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"I once observed the rising and falling of tides, the drifting of clouds, the cycle of day and night, and from this I created the Threefold Spear Art," Zhang Xianjun declared with bold energy. With his long spear in hand, his entire aura shifted.

He now resembled a spear himself, sharp and defiant, as if he could tear open the heavens.

Raising his voice, full of unwavering momentum, he shouted, “Please give me your guidance!”

The instant his voice fell, his aura surged forth like an unstoppable tidal wave, crashing toward Xu Zimo with overwhelming pressure.

It was a psychological attack, a show of might intended to make Xu Zimo surrender before the fight even began.

But Xu Zimo simply smiled, allowing the turbulent waves of pressure to wash over him again and again, utterly unfazed.

A spear’s momentum rises at first strike, weakens at the second, and fades at the third.

Zhang Xianjun’s expression darkened. He swiftly swung his spear and lunged toward Xu Zimo.

“Threefold Spear Art, First Form: Dawn’s Light.”

The spear’s tip gleamed with radiant brilliance, like a beam of white light piercing the darkness. Dawn breaks, and all creation lies still.

This strike was filled with hope and limitless imagination, the white light expanded in Xu Zimo’s vision.

“Interesting,” Xu Zimo smiled with intrigue. He didn’t even bother to dodge or draw his sword.

Instead, he casually raised his scabbard, letting dark energy of annihilation swirl around it, this was the Annihilation Force, cultivated from the Annihilation Codex passed down by the Grand Emperor San Dao.

Watching the spear, sharp enough to tear the air, streak toward him,

Xu Zimo gently tapped the spear with his scabbard.

That single, seemingly casual strike hit the technique’s weakest point.

The radiant white light instantly collapsed. The spear trembled violently, and Zhang Xianjun’s hands went numb, he nearly dropped his weapon.

He quickly retreated, took a deep breath, and gripped the spear tighter.

“Threefold Spear Art, Second Form: Blazing Sun!” Zhang Xianjun roared again and charged forward.

This strike burned like the midday sun, radiating blinding golden light, exploding like a fireball right in front of them.

It embodied passion and brilliance, like fireworks exploding from a rooftop, willing to sacrifice everything for a fleeting moment of glory.

Zhang Xianjun had no path to retreat. He would either shatter all barriers in this frenzy or self-destruct in a desperate blaze.

As the blazing sun rose, its scorching heat charged toward Xu Zimo with all its might.

The surrounding air began to melt away. Xu Zimo pointed with his scabbard again, this time, sharp blade intent pierced through everything.

The blazing sun was instantly torn apart. The light faded, the spear’s brilliance and refinement dimmed.

But even so, Zhang Xianjun had already committed. With no choice left, he traced a half-circle upward with his spear.

A dark red energy flared across the air, scorching everything. Space itself was carved with long, visible white trails.

“Threefold Spear Art, Third Form: Dusk’s End!”

If the first strike, Dawn’s Light, symbolized the beginning, hope awakening as the sun rises,

And the second strike, Blazing Sun, represented the day’s peak, its heat overwhelming, burning, and seeking to devour all,

Then this third form, Dusk’s End, was the final act.

All things fade. Dusk watches the horizon in solitude, where sunset merges with twilight, all shrouded in approaching darkness.

From light to heat, from birth to annihilation.

Desolation intertwined with collapse, this strike seemed to end everything, to bring all existence to its final point.

To Xu Zimo, it wasn’t much. But to the newly initiated students watching, it carried a unique aura, a vivid impression.

They truly felt like they had witnessed the arc of a day, its rise and its inevitable end.

Zhang Xianjun’s lofty words before the fight echoed once more in everyone’s ears:

“I’ve watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the dance of clouds, I’ve witnessed the day begin and return again, witnessed oceans turn into mulberry fields, watched the first light of dawn, watched the blazing sun rise, watched dusk reflected across the horizon, watched birds spiral in endless void, and… I’ve seen the end.”

As his third strike fell, the entire space seemed to compress and explode from the pressure, air currents blasted outward and split into countless energy arrows.

Xu Zimo smiled faintly.

He finally drew his weapon, Shadow Tyrant. This strike was worth getting serious for.

Since his rebirth, he had only revealed one move: the sword-drawing technique. Or more accurately, a blade-drawing technique, a strike that relied not on power, but speed.

In his past life, Xu Zimo created countless battle techniques. Many were eventually discarded as his cultivation advanced.

But some remained with him through every battle, enduring even to his God Meridian Realm days, still terrifying in power.

This blade art, he had named: The Nineteen Forms of Dao-Seeking.

It consisted of nineteen forms.

The first form started from nothing, so basic, so crude it looked like a child playing around, random and unrefined.

The second form was "Drifting On Green Duckweed." As the curved blade danced casually before them, a deep “dong” echoed, as if something profound had just been planted.

Blade and spear collided.

The spear carried majestic force, intent on destroying all. The curved blade seemed simple and unremarkable, yet unshakable like Mount Tai.

Third form: Hundred Battles, Never Broken.

Fourth form: Rising Against The Current.

……

The early moves of the Nineteen Forms of Dao-Seeking were not impressive, perhaps even weaker than many ordinary-grade techniques.

More accurately, the early forms were about accumulation and preparation.

Like a seed:

The first form dug the pit,

The second planted it,

The third watered it,

The fourth fertilized it,

The fifth, was when the seed began to sprout.

Once the buildup reached its peak, the forms that followed grew exponentially more powerful.

Your brute force might crush a seed, but you cannot shake a towering tree.

……

Blade and spear were locked in deadlock. Sparks flew wildly, and waves of energy shattered into the air.

Xu Zimo remained calm. He smiled at Zhang Xianjun and softly uttered the next words:

“Fifth Form: Windstorm Rises!”

Though he spoke quietly, the words carried immense, crushing power.

Zhang Xianjun’s expression changed dramatically. He tried to dodge, but it was too late.

With the momentum of the first four forms behind it, the fifth form erupted like a wild windstorm over a desolate wasteland, burying the world in choking dust.

A mad, boundless, unstoppable force surged from Xu Zimo’s blade.

A great wind swept up ten thousand miles of red dust. The seed… had broken through the earth.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com