Chapter 70: I Have to Fight Him

Chapter 70: I Have to Fight Him

By that man’s own account, if the other party was willing to hand over their insight into force of consciousness, same-frequency sensing alone would let me claim it.

If that was true, then this place was nothing short of a bottomless vault of force of consciousness—and one that refilled itself endlessly. Pill chambers, achievement points, none of it held a candle to this.

Come to think of it—Feng Du, King Qinguang, or the Shadow Pavilion behind them—could this whole city have been designed from the start just to funnel more prisoners down here?

People with obsessive, extreme temperaments tended to speak their minds too freely. Sooner or later, they’d cross a line, commit some crime or another. Luring them all here, catching them in one great net—it would make for the perfect hunting ground.

The thought alone was enough to stop me from going further down that road. It was too unsettling to sit with.

Even setting aside whether that was the true design, the simple fact that insight into force of consciousness could be harvested from another person at all told me plenty about how deep the city lord Feng Du and King Qinguang’s cunning ran. They’d deliberately kept it from me.

They’d fed me that line about force of consciousness coming only from one’s own hard-earned insight into suffering. As if anyone’s own insight could ever match the speed, the sheer satisfaction, of simply taking someone else’s. That King Qinguang, first among the Yama Kings, had probably plundered his fair share of prisoners’ insight to climb all the way to rank ten.

To find out whether my suspicion held true, it seemed I had no choice but to fight this man.

Still—know yourself and know your enemy, and you need not fear a hundred battles.

So I turned the Judge’s Brush on him for a deeper probe. The result: his force-of-consciousness strength was formidable, at least no weaker than King Qinguang’s. No wonder King Qinguang kept coming back to torment him—the man himself was a walking treasure trove.

Prisoners with force of consciousness at rank two or three wouldn’t be worth harvesting at all, not to me. Like swallowing a gold-patterned pill and feeling nothing from it. If I was going to eat, I might as well eat the richest meal on offer.

Still, rank ten was no easy mark. King Qinguang himself probably hadn’t managed to beat him—otherwise, he’d have harvested him long ago. Which meant I shouldn’t hold out much hope for the other prisoners either. Anyone harvestable had likely already been picked clean by the city lord and the Ten Yama Kings. What chance would be left over for me?

By King Qinguang’s own assessment, my current strength didn’t even reach rank five—nowhere near this man’s rank ten. But my intensity was rank ten, and that alone meant I wasn’t guaranteed to lose. Besides, I could turn the very same tactic I’d used against King Qinguang on him. The trouble was, that fight had only ended in a draw—not a victory. On that alone, I doubted I could make this man submit.

And yet, looking at the sheer richness of what this man carried, I couldn’t help myself. It was too rich a prize to walk away from.

Torturing him into submission, though—that was beneath me. That would not make him submit.

So I used the Judge’s Brush to lift the steamer torment from him first, then said, “Fine. I’ll fight you. Recover from your injuries—I’ll have you brought out shortly. Your force of consciousness is roughly rank ten; mine’s under rank five. If you still lose to me under those terms, you’ll honor your word without complaint. And if I lose, I’ll stamp the order myself and see you out the door. We’ll meet in the training room.”

Just then, a jailer approached and pulled me aside, speaking low. “Sir, that man’s force of consciousness is vicious. King Qinguang has fought him more than once, trying to harvest it. But his attacks are too aggressive—King Qinguang never gained an inch of ground, which is why he resorted to torment instead. You’re new here. Don’t walk into his trap.”

“Do the city lord and the Yama Kings often come down here to harvest criminals’ force of consciousness?” I asked.

“Of course,” the jailer said. “Why else would anyone want this post? Though the weak ones aren’t worth much—those get left to small fry like us. Someone of your standing needs the strong ones. Trouble is, the strong ones are also the toughest to crack. Most of the easy pickings are already gone. If you want more, you’ll have to wait for fresh arrivals. What’s left here is either already harvested, or too hard to crack.”

So that explained it.

The man, catching sight of the jailer speaking with me, seemed to fear I might back out and called from inside, “King Qinguang wants to get it from me by torturing me? Keep dreaming. I’d rather die than give it to him. But you’re a newcomer, not even rank five—fine, I won’t take advantage of that either. I agree. Use the Judge’s Brush if you want.”

I studied him and asked, “What rank are your martial techniques?”

“Nothing special,” he said. “Rank eight, maybe.”

“Then here’s how we’ll do it,” I said. “I won’t use the Judge’s Brush—it puts you at a disadvantage. My martial techniques are also rank eight. My force-of-consciousness strength is under rank five and can’t even manifest. You’ve got rank eight in technique and rank ten in force of consciousness. Let’s fight on those terms, no restraints. Agreed?”

I knew I had to take this hard bone, one way or another. Otherwise, there’d be nothing left for me to claim. I’d use the same trick I’d tried on King Qinguang, layered with every other technique I had. Worst case, we’d both walk away wounded—still better odds than not fighting at all.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, I had the jailer open the cell and escort him to the training room, while I went ahead to wait.

The training room sat at the far end, directly opposite the tribunal—a place meant for officials to stretch their limbs between duties. The city lord and the Yama Kings often used it too, whenever they came to deal with prisoners.

It resembled the training ground I’d seen back at the Sweeper base, only smaller—roughly a hundred meters on each side.

I took a seat on the ring and waited.

Before long, the jailer arrived with the man in tow.

I had the jailer strip away every restraint on him, then looked him over carefully.

On the surface, he seemed an honest, simple sort—broad-shouldered, built like solid muscle. But his true strength lay in his force of consciousness, the kind that made people underestimate him at a glance.

Right in front of him, I handed the Judge’s Brush over to the jailer.

The sight caught him off guard. He’d been sweeping me with same-frequency sensing too, and whatever he found confirmed that I really was somewhere below rank five.

We stood facing each other. “Fifteen minutes to recover might not be enough,” I said, “but I don’t have time to wait longer. Your force of consciousness outclasses mine by a wide margin anyway. This hardly counts as me bullying you, does it?”

Yang Renhu cupped his hands toward me. “My name is Yang Renhu. I didn’t expect someone so young, fighting me this fairly, this openly. If anything, I’m the one taking advantage here. I’ll go easy—won’t seriously injure your vital points.”

I waved that off. “I don’t want to hear that. When two sides meet on the field, courage decides it, not mercy. Give me everything you’ve got, and I’ll do the same. I’m taking this risk because you claimed insight into force of consciousness could be granted to another. I’ve never heard of such a thing before, and I mean to test it myself. Come at me. Otherwise, you won’t be walking out of here at all.”

Yang Renhu bowed low. “Then—forgive me.”

The instant those words left his mouth, he unleashed well over ninety percent of his force of consciousness, a surging tide of pressure bearing straight down on me.

Force of consciousness, at its core, truly was insight rather than raw power. Its sharpest edge lay in how it invaded and crushed the mind of an opponent. I’d used that very tactic once before, against the rank-six fighter from the Jianghai Gang, forcing him to withdraw from the match halfway through.

Yang Renhu’s force of consciousness lived up to its reputation—immense pressure, relentless invasion. My own strength paled beside his. But my greatest strength had always been my shielding. Just as the city lord had said, I could turn invisible while blocking my brainwaves at the same time—something only people from the Shadow Pavilion could manage. Not even elite people, not even Soul Hunters, could pull that off. Shielding meant channeling force of consciousness purely to seal and block. So for the moment, Yang Renhu’s skill alone couldn’t touch me. And just as certainly, I couldn’t touch him either—not with that.

Which meant our true contest would be decided in martial technique.

Something, perhaps, he hadn’t seen coming at all.

I vanished at once, shielding my brainwaves in the same instant.

Invisibility was a technique too, one built for catching an enemy off guard. I shifted quickly behind him, weaving my force of consciousness together with my same-frequency sensing, charging toward Yang Renhu in a mode that resonated on the same frequency as his brainwaves.

Nor did I neglect the physical side of things. I threw my full strength behind Min Long’s fighting style and lunged straight at him.

Invisibility wasn’t anything new to elite people—nearly all of them could manage it. The counter was simple enough: same-frequency sensing, or infrared equipment like the Jianghai Gang carried.

So Yang Renhu immediately activated his own same-frequency sensing, hunting for my position.

But I had invisibility layered with shielding both at once. He couldn’t see me at all, which meant he had nothing to answer with. Meanwhile, my force of consciousness, fused with my same-frequency sensing, scattered his force-of-consciousness attack and guided his force of consciousness into forming a force-of-consciousness vortex.

That was the moment my strike landed—square against his ribs. He never saw it coming. There was only—

Bang.

A tremendous sound, and Yang Renhu’s body flew backward through the air. And just like that, it was over.

The jailers gathered around wore looks of pure shock.

After all, King Qinguang had faced this man before and never managed to win. Even those jailers who’d guessed I might beat him hadn’t imagined it happening so fast.

So fast, in fact, that none of them had even seen how he’d gone flying.

Yang Renhu himself had no idea either—only a searing, white-hot pain radiating through his side.

Broken. His ribs had been broken by my blow.

The jailers knew I’d turned invisible, but none of them understood I’d shielded myself as well. So they had no way of knowing where I truly stood, or how I’d struck at all.

Even I felt a flicker of surprise. Yang Renhu’s rank in force of consciousness far outstripped mine. I’d half expected his full-strength assault to overwhelm me outright. When King Qinguang and I had fought, he’d built up pressure gradually, which had given me plenty of room to maneuver. This time, I’d taken a rank-ten strike head-on, at full force, with nothing held back. I hadn’t expected my shielding to hold up quite this well against it.

As Yang Renhu lay writhing on the ground, I called the jailers over at once to see to his wounds.

I had no wish to earn his hatred—if I did, whatever insight he granted might come with complications of its own. Insight, after all, was something drawn from deep within a person.

The jailers were well-practiced in treating wounds. Nearly every prisoner who arrived at the Eighteen Levels of Hell came bearing some injury or another, and their skill and equipment were both first-rate.

I had them carry Yang Renhu to the medical room for emergency treatment.

Even there, he still couldn’t work out how he’d lost.

I didn’t follow right away. Better to let him calm down and heal a while first.

It was roughly two double-hours later when I finally walked over to his bedside.