward.

The paired lines dove in an intersecting arc, striking Scar-Lip’s chest in a brilliant explosion of light and sound.

His spiritual armor cracked, but didn’t break.

The bandit leader roared and retaliated.

His axe became a blur, wind and pressure exploding outward.

Fang Ruì stepped back, barely evading.

The Cowardice shield flickered on again, briefly catching one more blow before flickering dangerously.

Her breathing grew heavier.

She was fast, clean, and deadly.

He was wild, powerful, and relentless.

Blow for blow. Technique for brute strength.

They fought to a standstill.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours.

The ground around them bore gashes and scorches, the trees behind were splintered, rocks melted where her beams had struck.

Finally, both stepped back.

Ruì’s hair was disheveled, the hem of her sleeve torn and smoldering.

Her shield had long since collapsed.

Scar-Lip bled from a cut over his brow and clutched his side, breath ragged.

"Not bad... for a pampered noble of the Fang Clan," he spat.

Ruì didn’t answer. She raised her blade again, ready.

But before either could resume, a cold shadow fell over them both.

Scar-Lip blinked and then froze.

A girl stepped forward. Her eyes, flat as still water, locked onto him.

She hadn’t moved once during the entire battle, but now her killing intent was unmistakable.

She drew her sword.

"You two are taking too much time," she said.

And the air turned sharp.

Fang Lian’s blade gleamed like moonlight, eerily calm in the midst of the chaos.

She didn’t move an inch yet the sheer pressure that emanated from her presence made even the low-ranked bandits behind Scar-Lip stagger back instinctively.

She turned to Fang Ruì, her voice polite, almost gentle.

"I don’t mean to disrespect you, Elder Fang Ruì. But if the Clan Head, my master were to hear that you engaged in a fair, one-on-one battle with a mere bandit..."

Her words paused, just long enough to twist the knife with poise.

"He would surely be disappointed."

Fang Ruì’s jaw tightened.

Her sword hand flexed, then relaxed. A dozen justifications swirled in her chest.

He was a Qi Transformation cultivator. It was the correct decision. Better I face him alone than risk the juniors.

She opened her mouth—

But then closed it again.

The words wouldn’t come.

Because... she knew Fang Yuan wouldn’t be pleased.

Not because she fought hard but because she fought alone.

But because she had fought a bandit on a one on one when she could have asked for the help of those she had brought along.

A bitter taste rose in her throat.

Fang Lian gave her a slow, respectful smile, one that, despite the courtesy felt edged with thorns.

Then she pointed her sword at Scar-Lip.

"Elder Fang Ruì," she said clearly, for all the wounded and watching to hear,

"My master adores your hard work. But he has asked me to remind you—"

"To rely on others more."

She took a step forward.

"That’s also the the task my master gave me, if you’re still curious."

"So..." Her voice dropped to a deadly softness.

"Will you join hands with me and take down this fiend?"

Scar-Lip’s face contorted with rage.

"YOU DARE!?" he roared, spiritual pressure flaring in a storm of raw Qi. "A brat and a half-dead matron think they can—"

He didn’t finish.

Fang Ruì stepped beside Lian, raising her sword again.

Her eyes no longer burned with isolated resolve, they shimmered with clarity and cooperation.

She inhaled once and said softly, "Let’s do it."

(4/9 BONUS)