Martial Arts Secret Realm: Only I Can Know the Plot?

Chapter 129 Continuous

Shen Wuxiu's gun did not stop.

Sun Fan dodged the first shot by sidestepping, the tip of the spear grazing his clothes with a whooshing sound. The second shot followed immediately, not a thrust, but a sweeping motion, the shaft swinging horizontally like a black python whipping its tail.

Sun Fan raised his sword to parry, and the sword and spear clashed, sparks flying. The force from the spear was so great that his hand went numb instantly, and he was forced back three steps.

Shen Wuxiu gave him no chance to catch his breath. The third, fourth, and fifth shots came like a torrential downpour, each one faster and heavier than the last.

Under the lamplight, the tip of the spear transformed into countless silvery-white streaks, weaving a dense, impenetrable net that enveloped Sun Fan.

This is the essence of the Dragon Roar Spear – its continuous power.

Give your opponent no chance to breathe, no time to build up momentum, rely on one breath, and crush them in one go.

In the stands, Zhang Guangcheng frowned. He could see that Shen Wuxiu's fighting style was extremely clever.

He had watched Sun Fan's first two matches and knew that Sun Fan's sword needed to be "accumulated"—the longer it was accumulated, the heavier the sword became.

Therefore, he didn't give Sun Fan time to build up his power. Every shot forced Sun Fan to block, dodge, and retreat, keeping his sword in a passive defensive state at all times, without any chance to gather strength.

This is the solution he offered, and it's also why many people, despite seeing the extraordinary power of Sun Fan's swordsmanship, still don't take him seriously enough.

They each have their own solutions in mind.

"Shen Wuxiu's mind is faster than his gun." Feng Congyun leaned back in his chair, his wine jug empty, but he didn't refill it. He just stared at the arena. "He knows that Sun Fan's weakness isn't in his swordsmanship, but in his internal energy. An Opening Meridian Realm cultivator's internal energy reserves can't last long. As long as he keeps pressing him down until Sun Fan's internal energy is exhausted, he'll naturally win."

Grandma Zhou shook her head: "This child's fighting style is too hasty. He goes all out from the start, without holding back. What if Sun Fan holds on—"

"He can't hold on," Feng Congyun interrupted her, his voice very soft, as if he were speaking to himself, "unless..."

He didn't continue.

On the stage, Sun Fan was retreating. Not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice.

Shen Wuxiu's spear was too fast, so fast that every time his sword parried, he could only deflect the force of the spear to the side, then use the force to retreat and create distance.

But Shen Wuxiu didn't give him any space. Every time he retreated a step, Shen Wuxiu would advance a step, and the momentum of his spear would increase instead of decrease, surging over him wave after wave like a tide.

Thirty shots. Fifty shots. Seventy shots. Sun Fan's breathing became rapid, and blood seeped from the web of his right hand gripping the sword. It wasn't an old wound reopening, but a new one aggravated by the impact of the spear shaft. His internal energy was being rapidly depleted; most of the heavy mass of internal energy in his dantian had been released, and the warm current in his chest was beginning to thin.

If this continues, he won't last a hundred shots.

But Sun Fan's face was expressionless. There was no tension, no fear, not even fatigue. His eyes were bright, the crimson glint in them barely visible under the light, like a fire suppressed beneath ice, ready to burst forth at any moment.

When Shen Wuxiu's ninety-eighth spear thrust came, Sun Fan did something no one expected—he didn't retreat, he took a step forward.

step.

This step caused Shen Wuxiu's spear thrust to pause slightly.

This step was achieved by Sun Fan at the cost of his left shoulder.

When Shen Wuxiu's ninety-eighth spear thrust came, he didn't dodge to the side or raise his sword to block as he had done before. He met the spear tip head-on, crashing into it. The spear tip pierced his left shoulder, penetrating the muscle and lodging between his shoulder blade and collarbone, making a dull thud.

Blood splattered.

Shen Wuxiu's pupils constricted sharply; he hadn't expected Sun Fan to do this. He hadn't intended to hit with that shot; he only wanted to force Sun Fan to retreat further and wear him down. But Sun Fan didn't retreat; instead, he moved forward and used his body to block his spear.

The gun was stuck. Not in the bone, but in Sun Fan's muscle.

Sun Fan's left shoulder muscles contracted sharply the moment the spear tip pierced through, like an iron clamp gripping the shaft tightly.

This was an internal force that Feng Congyun taught him—it could not only be released outwards, but also contained inwards. He could concentrate his internal force on injured muscles, causing them to harden instantly and lock onto the enemy's weapon.

Shen Wuxiu tried to draw his spear, but found he couldn't. He tried to spin it, but couldn't. For the first time, his Dragon Roar Spear had been locked by his opponent, and the one who had locked it was just a student at the Opening Meridian Realm.

He hardened his heart, gathered his energy in his hand, and prepared to have a good struggle with Sun Fan. He wanted to see if Sun Fan could pull out the gun.

But then Sun Fan gave a weak smile.

At that moment, alarm bells rang in his mind.

Unfortunately, it was too late. Then he saw Sun Fan's sword.

Sun Fan held his sword in his right hand, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground. He didn't gather his strength, didn't exert any internal energy, and didn't even look at Shen Wuxiu. He just stood there, a gun stuck in his left shoulder, blood gushing out, his face as white as paper, but the bloodlust in his eyes was so intense it seemed about to drip.

But Shen Wuxiu sensed it. That force emanating from Sun Fan was stronger, heavier, and more profound than ever before. It didn't originate from his dantian, but from his wound—from the gunshot wound on his left shoulder, where blood and force gushed out together.

Blood is red, and power is invisible. But Shen Wuxiu felt that he saw the color of that power. Red. Not the red of fresh blood, but a deeper, darker red, more like solidified magma.

Sun Fan drew his sword.

This sword strike was far stronger than the one he used in his battle against Luo Qingshan.

His strength wasn't in speed or power, but in completeness. He had only used half his strength against Luo Qingshan before, because he feared the backlash, the loss of control over his inner demons, and the complete engulfment of Luo Qingshan's eyes by the bloodshot look in them.

But this time, he didn't hold back. Not that he didn't want to, but that he couldn't. Shen Wuxiu was pushing him too hard, so hard that if he didn't give it his all, he would die.

So he gave it his all.

Give it your all, without reservation.

The sword light poured out.

The trajectory of that sword strike was neither an arc nor a straight line; it was a beam of light—a white light bursting forth from Sun Fan's hand, carrying an aura of destruction, illuminating the entire arena, the two thousand shocked faces in the stands, and even the corners where the light couldn't reach.

The moment Shen Wuxiu saw that light, a strange feeling welled up inside him. It wasn't fear, nor despair, but regret.

Regret seeps into your very bones.

He reflected on his nineteen years of life. From a young age, his family instilled in him the idea of ​​"attaching to the strong, learning their essence, and then surpassing them." He believed this was wisdom, maturity, and a more sophisticated way of life than those reckless brutes who only knew how to shout and fight.