Cultivation Chaos: Superheroes In The Realm Of Immorals

At that split second before the edge of the broadsword struck, Spark's body swerved out of sight, leaving the blade to strike a phantom.

And in a swift motion, his left arm flew in an arc, aiming for retaliation—but unfortunately, there was nothing.

Spark frowned as he gazed at where his supposed attacker should be, and there was nothing. Only the silent, shadowy streets of the night met his gaze.

Before his mind could wander, his instincts blared their alarm once more. He turned around to see a cloaked figure coming at him with a massive club.

Throwing a heavy swing toward his face, Spark braced both arms in an attempt to guard himself.

Bang!

The impact landed. Thankfully, his opponents knew nothing of him—otherwise, they would have understood that blunt weapons were useless against him.

His legs entrenched themselves deep into the ground, aiming to avoid an uncontrollable backward motion that would leave him vulnerable.

Unfortunately for him, this smart trick was used against him. With his foot entrenched deep in the rock tiles of the street and the heavy club bearing down on him, it hindered him from moving.

Goosebumps rose across Spark's back as a shiver ran down his spine. From the corner of his vision, he noticed a scythe headed for his torso—like a sickle reaping rice stalks. He was about to be reaped.

In a fit of fear, Spark threw all caution to the wind as a sudden jet of fluorescent-colored steam erupted from various corners of his body.

As mentioned previously, Spark's condition right now made him similar to a bucket riddled with holes. And what happens when you pour water into it regardless?

Yes—this was the outcome of Spark attempting to utilize his Output for defense.

Clang!

The scythe connected. Sparks flew as it pierced through his clothing and bandages but couldn't bypass the skin. Though some energy was misplaced, what remained was enough to save his life.

Right at the moment when he was about to channel Output into strength, both attackers suddenly vanished. His eyes twitched in annoyance.

'These bastards are using hit-and-run tactics on me,' he thought. Suddenly, he heard a rush of wind from behind. Expecting another attack, he turned quickly—his arms moving even faster.

Crunch!

His fist decimated a rock. His mind quickly registered: It was a feint! Shit! Before he could recover from the motion, a rapier appeared from nowhere—its edge glinting with a familiar, dangerous, writhing purple.

They had assessed that they couldn't decapitate him easily—but that didn't matter. A slight prick from this was all they needed to take him down.

The tip of the weapon glinted fiercely under the moonlight as it arrived dangerously close to his neck, aiming for a critical spot—his carotid artery.

Once more, fluorescent steam jutted out from Spark's figure as he had a sudden burst of speed, narrowly dodging the dangerous blade.

Pushing with a backward kick, he was met with nothing but wind—the assailant had vanished once more.

And it was at this moment Spark understood that he was in a dire situation. These guys had the element of surprise in their favor. He still had no idea how many they were, and their coordination was off the charts.

They aimed only at his blind spots—and they didn't just aim, they created the blind spots. Their choreography was too in sync, along with their uncanny ability to dissolve into the night. Worst of all, he could tell these were all just regular humans.

His face burned with anger. He had never thought he would be put in such a spot by regular humans.

Before his train of thought could progress any further, they were upon him once more—each of their moves more dangerous than the last.

Actually, Spark was overthinking it. These guys were once part of a notorious group called the Godslayers—an elite army trained and fashioned to go against immortal cultivators. The ones of lower ranks, of course. After all, no matter how many humans ganged together, they could never face those above the Foundation Building Realm.

Normally, if it were a cultivator in Spark's shoes—especially a martial artist—they wouldn't have lasted a couple of moves against a unit of the Godslayers. Spark was quite formidable to last this long while being injured.

Far across the street where Spark was being besieged, on the top floor of a five-story building, two men observed the battle with keen interest.

"Hahahaha! Prince Li is mighty. To think your personal guard unit could drive a martial artist to this state—I am in awe," Fatty Ji didn't miss the chance to bootlick, a greasy smile spreading across his chubby cheeks.

His beady eyes rolled in pleasure as he inwardly rejoiced. 'Hehehe, this is what happens when you lust for what's mine. Martial artist or not, no one can take my Cai'er from me.'

The Viscount couldn't really say for sure if the man in question was actually planning to pursue Cai'er—and he didn't care. He didn't believe there was a man on this earth who could resist her charm.

He rubbed his belly in satisfaction as he watched Spark slowly being backed into a corner.

Meanwhile, on the prince's end, an excited smile could be seen on his face. He didn't even bother to reply to the Viscount's earlier praise, as his mind wandered elsewhere.

'To think this man could withstand an encirclement from a unit of the Godslaying Corps for this long—even while injured…

He is indeed a treasure. If I can make him my slave and heal him, he might be of more use than I thought. With him, the upcoming war to prove myself would be a stride—and after that, the throne will be mine.

I can't thank Master enough. Without him gifting me a unit of the Godslaying Corps, I wouldn't have had the capabilities to capture such a gem.'

With a stroke, he parted open his hand fan and lightly fanned himself, feeling pleased with the moment.

Back on Spark's end…

Poor Spark—he was at his wits' end by now. These guys didn't seem to make a mistake. They left no opening.

They just attacked and retreated in one swift motion. Each attack was precise and measured. Their tactics were slowly bearing down on him, suffocating him to the point of despair—giving him the illusion of being a prey in a cage that kept getting smaller.

Right now, this battle made him overly uncomfortable. But just then, he seemed to recall a statement made by his foster father:

"My boy, have you ever heard of a battle-born?"

At that moment, it was as though the voice spoke to him right then and there…

Suddenly, his clouded mind cleared. His pupils constricted as they swerved in rapid motion—his cognition pushed to its limit. There! This is the only path to win, he muttered silently in realization.

And just then, a zweihander user appeared from his side—his blade inching toward Spark's arm. But this time, Spark did nothing to stop it. He didn't block. He didn't defend. It was as though he were caught in a quagmire and couldn't react.

Puchi!

In a swift motion, the blade ran cleanly through his left arm without obstruction—decapitating it on the spot.

The detached arm fell helplessly towards the ground.