CHAPTER 120: IMMORTAL SOUL

"Your soul is really unusual... are you even Gu Yifan?" Yu Xuan asked, voice calm. He was genuinely curious, and was also just stalling for some time. His wound was almost fully healed.

Gu Yifan didn’t seem to notice and replied cryptically, "I am Gu Yifan... but I am not Gu Yifan."

Yu Xuan raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget who you are? Are you having middle age life crises?"

A vein throbbed on Gu Yifan’s forehead, but he kept his composure.

"There’s no need for small talk with a dead man," he said coldly. "Though I should thank you. I planned to lure you to a quiet place later, but you’ve made it so convenient."

Yu Xuan gave him a strange look.

’So he’s really an outer disciple... but he couldn’t even check a map before ambushing me?’

Now he mentally downgraded Gu Yifan to a third rate villain.

"Do you even know the consequences of killing a fellow disciple?" Yu Xuan asked.

"The consequences can be handled by my future self," Gu Yifan replied smugly. "Besides, judging by your robes, you don’t even have a master."

Yu Xuan blinked, then stared at him like he’d just licked a fresh pile of uncensored shit.

At first, he’d expected a high stakes, deadly battle. Life and death crises.

But now? This guy was raising death flags like a clueless cannon fodder in a bad drama.

Still, Yu Xuan didn’t let his guard down. Gu Yifan was hiding something — and clearly wasn’t weak.

"You might be the stupidest person I’ve met so far," Yu Xuan said flatly, adjusting his stance and adopting his signature arrogant young master pose. "Let’s end this quickly."

A sword appeared in his hand, glowing with a crimson sheen. The red aura wrapped around the blade like smoke drawn to flame.

Across from him, Gu Yifan smirked and flexed his hands, metallic knuckles materialized over his fists, each one lined with short but deadly spikes.

’Spiked knuckles? That’s some confidence.’ Yu Xuan thought. Either way, it worked in his favor.

Without hesitation, he sent a sharp red slash streaking through the air toward Gu Yifan.

The other boy tilted his head slightly, just enough to dodge it with ease.

"It seems your leg’s healed," Gu Yifan noted calmly, before suddenly vanishing from his spot and reappearing in front of Yu Xuan with a fist drawn back.

The punch came faster than expected, far stronger than anything Gu Yifan had used during their tournament match.

Yu Xuan narrowly avoided the blow, twisting away and retreating several steps. When he looked behind him, the aftermath of the attack was clear — a deep gouge in the earth, and a fractured tree trunk still quivering from the impact.

’That would’ve shattered my ribs if it landed,’ Yu Xuan thought grimly.

They clashed again, blades and fists, intent against intent.

Yu Xuan held his ground. Barely.

His swordsmanship kept him alive, letting him deflect or redirect much of the damage, but Gu Yifan wasn’t just strong, he was precise. Efficient. Adaptable.

Too adaptable.

With every exchange, Yu Xuan’s expression grew more serious.

’Something’s off... his reactions, his rhythm, his timing. That’s not the skill of a young cultivator in early Foundation Establishment realm should have.’

That was the kind of fighting style honed through hundreds of real battles.

Not practice.

Not tournaments.

War.

Yu Xuan parried a hook, ducked under a spinning kick, and created space again.

Then, eyes narrowing, he asked in a quiet, steady voice, "Hey... you’re not Gu Yifan, are you?"

Gu Yifan’s eyebrow twitched.

Yu Xuan continued, blade still poised to strike. "I mean, looking at your fighting style and the way you adapt mid exchange... you’ve got more battle experience than a thousands disciples combined. And your age sure doesn’t match the way you fight."

He tilted his head slightly, smirking despite the tension. "Why not indulge a dying man’s curiosity?"

"Fine, but if—" Gu Yifan began, but was immediately cut off.

"Don’t give me that ’if you survive my next attack’ cliché," Yu Xuan interrupted flatly. "You and I both know I’m going to survive. Just talk."

Gu Yifan’s mouth twitched in mild annoyance.

But then, without another word, he closed his eyes for a brief second.

When they opened again, his entire presence shifted, like a mask falling away.

An otherworldly aura surged from his body, dense and ancient, and in that very instant — before Yu Xuan could fully process the change, Gu Yifan was already in front of him.

The punch struck squarely in Yu Xuan’s gut.

The impact sent a shockwave rippling through his torso. Two ribs cracked under the force.

But Yu Xuan wasn’t idle.

Even as he reeled, his sword found flesh, slicing deep along Gu Yifan’s side and severing his arm at the elbow in a crimson flash.

Both stumbled back.

One clutching his ribs.

The other missing an arm.

Still, Yu Xuan’s expression remained calm — this amount of pain was nothing to him.

His old man had put him through worse.

Gu Yifan, or whoever he was, stood straighter now. The wound didn’t faze him. His voice had changed, deeper, heavier with authority. It didn’t belong to a sickly youth anymore.

"Such reaction speed. That sharpness in your swordplay. And still only in the Qi Condensation realm..." he muttered, almost admiringly. "You’re a genuine monster."

Yu Xuan narrowed his eyes, breathing steadily. "May I ask who you really are?"

The clearing was silent, save for the drip of blood between them.

Across from him, the smile that appeared on Gu Yifan’s face now felt entirely different.

Predatory.

"I may have lost my name," the figure said, voice laced with dark amusement, "but people used to call me Daoist Skull Crusher... or Devouring Demon."

Yu Xuan felt the start of another headache. Of course this guy had a ridiculous backstory and a name dripping with main villain energy. But one thing stuck out to him.

Name.

So this wasn’t a possession. This was someone or something — that had lived before.

"Whoever you used to be," Yu Xuan said, eyes narrowing, "you’re dying today."

The man laughed, loud and wild. "Hah! Arrogant brat! There was a time my name alone could send cultivators like you fleeing in piss soaked robes!"

Yu Xuan tilted his head, voice dry. "Yeah? And what can you do now, with only one arm?"

That wiped the grin off his face. For a moment.

Then, in a flicker, Devouring Demon vanished again, appearing in front of Yu Xuan and slamming his remaining fist into his gut.

Crack. Another rib broke.

Yu Xuan staggered back, gritting his teeth. "Ah, damn. That one did hurt."

"What a sturdy body," Devouring Demon said with a hint of disbelief. "And you’re not even a body cultivator..."

His eyes gleamed. "I want your talent even more now."

Yu Xuan gripped his sword tighter. His patience was up.

It was time to test something, something he hadn’t used in a real fight yet.

[Magic Swordsmanship of the Avalon Imperial Family] — The Second Form.

His stance shifted.

Devouring Demon scoffed. "What’s that supposed to be? A silent wish before dying?"

Yu Xuan didn’t reply.

He moved.

It was a simple, clean stroke, one elegant arc aimed across the chest. The air barely stirred. No wind. No spatial ripple. Just his sword moved.

And yet—

Slash.

Blood exploded from Devouring Demon’s chest. The man reeled backward, eyes wide in pure disbelief.

He hadn’t seen the cut.

He hadn’t felt the strike.

No spatial laws had shifted.

No Qi had flared.

And still, it hit.

"How...?" he gasped, staggering as crimson soaked through his robes.

The damage was deep, and worse, it shouldn’t have been possible.

Not for someone with an immortal soul, even in a weakened body.

He should’ve sensed something.

He was in real danger now. This body was already a wreck one more critical blow, and his soul could be left unanchored.

Across from him, Yu Xuan stood tall, a faint grin playing on his lips.

"You like that?" he said lightly.

This was the second move of [Magic Swordsmanship of the Avalon Imperial Family].

He tapped his sword gently against the ground.

Its principles were unlike any conventional technique. They touched something deeper. Something far older.

The realm of true magic.

But in the modern times, the concept of magic had long been diluted — confused with flashy spells, elemental tricks, and showmanship. If one were to imagine magic, an image of a magic circle used by an old man with long beard, would pop up in their heads.

From Yu Xuan’s information he got from the technique, most mages had forgotten what the word truly meant.

This move... captured its essence.

Even his father, a veteran sword cultivator, had been stunned the first time he saw it. Not because it was flashy, but because it wasn’t.

It didn’t cut through space.

It didn’t manipulate laws.

It simply happened.

Like a miracle.

Because that... was the essence of real magic.