King's Awakening-Chapter 756 - : Slaying the Old Beggar

Chapter 756: Chapter 756: Slaying the Old Beggar

The body of the Arm Rakshasa underwent another transformation. His six arms slowly becoming thicker, muscles protruding as if made of steel. A crazy smile appeared on his face, his eyes reflecting boundless ferocity.

In nearly an instant, the Arm Rakshasa lunged at Matias with unthinkable speed, his fists crashing down like lightning upon Matias. Each strike carried the power of destruction, anyone else would have been left with broken bones and torn muscles.

However, Matias did not show any signs of weakness. Despite feeling a tremendous pressure, he stood firm on his ground, resisting the Arm Rakshasa’s attack through tenacity of will and unique martial arts technique.

A yellow glow emitted from under Matias’s feet, his body appeared as impregnable as a mountain peak. He deftly avoided attacks from Arm Rakshasa while counterattacking. Each counterattack hit a vital part of the Rakshasa, but it wasn’t enough to cause fatal damage.

The Arm Rakshasa roared with rage, his punches became even fiercer and faster. His attacks grew more intense as if intending to completely defeat Matias. However, just when he thought victory was within his grasp, Matias suddenly became calm.

Using a mystical and unpredictable stepping technique, he swiftly dodged the Arm Rakshasa’s attacks, moving as if he was one with his body. Simultaneously, he swung the Judge’s Brush in his hand with even more viciousness. Each stab was effortless yet carried a lethal force.

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Matias’s attacks kept the Arm Rakshasa constantly on the defensive. He constantly retreated but couldn’t escape Matias’s encirclement. Again, the body of the Arm Rakshasa transformed, his skin turning as hard as stone, resisting Matias’s attacks.

Nevertheless, facing this change, Matias was still undaunted. Wielding the Judge’s Brush, he left deep wounds on the Arm Rakshasa, causing blood to gush out. Even though the Rakshasa’s body turned as hard as steel, his flesh and blood body couldn’t be ignored.

The fight between the two intensified, their physical strikes creating thunderous clashes. Each collision seemed to tear the air apart, causing the surrounding land to crumble, the whole world seemed engulfed in an apocalyptic scene.

As the fight went on, Matias increasingly sustained injuries with blood flowing from his body. However, his gaze remained resolute. He knew this was a battle he must win; there was no room for retreat.

Finally, Matias launched another fatal blow. The Judge’s Brush in his hand transformed into a lightning bolt, aimed at the heart of the Arm Rakshasa. The Rakshasa felt a sense of impending death drawing closer as he frantically waved his arms trying to intercept Matias’s attack.

However, the Judge’s Brush ultimately pierced the heart of the Arm Rakshasa. The Rakshasa let out a shrill scream, his entire being enveloped in a black light, turning into a black mist, and dissipating in the air.

This round of Illusory Fight ended once again with the defeat of the old beggar.

Subsequently, the figures of White Mitchell and the old beggar reappeared in the ancient temple.

The continuous defeats made the old beggar’s lingering spirit increasingly illusory, like a candle in the wind, ready to extinguish at any time.

But even though his spirit was near dissipating, the old beggar still glared at White Mitchell fiercely. His entire demeanor radiated anger and resentment.

“Boy, you forced me into this!” The old beggar roared, as his spirit directly flared up into flames.

Clearly, the old beggar was preparing to burn his remaining spirit to launch a final desperate strike against White Mitchell.

This battle, either he dies, or White Mitchell does.

At this point, White Mitchell’s countenance also became somber.

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As the old saying goes, a skinny camel is still larger than a horse. Who knows what tricks this old beggar still has up his sleeve?

But with things as they are, he’s left with no other choice but to face the challenge head-on.

White Mitchell tightly grips his longsword, his eyes deep and undaunted as he stares down the old beggar. He understands in his heart that his opponent is giving it his all at this moment, and he absolutely cannot afford to be lax in the slightest.

The old beggar’s aura explodes in an instant. Among the fiercely burning remnants of his soul, his body coordinates fluctuate, creating countless shadows that appear around White Mitchell like ghosts, yet he faces every attack with a well-laid plan, utterly unswayed by his opponent’s tricks.

A bone-chilling breeze brings with it an eerie force emanating from the old beggar’s body, leaving White Mitchell gripped by a chill so deep it nearly freezes his blood. Through gritted teeth, he summons his inner strength to dispel the cold.

The old beggar sneers, attacking White Mitchell with his tattered stick as if it were a lance. White Mitchell, nimble and spry, leaps over the old beggar’s assault, spins swiftly, and thrusts his longsword. A flash of the sword, and the beggar’s stick is split in two.

The old beggar’s face turns pale — he didn’t expect White Mitchell to be so swift and, unable to penetrate the latter’s defense. Yet he isn’t disheartened, instead launching his attacks more incessantly.

White Mitchell dodges each of the old beggar’s attacks coolly, using his sword moves to neutralize the offensive thrusts. His swordsmanship is peerless, each strike reflecting his years of martial world insights, executing attacks soundlessly.

The battlefield changes with every second; every clash of their moves brings with it extraordinary power. White Mitchell gradually discovers that the old beggar’s strength far surpasses his expectations. Not only has he burned what’s left of his soul, but he has also merged the powers of demonic Qi and frost.

White Mitchell has an epiphany — the old beggar’s true identity is a demon master. Such an adversary cannot be taken lightly, or else he risks being devoured.

White Mitchell doesn’t dare to be negligent. He decides to go all out, his entire body radiating formidable momentum, standing indomitable like a war god, unstoppable.

The sword light dances, the clashing blades resound fiercely. The sound of their battle is deafening. Trees around them crumble into dust, and stones scatter in the wind, fierce gusts sweep the area. For a moment, the entire valley is shrouded in the aura of their battle.

The combat between White Mitchell and the old beggar is as breathtaking as a thunderstorm. White Mitchell moves as agile and nimble as a ghost, sometimes graceful like a falcon, sometimes robust like a tiger or leopard. His swordsmanship strikes as swift as lightning, the blade swings like the whirlwind, every move he takes is a fatal hit, embodying an unshakeable war god.

The old beggar is not to be underestimated. Although skinny, he embodies an infinite force. Transforming into the wind, he vanishes and reappears at will, every attack seemingly out of thin air. His punches and kicks strike as fast and fierce as a sudden storm, each carrying terrifyingly potent force.

They interchange moves at a speed that nearly escapes the naked eye. Their figures swiftly traverse the valley, intertwining with afterimages, their dominating aura impossible to withstand. When the sword blade intersects with the fist, they emit a muffled collision sound, the air filled with a bone-chilling momentum.

White Mitchell unleashes his power continuously, a myriad of strange lights flicker in his eyes. He calms himself, and his experience in cultivation starts to come into play. With flexible footwork and swordsmanship that ripple like water, he resolves every strong attack of the old begger. His gaze, sharp like a knife, closely monitors every move of the old begger, not a single action escapes his eyes.

Seeing this, a flash of surprise crosses the old beggar’s eyes. He had thought himself a match for White Mitchell but never expected the latter’s skills to be so excellent. With every bit of his spiritual power gathered, he unleashes his full potential, flurry of punches and kicks as violent as raging waves, trying to ensnare White Mitchell into a helpless position.

White Mitchell feels the pressure from the old beggar, igniting the passion in his heart. His eyes spark with resolve and determination, his movements becoming swifter and sharper. His overflowing fighting spirit surges like a rampant river, engaging his sword continuously towards the old beggar. His sword moves become increasingly exquisite, each and every sword thrust aimed at his opponent’s vitals.

The old beggar, feeling White Mitchell’s growing momentum, has a flicker of ominous determination in his eyes. He refuses to believe that this young man can suppress him. Determined to reveal his true strength.

With one step, he instantly appears before White Mitchell. A surge of formidable palm wind heads straight towards White, creating an overwhelming momentum in an instant. White Mitchell, however, remains calm in the face of danger, steadying his body and waving his sword. He successfully dissolves the old beggar’s palm wind and releases his true power, his eyes flicker with a chilling murderous look.

In an instant, a robust aura overflows from White Mitchell, his sword light piercing through the night like a meteor, and his body flickers uncertainly like a ghost. All around, the air seems to solidify. Their moves become even sharper, their speed, faster.

Their figures twisted and changed throughout the valley, rapidly shifting. The power of their moves grew even stronger, the sounds growing louder and louder, deafening. This fight surpassed ordinary human comprehension, as if two figures from legend were dueling.

Moving as they fought, the two continued to rush deeper into the valley. Their figures disappeared amongst the dense trees, leaving behind only broken trunks. The falling pieces resembled scattered flower petals.

The deeper White Mitchell went, the more his strength intensified. His mind becoming fully immersed, he let his body and soul’s voice guide him. His sword moves became even fiercer, with each attack containing profound demonic mysteries.

The old beggar felt White Mitchell’s increasing strength and his wariness began to grow. Taking a deep breath, his energy rapidly soared to its peak. Suddenly, with a large stride, he lunged at White Mitchell.

The battle between White Mitchell and the old beggar escalated to an extremely intensified state, every move was enough to shake mountains and rivers. It was as if the entire universe was trembling due to their fighting spirits. Their power’s strength, speed, fierce moves, and wild momentum, were beyond human boundaries.

Suddenly, an invisible colossal force spread from their fighting area- the space in the valley began to distort, as if two invisible hands were covering the two. This strength was terrifying and powerful, and their attacks gradually became slow as their bodies gradually lost control and stopped.

White Mitchell and the old beggar were both drawn by this force, seriousness revealed in their eyes. They knew that this was not a power they could resist, this was an absolute battle that didn’t allow any retreat. They were determined to give it their all, regardless of life or death.

White Mitchell shouted, emitting a brilliant glow. Stars converged on his sword blade, as if he held the brilliant Milky Way in his grip. His eyes radiated endless determination. He rushed at the old beggar, slashing down with his blade.

The old beggar moved nimbly, instantly maneuvering past White Mitchell’s attack and counterattacking swiftly. The broken cane in his hand had somehow transformed into a strange-hook shaped weapon, flashing coldly as it clashed with White Mitchell’s sword.

Their moves clashed, filling the air with the sparks and sounds of clashing metal. Every collision released a powerful energy fluctuation, shaking the earth. White Mitchell and the old beggar’s figures intermittently appeared, adroitly navigating through the invisible colossal force, executing each move with utmost precision.

White Mitchell demonstrated the extreme use of his movement technique, fluid like a cloud and flowing like water with his light leaps, like an illusion evading the old beggar’s attacks. Every counterattack was exceedingly fierce, exhausting the old beggar. White Mitchell’s swordsmanship was exceptionally profound, each stroke carried an astounding power as if it could rip the whole valley apart.

However, the old beggar’s cunning and experience allowed him to accurately perceive White Mitchell’s every change. His moves were incredibly strange and inscrutable, always avoiding White Mitchell’s attack at critical moments and counterattacking with unimaginable speed.

White Mitchell sensed the old beggar’s terror. A firm resolve emerged in his heart. No matter how powerful the opponent was, he was determined to fight till the end, to push his swordsmanship to the limit.

White Mitchell launched another vigorous attack, his sword’s light piercing at the old beggar’s vital point. A trace of seriousness flashed in the old beggar’s eyes, but a hint of a smile appeared on his face. With a light leap, he used the force from White Mitchell’s sword to take horse-flight into the valley’s depths.

White Mitchell widened his eyes, wanting to give chase subconsciously, but was bound by the invisible force. Grinding his teeth, he focused all his strength on his blade, slashing at the direction where the old beggar was.

The sword’s light cut through the air, slicing only a leaf. The old beggar had disappeared, and the valley’s atmosphere returned to calm.

Feeling somewhat disheartened, White Mitchell lowered his sword, a hint of loss in his eyes. Although he could feel the old beggar’s presence, White Mitchell couldn’t determine his exact location. This invisible force was like a real hand restraining him, preventing him from pursuing.

Just then, a sudden outcry broke the valley’s silence.

“Superior! Be careful!” An alarm echoed in White Mitchell’s ear.

Startled, White Mitchell immediately became alert. His body sharply twisted, releasing the binds on his body as he leaped several meters backward. Looking up, he saw the old beggar had somehow appeared at his previous location, with the hook in his hand darting straight for White Mitchell’s heart.

A chill welled up in White Mitchell’s heart. Subconsciously, he raised his sword and blocked the Old beggar’s killing blow. The sword light intersected with the hook, eliciting a grating metallic collision sound.

White Mitchell felt an intense impact, his body involuntarily retreating several steps, the rocks under his feet cracking instantly.

The Old beggar was surprised to see that Mitchell could counter his deadly strike. He quickly retracted his hook, his figure flashing quickly like a shadowy ghost, and charged at White Mitchell once more.

Maintaining his vigilance, White swiftly adjusted his posture, gripping his sword hilt with both hands, gathering all his strength. As the Old beggar approached, he launched a counterattack without any hesitation.

Their battle happened in an instant. The sword light and the hook danced rapidly, forming a hazy shadow. White’s movement techniques were agile, and the continuous Sword Qi emanating from his swordtip blocked all of the Old beggar’s escape routes.

The Old beggar’s eyes unveiled a touch of seriousness. Despite his many years of begging, it didn’t mean he was bereft of martial arts. He deftly navigated around the Sword Qi, cleverly evading the deadly blow and counterattacking.

Mitchell’s heart tightened, sensing the ferocious intensity of the Old beggar’s attack. His swordsmanship was exceptional, but the combat skills of his opponent were by no means ordinary. Their combat powers were on par, resulting in a deadlock.

During the battle, Mitchell gradually realized that he was at a slight disadvantage. The Old beggar’s every attack was as elusive as a ghost with hardly any flaws, and his hook was extraordinarily strange, flexible, and varied in nature- sometimes it was ruthless, at other times it was light and agile.

Contemplating deeply, Mitchell observed his opponent’s every movement, looking for weaknesses. Suddenly, a burst of inspiration hit him, and he decided to change his tactics.

He slowed down the frequency of his attacks, attempting to avoid direct confrontations with the Old beggar, and instead tried to dodge his attacks and find a breakthrough.

The Old beggar noticed Mitchell’s change and felt slightly surprised, but he did not let his guard down. He sneered, launching his attacks even more malevolently. His hook was unpredictable, darting around at lightning speed, attempting to find an opportunity to land a deadly blow.

Unmoved, Mitchell carefully dodged the Old beggar’s attacks. Sometimes he leaped over the Old beggar’s hook with a flashing sword in his fingertips; at other times, he sidestepped and traced a light arc with his sword; or he took a step back, using his body’s flexibility to evade the hook.

The Old beggar, seeing this, was enraged but could not find any flaws in Mitchell’s movements. His attacks became increasingly fierce, filling the mountains with a gloomy atmosphere.

Noticing the Old beggar’s steadily revealing power, Mitchell knew he couldn’t delay anymore. Determination flashed in his eyes. He took a deep breath, and all his power burst out in an instant.

Mitchell was as fast as lightning, his sword momentum like a sudden storm. He closely followed the Old beggar’s attacks with increasing sword light, dense as rain, leaving no gaps.

The Old beggar’s brows slightly furrowed, feeling unprecedented pressure. He raised his hook, trying to block Mitchell’s fierce attack, but the sword momentum was unstoppable, seeping through every crack.

Sword light intertwined, Sword Qi shot up into the sky, and the whole valley was shrouded in Mitchell’s sword momentum. Each of his strikes carried an air of resolution, piercing the air and emitting sharp breaking sounds.

The Old beggar gradually couldn’t hold on, feeling the power of the sword momentum. Mitchell suddenly became even more ferocious, with each strike unexpectedly aiming at the Old Beggar’s crucial point. The Old beggar kept retreating, his figure beginning to falter.

Just then, Mitchell suddenly spotted an opportunity. He launched an attack, rushing towards the Old beggar like a beast. In his panic, Mitchell’s sword tip turned around, stabbing towards him like a sharp blade.

Under the shock, the Old Beggar could only use his hook to resist. However, his strength was far less than Mitchell’s, and the hook kept trembling, as if it would be broken at any moment.