The Corruption Dragon God: Lust System Chapter 691 - Cowardly strategy

"Long Qingyi, do not compel us to resort to cruelty! This is your final warning: withdraw from this competition and yield!"

The most formidable among the contenders issued this arrogant decree, his blade pointed directly at the comely young dragon.

He stood at the apex of the Celestial Origin Realm and wielded the crimson serpent bloodline of the Origin Grade, cementing his status as one of the competition's undeniable frontrunners.

"You certainly possess a great deal of confidence in yourself and your allies." Qingyi offered a dismissive shake of his head, the Heaven-Defying Thunder Sword emerging from its sheath with a sharp metallic hiss.

He refrained from summoning any of his other elements, deeming these adversaries unworthy of such an effort.

The instant he completed the initial sweep of the Heaven-Defying Thunder Sword, an intense, thundering luminescence enveloped the blade.

Tiny filaments of lightning writhed along its entire length, crackling through the air with azure sparks that caused the hair of those nearby to stand on end. Qingyi made no move to engage in battle, nor did he adopt any defensive posture. On the contrary.

He laced his arms behind his back, maintaining the Heaven-Defying Thunder Sword in a casual, relaxed, yet artful stance.

"You insolent wretch! Do you truly believe we are merely playing around?" A thunderous roar reverberated through the arena, immediately followed by another, laced with even greater fury.

"Attack him all at once! Let's make this pretty boy regret ever setting foot in this place!"

The moment that voice ceased, more than a hundred potent killing intents descended upon Qingyi.

Yet, he did not yield a single step.

His gaze was filled with amusement. His countenance remained utterly serene.

In the subsequent instant, as blades and fists converged upon him like a metallic torrent, precisely four hundred and ninety-nine ethereal swords materialized around the young dragon, conjured by the Tempest Monarch's Sword Art.

One blade for each combatant, each directly governed by Qingyi's mind, which had already activated the Dragon Mind, suffusing his eyes and intellect with the Qi of his bloodline.

His cognitive speed was so astonishing that even the most sophisticated computers on Earth would have been rendered obsolete.

At that moment, observing the nearly five hundred swords emerge and descend towards Qingyi's opponents, even Rouxi, whose brow had furrowed at the other disciples' underhanded tactic, was utterly astonished.

How could those spectral blades contain such immense power from the Origin? How could Qingyi command so many of them with such apparent ease?

Above all, why had he selected this particular approach?

Had he opted for a conventional fighting style, he would have faced at most five or six adversaries simultaneously, as it was physically impossible for all five hundred to strike him at once.

However, by adopting this method, he found himself, in a manner of speaking, engaged in five hundred separate duels concurrently.

Nevertheless, he betrayed no hint of apprehension.

His eyes emanated murderous intent, yet retained an air of calm.

Even when one of his blades had the opportunity to deliver a lethal strike, he restrained himself. He inflicted only superficial wounds upon his opponents, propelling them out of the arena.

He preserved a measure of respect for those who challenged him, even as they united in a dishonorable strategy to overcome him through sheer numerical superiority.

Ultimately, the arena underwent a complete metamorphosis.

Four hundred and ninety-nine spectral swords engaged in ceaseless combat, carving beautiful, thunderous trails through the air, each imbued with a formidable draconic aura that tinged the arena's sky with violet hues.

The perpetual clang of steel against steel filled the expanse, each impact punctuated by the sharper crackle of lightning arcing between the blades.

Qingyi remained utterly immobile.

With every opponent vanquished, the corresponding blade dissipated, maintaining a one-on-one engagement for each remaining participant.

Gradually, the numbers began to diminish. Some cried out in desperation, urging their comrades to hold on until Qingyi's Qi reserves were depleted, a prospect that never materialized.

He was drawing upon Qi while discreetly channeling mana, his reserves now virtually inexhaustible.

Soon, the remaining combatants dwindled to three hundred. Then two hundred. One hundred. Fifty.

Qingyi stood unmoving, his violet eyes fixed upon the countless engagements erupting around him like the flashes of a tempest.

Before long, only a solitary figure remained standing – the most powerful among them, the architect of this entire scheme.

His blade sliced through the air towards Qingyi, a serpent of flames trailing in its wake as he unleashed prodigious power, the heat radiating around him like a hellish aura that distorted the very atmosphere.

But it was all for naught.

The final ethereal blade met his chest, meticulously avoiding vital organs, causing him to freeze suspended in mid-air.

The blade halted mere inches from Qingyi's countenance, yet the young dragon remained utterly still, unmoving even as the formidable might of the strike impacted him directly.

The knees of the gifted youngster buckled, and he tumbled to the earth with a muffled thud. The sword escaped his grasp, its metallic clatter echoing against the stone.

"Is that the extent of your abilities?" Qingyi gazed down at him, his expression one of utter disdain. "If so, I must confess my disappointment."

"It cannot be..." the young man stammered, his voice quivering. Then, with a piercing cry, he surged upwards. "It's impossible for your Qi reserves to be this immense!"

His mind latched onto a single explanation: demons.

He became convinced Qingyi was employing some vile demonic art, some form of malevolent sorcery!

How else could one possess such colossal Qi reserves? How else could one wield such overwhelming power?

In the young man's perception, no other conclusion was feasible.

"Pavilion Mistress, I cannot comprehend how he commands such vast Qi reserves and wields such a potent technique! I implore you, in the name of your devoted disciple, administer justice!"

"Condemn that fiend and grant us the opportunity to display our might anew!"

Qingyi's features contorted in surprise at these pronouncements.

Had his forceful display rendered the opponent mentally unsound?

He cast a glance towards Rouxi, who wore a look of bewilderment.

Finally, she collected her thoughts and ascended from her seat with fluid grace. The motion caused the abundant weight of her bosom to sway with a languid, heavy cadence, the ample curves settling with a gentle quiver.

She clasped her arms beneath them, an action that further elevated the considerable flesh.

"You wish to demonstrate your power again?" she mused, her voice accompanied by a soft hum.

"That opportunity will not arise, nor is it required. All of you who lie prone have already demonstrated your unworthiness to be called my disciples, let alone to stand as equals with the young man before you."

These words ignited a furious roar of protest from the young man, who, in his agitation, seemed to forget his address. "B-but why?" he pleaded.

"What do you surmise?"