Desolate Devouring Art - Chapter 1248 - Dragon-Grasping Hand
Chapter 1248 – Dragon-Grasping Hand
The two inner disciples had not expected to run into He Yingwu instead of Liu Wuxie. Still, they treated the encounter as an opportunity to collect some interest on behalf of Elder Yu Zhengyang.
“Come if you want a fight!” He Yingwu roared. He rose to his feet and unleashed a ferocious Transcendent Realm aura. Months spent at Liu Wuxie’s side had forged a cold, unyielding temperament in him. With no way to avoid the confrontation, he prepared to face it head-on.
“Stop the pointless struggle. You’re no match for us. Kneel and cripple your cultivation, perhaps you’ll suffer less,” said the disciple on the left with a sneer. He did not even bother to look at He Yingwu; to him, a Transcendent Realm expert was nothing more than an ant.
Disciples from the surrounding courtyards poured in, eager to watch the spectacle.
“I won’t kneel even in death!” He Yingwu bellowed. Ten years spent as a slave had not broken his pride; they had only tempered his resolve.
The two inner disciples had not expected such defiance.
“Since you’re courting death, I’ll grant your wish!” snarled the man on the left. His palm lashed out with the force of a pinnacle Origin Conversion Realm cultivator. Power surged like a torrent, shaking the walls of the courtyard.
He Yingwu was not Liu Wuxie. His talent surpassed ordinary men’s, but he could not defeat a ninth-level Origin Conversion Realm cultivator. Before he could even raise his longsword, the blow hurled him across the courtyard, and the gap between them yawned as wide as heaven and earth.
He Yingwu slammed into a wall; the impact cracked his bones. Blood burst from his lips, yet he staggered to his feet. He tightened his grip on the longsword and prepared to charge again despite his injuries.
“This old lad is tough,” one of the newer disciples muttered in admiration. Because of his age, many disciples jokingly called him an “old lad.”
The two assailants exchanged glances, surprised that he still stood after such a blow.
“Kill him,” the disciple on the right ordered flatly, as though pronouncing a trivial matter. His words carried a death warrant. The sect would not care about an outer disciple without backing; at most, it would deliver a token reprimand.
The left disciple nodded and struck again, his palm summoning a howling gale. The strike unleashed lethal force, enough to kill high-level Origin Conversion Realm cultivators, let alone someone of the Transcendent Realm. His palm fanned across the sky like collapsing heavens, forcing the onlookers to scatter in fear.
In the crowd, Xu Guang smirked and made no move to intervene.
He Yingwu braced himself, but the crushing palm bore down like a mountain. No matter how he struggled, he could not budge it.
“Die!” the inner disciple roared. The force behind his palm intensified, shaking the very air around him.
His bones creaked as they threatened to snap. Just as death loomed over He Yingwu, a colossal dragon’s claw materialized in the sky. No one saw who summoned it; they only saw it shatter the massive palm with ease.
“It’s Elder Long!” many disciples gasped. They recognized the Dragon-Grasping Hand, the dragon clan’s famed technique within the Heavenly Dragon Sect.
However, a lone figure advanced, and their murderous aura thickened with every step, the crowd realized the truth.
“It’s Liu Wuxie, not Elder Long!” Shock rippled through the crowd.
Liu Wuxie himself had mastered the Dragon-Grasping Hand.
Xu Guang’s eyes narrowed; he never expected Liu Wuxie to grow so strong in just over a month.
Seeing him, the two inner disciples’ murderous intent deepened.
“Liu Wuxie, you finally dared to show yourself!” hissed the one on the left, his aura surging toward Liu Wuxie like a crushing wave.
“Garbage like you dares come and court death?” Liu Wuxie snapped. He raised his hand and formed another dragon claw in mid-air, tearing the oppressive aura apart like paper.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Many still reeled from the first palm’s destruction, and now they watched Liu Wuxie counter with effortless force.
When they saw Liu Wuxie dispel their suppression so easily, the two inner disciples turned ashen.
“Together!” they shouted. Their combined aura surged, condensing into a towering force that crashed toward Liu Wuxie with momentum rivaling the first level of the Primal Origin Realm.
“I don’t care who you are. Since you dared harm my friend, prepare to die,” Liu Wuxie declared. The sect had overlooked his killing of Deng Huaiguang, and Elder Long had promised that success at the Myriad Race Ceremony would wipe that matter clean.
With that assurance, Liu Wuxie felt no need to hold back; he knew the sect would not punish him before the ceremony.
If he placed well at the Myriad Race Ceremony, he would bring glory to the sect; if he failed, punishment would follow swiftly.
His voice carried a chilling authority, and the air around them grew cold. With words alone, he bent the surrounding laws. Ancient tales said saints could command laws themselves and decree life and death with a single edict. Though that path seemed lost to most, the two inner disciples felt dread claw at their hearts as the shift in laws pressed down on them.
Dragon claws materialized in the sky, one after another. Liu Wuxie had just mastered the Dragon-Grasping Hand and now had the chance to unleash it. These two disciples had delivered themselves as his test.
“What a powerful technique! How did Liu Wuxie cultivate it?” disciples from the Heavenly Martial Institute whispered in shock. They had entered the sect alongside him, yet he had left them far behind. Many still lingered at the pinnacle of the Transcendent Realm, while Liu Wuxie had already reached the eighth level and now displayed mastery of a dragon clan’s technique.
The technique itself was terrifying, but the speed at which he had mastered it frightened them more. What he had accomplished in the Book Collection Pavilion had already shocked everyone; to see him grasp a heaven-defying art in mere days rivaled that earlier miracle.
Three surges of energy collided mid-air with thunderous booms. Shockwaves tore outward, but the dragon’s claws shredded the two disciples’ attacks with irresistible force.
Each strike of the claws carried a dragon’s roar and drew power from heaven and earth. Everyone fell silent as they watched Liu Wuxie marshal such a force.
In the distance, several elders appeared in the skies, alarmed by the battle.
“It’s Liu Wuxie again!” one elder exclaimed, his disbelief plain.
“Wait—how does he know the Dragon-Grasping Hand?!” others cried. None fathomed how his strength had surged so quickly.
Only a few days earlier, he stood at the sixth-level Transcendent Realm. Now he advanced to the eighth and mastered a technique that rivaled mythical arts.
A thunderous crack split the air as hundreds of dragon claws fused into one colossal construct, spanning the sky. The enormous claw descended and seized the disciples’ combined attacks as if they were nothing at all. Liu Wuxie could have ended them then and there, but he held back.
He spared them not out of mercy but to temper his mastery of the Dragon-Grasping Hand.
The two disciples staggered backward, their essences faltered, and terror painted their faces. The giant claw crashed down once more, turning the fight into a one-sided massacre.
None of the elders intervened. Yu Zhengyang’s humiliation still echoed in their minds: since Liu Wuxie had reduced even a Primal Origin elder to a laughingstock, what hope did they have of stopping him?
“Liu Wuxie, fight openly if you have guts! Don’t rely on the Dragon-Grasping Hand!” the two inner disciples roared in desperation.
However, Liu Wuxie had already crushed them in every aspect—essence, laws, and technique.
The two inner disciples, frustrated that they could not resist, demanded an upright match with Liu Wuxie.
“With garbage like you two? What a joke!” Liu Wuxie mocked. Dragon claws descended from the sky and froze their bodies in place. As the claws pressed down, sharp cracks echoed through their bones, breaking them as surely as He Yingwu.
“Liu Wuxie, you can’t kill them!” Xu Guang suddenly shouted as he stepped forward. This was the outer sect of the Heavenly Martial Institute; if Liu Wuxie killed two inner disciples here, Xu Guang’s position as deacon would tie him to the incident.
“I didn’t come for you, but since you delivered yourself—perfect. I’ll deal with you today, too,” Liu Wuxie said. He had already intended to settle things with Xu Guang; the man’s rash show saved him the trouble.
Another dragon claw materialized in the air and reached straight for Xu Guang. Terror drained the color from his face; he had never expected Liu Wuxie to strike with such ruthless decisiveness.
“Liu Wuxie, I’m a deacon! If you harm me, the sect won’t let you off!” Xu Guang roared, clinging to his rank in desperation.
The sect tolerated fights between disciples, but striking a deacon was an entirely different matter. Xu Guang’s arrogance and fear had always rested on that protection.
“A mere deacon like you?” Liu Wuxie scoffed. “The sect has thousands. Do you really think you matter?”
The Heavenly Dragon Sect had three to five thousand deacons in the outer sect alone. There were so many of them that even the elders could probably not remember their names. Liu Wuxie’s talent shone so brightly that no sensible person would punish him for killing a disposable deacon.
With that, the dragon claw clenched and seized Xu Guang completely. He offered not even the slightest resistance. The Dragon-Grasping Hand could seize anything in the world, and Xu Guang was no exception.
