Living In Another World With A Farm Chapter 8394: Guidance (1)

"Kill!" A thunderous roar erupted as Fu Ling's massive blade hurtled toward Xiong Baoshan with the speed of a lightning strike. Fu Ling had no patience for delays. He struck without holding back for any slip-up from Xiong Baoshan. The blade's might was immense, immense, and swift.

Folks usually figure that someone as towering as Fu Ling couldn't possibly be quick, since his bulky build would drag down his pace. It's much like the notion that a plump person lacks nimbleness. But Fu Ling's fierce slash proved otherwise, showing the crowd that his raw power didn't come at the cost of slowness.

Right then, Xiong Baoshan's gaze sharpened. He thrust his fist forward, barreling directly at Fu Ling. Yet midway through his rush, his form twisted into a sharp pivot, smooth as a river's bend in mid-flow. At the same moment, he unleashed punches from both hands. Those strikes carried a crushing weight, thanks to their deliberate slowness.

Xiong Baoshan's punches unfolded like a scene in slow motion. Observers sensed immense force packed into his fists, weighing thousands of pounds. Surprisingly sluggish in pace, his blows contrasted sharply with his rapid footwork. This odd mismatch left all witnesses feeling deeply unsettled.

Fu Ling bore the brunt of that unease. He sensed his foe had evaded the assault, thanks to the bizarre evasion skill. Still, panic didn't grip him amid the surprise. He twisted the hefty blade in his grip, making the weighty weapon dance lightly like a swift bird. In one fluid spin, it aimed straight for Xiong Baoshan's incoming fist.

A deafening crash rang out as Fu Ling's blade met Xiong Baoshan's fist head-on. One fighter soared back through the air. The crowd froze in shock upon seeing who it was—not Xiong Baoshan, but Fu Ling himself. The burly, imposing Fu Ling had been hurled away by Xiong Baoshan's strike. What an unexpected twist.

Yet Xiong Baoshan held back from the chase. He glanced toward Fu Ling and let out a scoff. "The tyrannical blood saber is only so-so." After those words, he whipped his fists into motion, lunging once more at Fu Ling. Fu Ling halted his retreat, his face twisting in frustration. With a bellow, he hefted his broad blade and charged back at Xiong Baoshan.

This round, Fu Ling avoided direct clashes with Xiong Baoshan. Though his blade loomed large, his motions stayed nimble. The saber whirled high and low, circling without forcing a brute-force exchange, yet keeping Xiong Baoshan hemmed in. Xiong Baoshan's punches quickened now, hammering out in quick succession. Each seemed primed for a head-on collision with Fu Ling's blade. But since Fu Ling sidestepped those, the pair locked in a tense stalemate.

The spectators stood dumbfounded. No one had foreseen the fight unfolding this way. A seemingly frail figure clashing against a hulking brute, only for the brute to mirror the dodges as if wary of raw power. The scene struck everyone as utterly bizarre and astonishing.

Moments later, they had traded over fifty strikes. Fu Ling's eyes gleamed suddenly, and he heaved his massive saber forward. Xiong Baoshan countered with both fists against the blade. Normally, Fu Ling would pull back right then, shifting tactics after that initial hidden setback. He recognized his power fell short of his rival's, so he shied from direct confrontations. But a recent tip had shifted his approach. Rather than withdraw, he gripped tighter and drove the saber straight into Xiong Baoshan's fist.

Xiong Baoshan's face twisted at Fu Ling's bold move. Too late to adjust, he took the hit. The broad blade struck his fist with a thunderous bang, flinging Xiong Baoshan through the air. A deep gash marred his hand instantly, marking clear injury. Without his Dharma power shielding it, that fist would have been ruined for good.

Fu Ling paused in brief astonishment, then joy flooded his features. He swept the enormous saber high, unleashing a blaze of saber light toward Xiong Baoshan. Xiong Baoshan's complexion had drained of color by now. The prior blow had wounded his core, leaving him vulnerable. Spotting the incoming saber, his look darkened. He mustered his mana and flung his fist to block Fu Ling's mighty blade.

BOOM! The explosion echoed loudly, chased by a pained cry. Xiong Baoshan flew backward again. Fresh damage scarred his left fist, severing a finger clean off. Blood sprayed from his mouth too. Clearly, this hit had gravely hurt him. Faces among the Allied forces soured at the sight. They hadn't anticipated such a sudden reversal. Mere moments ago, the duel hung even; now victory flipped in just two exchanges.

Fu Ling pressed on without pause or pity. In a flash, he surged toward Xiong Baoshan, hoisting his broadsword once more. That descending strike would end Xiong Baoshan for sure—no escape possible. Fu Ling truly sought his opponent's death, as the arena rules allowed for lethal outcomes.

Suddenly, a command cut through: "Stop! Xiong Baoshan has lost this round!" The words weren't shouted, yet they jolted Fu Ling's frame. His blood roiled inside, shock painting his face. He instantly realized an Island Lord expert had spoken.

Fu Ling halted against his will. But then came a chilly huff. "Humph, remember this is the pro-disciples' arena. I suggest you keep clear. First warning—this time. Next, don't fault me for striking you down!" The retort originated from the blood Buddha Temple. It rang softly, but to the sect disciples, it boomed like thunder in their minds. Their souls trembled, and nausea gripped a few.

Fu Ling recognized a sect elder's intervention. Relief and gratitude swelled in him. Such open support from a senior at this juncture was rare indeed. Just as he prepared to resume, another voice called: "Senior brother Fu, return and recover. We'll clash again soon." It was Zhao Hai speaking. Fu Ling blinked in surprise but nodded, soaring back to his lines.

He obeyed Zhao Hai for two reasons. First, as their leader, Zhao Hai's orders demanded compliance. Second, his win over Xiong Baoshan stemmed from Zhao Hai's timely advice. In the duel, Fu Ling had lagged because he feared direct hits from Xiong Baoshan. His saber style favored brute assaults, yet he'd switched to evasive, light strokes against the foe. That shift played to his weaknesses over strengths, naturally putting him on the back foot.

Then Zhao Hai urged him not to fear and to clash head-on. Though baffled by the counsel, Fu Ling followed it. The result stunned him—far better than expected. Engaging Xiong Baoshan directly revealed the man's power wasn't as overwhelming as assumed.

Puzzled as he was, Fu Ling pushed doubts aside and secured the victory swiftly. When Zhao Hai now called him back, he complied without protest. Thus, he wheeled around to rejoin his ranks. He understood this wasn't the moment for questions, so he held his tongue and stood silently amid the group.

Zhao Hai noted Fu Ling's demeanor and inwardly smiled. Good that no queries came—explanations would drag on otherwise. Resolving it later made sense. He'd pushed for the direct fight after spotting Xiong Baoshan's true limits. That opening punch, which hurled Fu Ling and seemed vastly superior, tied to his odd movement art. The technique let him boost force mid-flight by altering trajectory and velocity. It amplified not just speed but collision impact. That extra push made his might appear far beyond Fu Ling's. Later, he feigned brute clashes to sell the illusion of dominance. Truth was, his fist style leaned nimble and evasive. Despite the name Yin Yang mountain river fist, Zhao Hai knew the foe hadn't mastered it fully. At best, he'd grasped the river phase of the mountain river fist. The mountain phase eluded him. River focused on fluid shifts, mountain on sheer force and presence. So while the fist seemed intimidating, its raw power fell short.

Fu Ling's early misread of Xiong Baoshan's display had thrown him off. Had he tested strength from the start, Xiong Baoshan would've crumbled quickly. Playing strengths against weaknesses is standard strategy. Without Zhao Hai's nudge, a loss to the mountain river fist would've marked Fu Ling's own shortfall, not Xiong Baoshan's cunning.

Typically, meddling in such a fray proves tough for bystanders. Even voice transmission to alert Fu Ling would fail. The battlefield's spiritual Qi churned wildly, crippling precise Qi control needed for the technique. It bordered on impossible. Hence, no one attempts it mid-fight. Zhao Hai could, though—his Qi mastery outshone all. That's how he pulled it off.