Wait, How Did My Digital Girlfriend Become a Sword Immortal? Chapter 881: Unmoved

Tang Er leaped to his feet with a kip-up, his gaze locked onto the swordsman clad in white, his brow knit in a deep frown.

This was the arena for the World Elite Battle Master Tournament, and any unauthorized interference was a grave infraction of the rules.

Even if this white-robed swordsman possessed immense power, could he possibly rival the strength of the Battle Soul Hall Master?

A foul was a foul, and regardless of Li Qingran's affiliation with the Battle Soul Hall, no one would dare to voice any objection.

"Referee!" Tang Er called out, looking toward the official, but the anticipated judgment was delayed, deepening his scowl. "What are you waiting for? Outsiders are forbidden from interfering during a match! He has already disrupted the proceedings! Does this not mean the Battle Soul team forfeits?"

The referee, at this precise moment, was utterly bewildered.

As a Battle Saint himself, his perception was undoubtedly far superior to Tang Er's.

It was precisely because the situation remained unclear that he hesitated to render a swift verdict.

Though the white-clothed swordsman stood there, holding Li Qingran, he exuded no semblance of being 'alive'.

He was not a person.

He appeared to be... a Battle Soul!

As improbable as it seemed, his senses confirmed this was the reality. The swordsman in white was Li Qingran's Battle Soul, separate from her existing sword, a completely new Battle Soul!

However, despite his vast experience, he had never encountered a situation where a Battle Soul could manifest in a human form.

Therefore, even with the certainty that the white-clothed swordsman was a Battle Soul, his mind drew a blank, unable to determine the continuation of the match.

Tang Er's words jolted him back to the present, and he immediately began a hurried consultation with the other referees.

"Hiss—! Could it be Twin Battle Souls? Unbelievable! And a Battle Soul that takes human form! Unprecedented, unheard of!"

"This Li Qingran... she's truly exceptional! It's no wonder she leads the Battle Soul First Team!"

"It's virtually confirmed that it's a Battle Soul. Li Qingran likely never intended to reveal this Battle Soul, not even through a World Ring. This was a desperate measure, a last resort."

These referees, all experts at the Battle Saint level, naturally wouldn't mistake the white-clothed swordsman for a living being.

After careful verification, the head referee cleared his throat, signaling for quiet to the stirred spectators.

"Order! Li Qingran has committed no foul. This white-clothed swordsman is her Battle Soul. The match will proceed!"

He then cast a glance at Tang Er and stated impassively,

"You may resume your assault. Li Qingran has neither fallen nor been ejected from the arena. Your team has not yet secured a victory."

Tang Er's eyes widened at these words. His gaze darted between the impassive swordsman in white and the referee's face, his expression screaming disbelief.

What in the world?

This swordsman in white is a Battle Soul?!

This is an outright fabrication!

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the white-clothed swordsman, and soon detected something unusual.

The swordsman clad in white possessed no 'living' aura whatsoever.

Concurrently, upon activating his magic eye, he clearly observed that the battle energy emanating from Li Qingran was intrinsically linked to the white-clothed swordsman.

In essence, the white-clothed swordsman's existence was contingent upon Li Qingran's battle energy.

If this wasn't a Battle Soul, then what was it?

Therefore, Li Qingran's situation mirrored his own—both possessed Twin Battle Souls. This white-clothed swordsman Battle Soul lacked a World Ring. While he couldn't fathom how it had just nullified his 'Mother's Embrace - Heavenly Net', it certainly couldn't possess the same might as Li Qingran's Sword Battle Soul.

Tang Er glanced back, seeing his companions lying incapacitated on the ground, each looking at him with gazes full of hope.

He was their final chance.

For himself, and for all of them... he had to prevail.

In that case.

Tang Er drew a deep breath. The eight long spears situated behind him fanned out, his grip tightened on the fire poker, and he assumed an offensive posture.

He still held one final trump card.

A staff technique, deeply ingrained in his memory—the Magic Cloak Staff Technique.

This martial art originated from his father. At the time, when his father imparted the staff-wielding skills, he viewed it merely as a means of livelihood. It wasn't until he matured that he gradually recognized the profound nature of this technique. The seemingly straightforward staff movements were, in fact, designed to build cumulative force.

The initial strike might appear harmless, even comical.

But... what if one delivered ten strikes, a hundred strikes, a thousand strikes?

Even if a formidable mountain obstructed his path, he possessed the unwavering belief that he could shatter it.

However, with his present level of power, he could only muster 91 strikes.

But... was that sufficient?

Even if it was merely 91 strikes, what did it matter?

It was more than enough!

"Hoo..."

Tang Er's vision grew dim.

*Boom—!*

As his foot slammed forcefully into the ground, he launched himself skyward. His form became akin to a taut bow, the obsidian fire poker held in his grasp carving a swift arc through the air.

From the very inception of the assault, the air resonated with the clash of wind and thunder.

"Magic Cloak... First Strike!"

*Whoosh—!*

The shadow of the staff, like a cracking whip, slashed through the atmosphere. It tore the very air asunder, laden with a force equivalent to ten thousand jun, aiming its devastating blow directly at Chen Huaian's head.

This particular strike was devoid of any embellishment, embodying a singular, potent concept—immense weight.

Chen Huaian remained rooted to his spot, not even deigning to lift an eyelid.

He merely extended his left hand with an air of casualness, his five fingers slightly splayed, as if to dismiss an annoying insect.

*Thwack.*

A muted sound resonated.

The fire poker, possessing the sheer power to obliterate the arena, came to a halt with gentle, unconcerned ease within the palm of his hand.

It was utterly, completely still.

It could not even disturb a single strand of Chen Huaian's hair.

"So incredibly solid!"

Tang Er's pupils constricted violently. A peculiar numbness spread through the webbing of his hand, as though his strike had just impacted a colossal city fortification.

Yet, he did not falter or retreat.

This was merely the initial strike.

It was far from reaching the zenith of the Magic Cloak Staff Technique!

Leveraging the momentum from the impact, his body executed a swift hawk flip in mid-air. Engaging his core muscles, the fire poker in his hand swept around once more.

"Drawing power... to launch another strike!"

"Second Strike!"

This subsequent blow was swifter, imbued with greater force.

Chen Huaian remained unmoving, subtly adjusting his palm to intercept it once more.

*Thump!*

"Third Strike!"

"Fourth Strike!"

...

The rhythm of the exchange began to shift.

Initially, the assembled spectators could distinctly discern Tang Er's individual movements, and the percussive impact of each strike landing could be clearly heard.

However, as time progressed, the individual sounds began to meld into a continuous cascade, much like the rapid, staccato explosions of firecrackers, eventually crescendoing into the unceasing, resonating rumble of rolling thunder.

*Rumble rumble rumble—!!!*

Within the confines of the arena, a tempestuous gale raged.

Tang Er's physical form became completely indistinct.

In its stead, a furiously rotating vortex of blackness manifested.

He circled the stationary figure clad in white, ascending and descending with relentless agility, leaving behind a multitude of fleeting afterimages.

The heavens were filled with the specter of his staff, while the ground pulsed with palpable killing intent.

With every point of impact, the surrounding air erupted, releasing visible rings of white shockwaves.

With each borrowed surge of power, the obsidian sheen upon the fire poker incrementally intensified.

Later on, dark, searing flames began to manifest upon the staff itself, appearing to scorch the very fabric of the void.

*Crack, crack...*

The very foundation of the arena beneath Chen Huaian's feet groaned under the immense, sustained pressure.

It could no longer withstand the terrifying, accumulating, and explosively released power.

From Chen Huaian's central position, several fissures radiated outwards in all directions.

Debris scattered, dust clouds billowed, creating the illusion of a localized seismic event.

Yet, he remained unyielding, utterly immobile.

He held Li Qingran with one arm, his embrace seemingly encompassing the entire world.

Let the external world be consumed by tempestuous winds and storms, let the staff shadows descend like a collapsing mountain range or a surging, destructive tsunami, he stood firm and unshakeable.

Only his free left hand continued its ceaseless motion – pointing, deflecting, and parrying in the empty air.

To the onlookers surrounding the spectacle, his movements appeared languid, resembling an elderly gentleman engaging in Tai Chi within a tranquil park.

The untrained eye perceives the spectacle; the discerning eye appreciates the technique.

The officiating Battle Saints, observing with keen insight, perceived the truth: it was not that the swordsman in white exhibited slow movements, but rather that his actions were of such incredible velocity that even afterimages struggled to form. His repeated motions overlapped, creating the deceptive appearance of slow motion.

Each and every strike delivered by Tang Er was intercepted with absolute, unerring precision.

Eighty...

Eighty-five...

Ninety...

Tang Er's eyes were now bloodshot, the corners of his eyes torn, with rivulets of blood tracing paths down his cheeks.

The musculature of his arms was contorted and bulging, veins standing out in stark relief, his skin flushed to a terrifying, dusky-red hue due to the immense blood congestion.

This represented the absolute limit.

The boundary of what a mortal physique could endure.

All his accumulated strength, his profound rage, and his deep-seated unwillingness converged, reaching their absolute zenith at this precise moment.

He ascended dramatically into the air, his body momentarily suspended aloft.

Within the ethereal space behind him, all the dispersed staff shadows instantly coalesced, merging above his head to form the spectral image of an immense pillar, a hundred zhang in length, as black as the deepest ink.

"AHHHHHHH—!!!"

Tang Er unleashed a roar of profound anguish.

"NINETY-FIRST STRIKE!!"

"BREAK!!! FOR ME!!!"

*BOOM—!!!*

For an ephemeral instant, the very sky seemed to descend into darkness.

That colossal staff phantom, imbued with the cataclysmic power to shatter mountains,

accompanied by a sonic boom that pierced the heavens,

crashed down with immense force directly onto the top of Chen Huaian's head.

The very air seemed to scream as it was compressed beyond its limits.

Tang Er could no longer refrain from unleashing his full power, especially since everyone had signed waivers before entering the combat arena.

If anyone was to be blamed for this escalation, it was Li Qingran for pushing him to this extent.

The entire crowd held its collective breath.

Even the officiating referees donned solemn expressions, bolstering the protective barrier for the third time.

This singular blow had undeniably breached the level of a Soul Ancestor, inching towards a more advanced cultivation realm.

However.

Underneath the phantom of the world-shattering staff,

Chen Huaian finally lifted his gaze.

His face remained serene, his eyes betraying no disturbance, as though he were observing not a guaranteed, ultimate attack, but rather...

a quietly descending leaf.

*THUD————!!!*

A profound, resonating sound, as if emanating from the planet's core, immediately echoed throughout the entirety of the Battle Soul Arena.

For a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to pause.

Billowing dust erupted like a mushroom cloud, engulfing all visibility.

Only the grating, resonant aftershocks continued to buffet the protective barrier.

Every spectator waited.

They awaited the dissipation of the dust, waited for a definitive outcome.

Had the swordsman in white, along with Li Qingran, been pulverized?

Had Tang Er emerged victorious?

Surely, if any of them had been in that position, they would have been utterly unable to endure Tang Er's devastating assault.

Several heartbeats later.

A sudden gust of wind swept through, and the dust began its slow descent.

*Hiss—*

A chorus of sharp inhalations rose and fell in rapid succession from the packed spectator stands.

At the epicenter of the now heavily damaged and fractured arena,

Tang Er remained frozen in the pose of his brutal downward strike, the fire poker in his grasp bent into a startling, unnatural curve.

His entire being trembled violently, blood seeping from every one of his seven orifices.

And at the other extremity of the now-warped fire poker,

the swordsman stood unblemished, still garbed in pure white, not a single speck of dust marring his attire.

He simply stood there, calm and still, two delicate, pale fingers lightly and casually gripping the fire poker that weighed a thousand jun.

It was as if he were holding a... simple chopstick.

And around his feet.

*Rumble!*

Only now did the lagged destructive power finally unleash its full fury.

The entire arena floor, using Chen Huaian's standing position as its boundary, plunged three chi deep as if it were soft tofu struck by a colossal hammer.

Yet, the small patch of ground upon which he stood remained.

Immovable and utterly undisturbed.