## Chapter 116: Artifact's Bane
The air in the training yard didn't just grow cold; it tasted of rust and grave dirt. The second artifact in Elder Feng's palm wasn't a blade or a talisman, but a jagged shard of obsidian, pulsing with a sickly violet light that seemed to drink the sunlight from the sky. Shadows lengthened, stretching toward Li Chang'an like grasping fingers.
"You dodged a simple sword," Elder Feng hissed, spittle flying. His earlier composure was gone, replaced by a raw, venomous fury. "Let's see you dodge the Soul-Devouring Shard! It doesn't cut flesh. It severs spirit!"
A wave of psychic pressure slammed into Li Chang'an. It wasn't physical force. It was the feeling of ice water being poured directly into his mind, a whispering cacophony of despair that threatened to unravel his thoughts. The crowd gasped, many clutching their heads and stumbling back. This was beyond martial arts. This was forbidden sorcery.
Li Chang'an's knees buckled for a split second. The dark energy coiled around his consciousness, searching for purchase. Panic, cold and sharp, tried to spike in his chest.
Then, his talent ignited.
[Heaven-Defying Comprehension: Activated.]
The world shifted. The terrifying violet light wasn't just an aura of evil; it became a complex, flowing script. He saw the energy not as a monolithic wave, but as millions of interlocking, corrosive runes—a lattice of entropy designed to decay spiritual energy. He saw its rhythm, its points of generation within the shard, its fragile harmonic frequency. It was like watching the inner workings of a sinister clock, each tick meant to erode a soul.
All of this happened in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
Elder Feng saw Li Chang'an stagger and a cruel smile split his face. "Your body is strong, brat, but your spirit is untrained! Crumble for me!"
He thrust the shard forward. A concentrated beam of devouring light, thin as a needle and infinitely more deadly, lanced toward Li Chang'an's forehead.
Li Chang'an didn't dodge.
He raised his right hand, index finger pointed. He had never formally learned a dispelling technique. He'd seen a minor outer sect disciple practice a basic Energy-Diffusing Palm weeks ago—a clumsy, inefficient motion for dispersing weak hostile qi.
That memory was now the clay in the hands of a god.
His comprehension tore the technique apart, rebuilt it, reforged it with the understanding of the dark artifact's own structure. The simple palm strike became a precise, reverse-resonance pulse. His spiritual energy, guided by his will, didn't push against the dark beam; it vibrated at the exact frequency to unravel it.
He spoke, his voice calm, cutting through the psychic howl. "Mythical Energy Dissipation."
A ripple of pure, silver light, no wider than a coin, blossomed from his fingertip.
It met the violet beam.
There was no explosion. There was a sound like a thousand sheets of parchment being torn apart at once. The devastating Soul-Devouring beam fractured, then dissolved into harmless motes of dark light that evaporated before they hit the ground. The oppressive weight in the air vanished, replaced by a ringing silence.
Elder Feng's triumphant sneer froze, then cracked. "Im… possible." He stared at the shard in his hand. Its violet glow was flickering, dimmed. "That… that was a Soul-Devouring Shard! A treasure from the Nether Abyss! You can't just… unmake it!"
The crowd was dead silent. They had seen artifacts used. They had never seen one negated as if it were a child's cheap fireworks.
Li Chang'an lowered his hand. "Your treasure is flawed. It's all noise, no foundation." He took a step forward. The ground didn't shake, but Elder Feng flinched. "You rely on tools to bully. You've forgotten the fist."
Panic, true and undiluted, flashed in the elder's eyes. His arrogance had been his armor, and Li Chang'an had just shattered it. He stumbled back, raising the dim shard again. "Stay back! I am an elder of the Verdant Cloud Sect!"
"You're a man who's about to fall," Li Chang'an said.
He moved. It wasn't the ghostly, evasive speed he'd used before. This was direct, inevitable, a force of nature closing in. He'd been analyzing Elder Feng's movements, his habits, the subtle shift of his shoulders before he attacked, the way his breath hitched when he channeled energy.
[Soul-Reading Insight: Confirmed.]
Elder Feng swung a desperate, palm-strike filled with his remaining qi, a technique called Mountain-Splitting Blow. It was his signature move, one he'd used to crush the spines of rebellious disciples.
Li Chang'an didn't meet it head-on. He stepped inside the blow, his body flowing like water around the force. His left hand slapped the elder's wrist aside, not with brute strength, but with a precise tap that disrupted the energy flow at its source. Elder Feng's arm went numb.
Before the elder could register the numbness, Li Chang'an's right hand was already there. It wasn't a fancy technique. It was a simple, straight punch—the most basic strike in any martial art.
But it was perfected.
His comprehension had taken a lifetime of mundane brawling and refined it into something absolute. Every muscle fiber, every ounce of kinetic energy, the transfer of weight from heel to hip to shoulder to fist—it was all optimized to a degree that defied mortal limits. The air itself whined as his fist shot forward.
It landed squarely on Elder Feng's sternum.
There was a dull, awful thud, the sound of a great tree being struck by a falling boulder. The elder's expensive robes did nothing to muffle it. All the air left his lungs in a pained, whistling gasp. The arrogant light in his eyes blew out, replaced by pure, uncomprehending shock. He didn't cry out. He couldn't.
He lifted off his feet, moving backward in a slow, almost graceful arc. The Soul-Devouring Shard flew from his limp fingers, clattering against the stones, inert.
Time seemed to stretch. The entire assembly of outer and inner sect disciples, the stewards, the other elders watching from the pavilions—all watched as Elder Feng, a pillar of their world, sailed through the air.
He crashed into the stone base of a training dummy not with a slam, but with a heavy, crumpling finality. He slid down to sit in the dirt, robes torn and dusty, one hand clutching his chest as he fought to draw a ragged, wet-sounding breath. A thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.
The silence that followed was thicker than before, heavy with the weight of a shattered hierarchy.
Li Chang'an stood in the center of the yard, his breathing steady. He looked at his own fist, then at the broken elder twenty paces away. The message was clear, and it echoed louder than any roar.
Then, from the highest observation pavilion, a new voice cut through the quiet. It was old, dry as mountain stone, and carried an authority that made the very air stiffen.
"Enough."
All heads, including Li Chang'an's, snapped toward the source. Standing at the railing was a figure they had only seen in portraits and during grand ceremonies: Grand Elder Wu, the sect's master of laws, a man who hadn't intervened in disciple affairs in over a decade.
His eyes, sharp as fractured ice, were locked not on the humiliated Elder Feng, but directly on Li Chang'an.
"Disrupting protocol. Challenging authority. Employing… unregistered techniques." Each word was a hammer blow. He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Li Chang'an. You will come with me. Now."
He didn't ask. He declared.
"The Sect Master himself has demanded your presence."
(⭐ If you love the journey, please support us by collecting this story, adding it to your library, and leaving a rating! Your support keeps the adventure alive!)