Martial God Asura Chapters 61-65: Chu Feng's Deadly Gamble for the Imperial Sky Technique
The heavy stone door sealed shut behind him, cutting off the world above. Chu Feng stood in the dim tunnel, the lingering auras of Su Mei and the others fading as they made their safe retreat. Only now, alone, could he pursue the true prize he had glimpsed from the cliff’s edge. His heart, a mix of trepidation and fierce determination, steadied as he turned and made his way back to the summit.
Climbing down the thick vines into the churning ocean of white mist felt like descending into the belly of a primordial beast. As the cold, damp tendrils of vapor enveloped him, Chu Feng spread his Spirit power, only to recoil mentally. A strange, disruptive energy within the mist frayed his spiritual senses, rendering them nearly useless. Visibility shrank to a mere ten meters, the world reduced to a ghostly, silent whiteness punctuated by the scrape of his hands on rock and the whisper of his own breath. For dozens of meters, he descended blindly into the unknown, the only certainty being the yawning abyss below.
When his boots finally met solid rock, a wave of relief washed over him, though the oppressive mist remained. He drew the World Spirit Compass from his Cosmos Sack. Instantly, a soft, penetrating light radiated from the artifact, pushing back the obscuring vapor and expanding his vision severalfold. The compass’s needle glowed, pointing unerringly forward while its surface shimmered with indicators of hidden dangers—traps, formations, and lurking life forces. It was a map of peril. Without it, Chu Feng knew he would be a dead man walking; even with nine lives, he’d have spent them all in this hellish labyrinth.
Guided by the compass’s light, he navigated the mist-shrouded landscape. The silence was a lie. From the impenetrable white came distant, guttural growls that spoke of immense size and hunger, interspersed with unearthly shrieks and, most chillingly, the faint, dying cries of humans—pleas for help that were abruptly cut short. The further he went, the more the evidence of carnage manifested. He stepped over half-eaten corpses, their faces frozen in final agony, their belongings scattered and bloodied. The oppressive aura of rank 9 Fierce Beasts, entities stronger than Spirit realm experts, pressed on his soul. He thought of the legends of Monstrous Beasts, beings of spiritual intelligence and power born at the Origin realm, and wondered if the Imperial Sky Sage had sealed such nightmares within his resting place.
After two tense, careful hours, the mist began to thin. The whiteness faded like a curtain drawing back, and Chu Feng emerged into a vast, open space. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the repression of the misty hell finally lifting.
“Damn. How big is this tomb?” he muttered, his hope for immediate treasure dashed. Before him stretched another colossal tunnel, but this one was broad, illuminated by a sourceless light, and carried a new horror on the air: the thick, metallic, gag-inducing stench of blood.
Holding the compass before him—its indicators still showing a clear path—Chu Feng advanced. The smell grew so potent it overpowered his other senses before his Spirit power could even detect its source. He entered a grand hall, and the scene halted him in his tracks.
The hall was a nexus, with multiple tunnel entrances matching those from the cliff face. All paths, it seemed, converged here for those who survived the mist. In the center, a massive stone ladder ascended into darkness. But the floor… the floor was a grisly mosaic of the dead. Dozens of corpses from various sects lay strewn about, their bodies twisted in violent death. The majority wore the robes of the Thousand Wind School. Notably, not a single body bore the insignia of the Azure Dragon School. These people hadn’t simply killed each other; their wounds were strange, their poses suggesting a sudden, overwhelming trap.
A cold understanding settled in Chu Feng’s gut. This was a killing formation, and someone had used these people as fodder to break it. Pushing down his revulsion, he trusted the World Spirit Compass and picked his way across the sea of corpses toward the ladder.
As he climbed the endless steps, voices drifted down from above—two aged voices locked in a strained conversation. Chu Feng slowed, his movements becoming silent.
“You really are worthy of being the sect head of the Thousand Wind School. If you weren’t here, I’m afraid I really would have no way of holding this Cold Steel off,” a calm, measured voice said. Chu Feng recognized it: Elder Zhuge, the Azure Dragon School’s mysterious World Spiritist.
“Bastard! Who are you? You are quite evil, using the lives of the Thousand Wind School’s elders to break the formation!” roared a second voice, dripping with fury and effort.
Peering over the final step, Chu Feng saw a bizarre room. Faint, visible gases swirled in the air. In the center, two men stood frozen in a desperate tableau. One was an old man with white hair and a childlike, ruddy face, emanating the terrifying pressure of the Profound realm—the head of the Thousand Wind School. The other was Zhuge, clad in his signature white cloak covered in mystical symbols, his face hidden save for sharp, eagle-like eyes. Both had their arms raised, muscles corded, holding up a massive slab of golden metal that was slowly descending from the ceiling. This was the “Cold Steel,” and its release would crush them to paste.
Zhuge chuckled, ignoring the sect head’s anger. “It doesn’t matter who I am. The important thing is that you and I need to work together and find a way to break this Cold Steel, or else this place will be our tomb.”
“You want me to work together with you? Don’t even think about it!”
“I think the reason you came here was for the treasures. No need to lose both our lives over previous disagreements, right? Right now, the Imperial Sky Technique is in front of our eyes. Don’t you want to obtain it?”
At Zhuge’s words, Chu Feng’s gaze shot to a corner of the room. There, on an exquisite jade stand, a crystal-clear object floated, emitting a soft, divine glow. Inscribed upon it were characters that made Chu Feng’s heart pound: Imperial Sky Technique.
The sect head scoffed. “You think I’m an idiot? You baited me here, used my people to break the killing formation. How would you be so kind as to give the Imperial Sky Technique to me?”
It was the perfect moment of stalemate. Chu Feng took it.
“Elders, no need to fight over this. How about I enjoy this Imperial Sky Technique for you two?” he said, stepping fully into the room.
The reaction was instantaneous. Two auras of profound shock locked onto him. They had assumed anyone else who could reach this room would be a peer, not a youth.
bzz
A powerful, invasive Spirit power swept over Chu Feng, probing his cultivation. He stiffened, a spike of fear shooting through him as the energy passed over his chest—over the hidden map of symbols. But nothing happened. The Spirit power moved on, and Chu Feng breathed an internal sigh of relief. His secret was his own.
“Sixth level of the Spirit realm,” Zhuge stated, his voice laced with surprise. “With only a cultivation like this, you are able to arrive at this place. It must be because of the World Spirit Compass in your hand, right?”
“Sixth level?” The Thousand Wind School head’s eyes bulged. To a Profound realm expert, this was an insect. Yet the insect was here.
“Indeed, nice eyesight,” Chu Feng said lightly, already striding toward the floating technique.
“Die!” The sect head’s rage erupted. A boundless, crushing pressure surged forth, aiming to pin Chu Feng to the floor and grind his bones to dust.
The force was immense, a tangible weight that sought to invade his skin and marrow. But compared to the insane, world-bending pressure from the beggar he’d once met, this was containable. It was agony, but not annihilation. Gritting his teeth, Chu Feng took a step. Then another. Each movement was a battle, his body screaming in protest, sweat soaking his robes instantly. But he did not stop.
“What a strong physical body,” Zhuge exclaimed, watching with academic interest rather than alarm.
“You old guy, why aren’t you attacking as well? Do you want this little brat to be the fisherman that reaps the reward?” the sect head bellowed.
“Hey, words cannot be said like that. Since he could arrive here with his cultivation, it clearly shows he is not ordinary. Perhaps he could even be the preferred successor of the Imperial Sky Sage, right?” Zhuge replied, his tone almost benevolent.
Through the haze of pain, Chu Feng reached the jade stand. With a final, straining effort, he grabbed the crystalline Imperial Sky Technique and slapped it directly against his forehead.
A cataclysm erupted in his mind.
It was not enlightenment, but invasion. A pain like ten thousand needles stabbing simultaneously into his brain tore through his consciousness. He screamed, a raw, involuntary sound, as he collapsed, clutching his head and writhing on the cold floor.
Zhuge’s laugh echoed in the chamber. “I forgot to tell you that techniques created from the concentration of Spirit power aren’t easy to cultivate. You must have an extremely strong willpower and sufficient cultivation to bear this wave of power. If you cannot… it will consume your Spirit power and take your life. It seems your strength is just beyond the requirement. Unlucky!”
The sect head cackled in grim satisfaction. “I knew you wouldn’t easily let others take it!”
Chu Feng couldn’t hear their gloating clearly. He felt his Spirit power being violently siphoned away, drained by the raging crystal. The pain intensified, a white-hot fire in his skull. His vision darkened, his thoughts scattering. With one final, choked cry, his body went limp.
“He’s dead? Why didn’t the Imperial Sky Technique float out?” the sect head asked.
Zhuge’s Spirit power swept over Chu Feng again. A moment later, he frowned, confusion in his voice. “This guy. He isn’t dead yet.”
Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing Chu Feng became aware of was the new, complex information etched into his mind—the complete cultivation method of the Imperial Sky Technique. Joy surged, but it was instantly frozen by the sight before his eyes.
He was no longer in the tomb’s room.
He lay in a vast, bizarre hall with no visible roof, only a swirling, starless void above. The walls were not stone but a seamless, mirror-smooth crystal that reflected distorted images. And dominating the space was a door. A door of impossible scale, larger than any city gate, built into the crystal wall like the maw of a primordial demon. It was shackled by countless chains, each a meter thick, crisscrossing its surface in a dense, binding web that seemed to contain something unspeakable.
Chu Feng’s Spirit power instinctively reached out toward the door and recoiled in terror. From behind that sealed barrier leaked an aura of absolute cold, ancient darkness, and profound malice. It was a feeling that did not belong to the world of the living, a chill that seized his heart and made every hair stand on end.
“Heavens, is this hell?” he whispered.
“Hey! It’s you! You finally came! Haha, this is great! This is great!”
The voice was sweet, melodious, like silver bells, and it came from directly behind him. Chu Feng jumped, spinning around. There, resting on the crystal floor, was an egg. A jet-black egg taller than he was.
“What’s this?” he breathed.
“You’re a ‘What’s this’! Stupid Chu Feng, really stupid. What an idiot you are! You only look for me to play after so long, don’t you know I’m bored?!!” The egg’s voice was now a sharp, charming complaint.
A female egg? Chu Feng’s mind struggled to process it.
“No, you’re a female egg! You’re a chicken egg! Rotten egg! Bastard!” the egg shrieked, shaking violently as if something inside was throwing a tantrum.
The world swirled. The crystal hall, the giant door, the talking egg—all dissolved into a blur of light and color. When his senses snapped back, he was lying on the cold stone floor of the tomb room, the scents of blood and dust in his nose. The Imperial Sky Technique was gone, but its knowledge was firmly rooted in his brain. It was no dream.
He sat up, his body aching but whole. Across the room, the two Profound realm experts were still trapped under the Cold Steel, staring at him in utter disbelief.
“This guy really didn’t die. How is this possible?” the sect head bawled.
“Impossible. Absolutely impossible,” Zhuge muttered, his visible eyes wide with shock.
A slow smile spread across Chu Feng’s face. He stood, brushed off his robes, and addressed them. “Excuse me, I’ve disappointed you two. I didn’t die, and I’m living quite well. As for the Imperial Sky Technique that you two want…” He pointed a triumphant finger to his temple. “It’s here!”
“You bastard, I’ll break you!” Enraged beyond reason, the Thousand Wind School head started to release his hold on the Cold Steel.
RUMBLE!
The massive slab dropped several inches, shaking the entire room violently. With a strangled curse, the sect head was forced to shove his strength back into holding it, saving them all from immediate pulverization.
That was Chu Feng’s cue. He didn’t wait. The First Thunder Style ignited in his legs. In a blur of motion, he shot past the two trapped experts, down the tall ladder, and back into the corpse-strewn hall. He ran, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had stolen a treasure from under the noses of two monsters; staying was suicide.
He retraced his path through the misty zone, the World Spirit Compass guiding him unerringly past dormant dangers. He was nearly free, the desert air almost within reach, when a roar of pure fury echoed through the tunnels behind him.
“I finally found you, boy!”
Chu Feng’s blood ran cold. The head of the Thousand Wind School had freed himself and caught up. The man was a terrifying sight—robes torn, face bloodied, hair wild—clearly having paid a heavy price to escape the tomb’s final trap. His Profound realm aura crashed down on Chu Feng like a mountain.
“Damn it!” Chu Feng poured every ounce of spiritual energy into the Mysterious Technique and the First Thunder Style, his form becoming a streak of light fleeing across the sand. But the gap in power was a chasm. The crushing pressure overtook him, slamming him face-first into the hot sand, driving the air from his lungs. This is it, he thought, the image of his skull being pried open for the technique flashing before his eyes.
Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the pressure vanished.
Chu Feng pushed himself up, spitting out sand. He looked back. The desert behind him was empty. No furious sect head, no one at all. Only rolling dunes under the harsh sun.
“An illusion?” But the taste of blood in his mouth was real. Bewildered, he scrambled to his feet and ran, choosing a wide, looping route back to the Ancient City rather than a direct path. The journey took three days.
Dozens of miles away, at the tomb’s entrance, the head of the Thousand Wind School was not pursuing. He was kneeling in the sand, his body trembling uncontrollably, his regal dignity utterly gone. His eyes, wide with a terror deeper than any tomb could inspire, were fixed on the man before him.
It was a beggar. His clothes were rags, his hair a matted chaos, but his eyes were blades, and on his forehead, a scar shaped like a flame seemed to pulse with hidden power.
“You… who are you?” the sect head stammered.
“You should not attack him,” the beggar said. His voice was steady, calm, yet it carried the weight of a king pronouncing judgment.
Understanding dawned, horribly. “Is… is it that boy? Sorry! I didn’t know he was connected with you! Please, spare my life!” The sect head began to kowtow, his forehead thudding against the sand.
The thunder of approaching footsteps shook the desert. Over the dunes came the Thousand Wind School’s main army, hundreds strong, having finally arrived as reinforcements. They saw their revered head groveling in the dirt before a ragged beggar.
“Who are you that dares to harm the head of our school?” a core elder roared, leading the charge.
The sect head ignored them, his pleas to the beggar growing more frantic.
The beggar slowly closed his eyes. “Even if I don’t kill you, he will not forgive you. I’ll send you on a journey. It will be better than him making a move.”
The flame scar on his forehead ignited with a fire-red glow. His hair flew upward as if in a gale.
BOOM!
The world became fire. An ocean of raging flames, dozens of feet high, erupted across a ten-mile radius, swallowing the desert, the tomb entrance, the charging army, and the kneeling sect head. The flames took the shapes of dragons and tigers, roaring with elemental fury. The soldiers’ battle cries turned to screams of utter agony as they were incinerated. The Profound realm sect head lasted only a moment longer before succumbing to the all-consuming heat.
Within the heart of the inferno, the beggar stood untouched, his rags unburned, a king presiding over destruction. A chant seemed to whisper from the flames: I am the raging flames of the burning heavens… I am invincible…
Then, the king vanished. The beggar’s eyes lost their fierce light, becoming dull and frightened. He clutched his head and let out a howl of pure, soul-rending pain, thrashing in the fire as if battling invisible demons. When the fit passed, the flames began to recede, leaving behind a superheated, glassy wasteland. The beggar stumbled to his feet, his aura gone, mumbling in terror to the empty air. “I should die… I promise I will protect him… please, let me go…” He then staggered away into the desert, a broken figure once more.
Three days later, at the gates of the Ancient City, Su Mei was in a state of near panic. “Let me go! I need to find him!”
Bai Tong held her back firmly. “Su Mei, calm yourself. The tomb is a forbidden area now. The temperature is so high even Profound realm experts can’t approach it!”
“Three days! He’s not back! He saved you!” Su Mei shouted, tears of frustration in her eyes.
“Hey, what are you doing? Why is it so lively here?”
The familiar voice made everyone freeze. They turned to see Chu Feng, looking like a beggar himself, covered in sand and dust, squinting at them with a tired but cheerful smile.
“Chu Feng!” Su Mei broke free and, ignoring his disheveled state, threw herself into his arms, holding him tightly. Tears of relief spilled onto his ragged shoulder.
“Where did you go? Why did you return so late…” she mumbled into his chest, her voice thick with emotion.
Chu Feng felt a profound warmth melt the fatigue and fear of his ordeal. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, holding her close. “Mm, I was met with a little bit of trouble.”
“Bastard.” Feeling his embrace and remembering their audience, Su Mei blushed scarlet and pushed him away, but the worry in her eyes had been replaced by bright relief.
Back within the safety of his residence at the Azure Dragon School, Chu Feng finally allowed himself to exult. He laid out his spoils: six hundred golden, spiritually pulsating Spiritual Beads—a fortune equal to his entire family’s wealth. This was the key to his next leap in power.
He began with a handful, roughly fifty beads, swallowing them whole. The Divine Lightning in his dantian awoke with voracious hunger, devouring the released spiritual energy instantly. His dantian swelled but did not break. He took another fifty. This time, the reaction was violent. The nine Lightning Beasts within him roared, their forms seeming to converge and intensify. A wave of pure, potent energy cascaded through his meridians, washing away the old limits.
The seventh level of the Spirit realm.
The cost, however, was staggering. One hundred top-quality Spiritual Beads, an amount others would hoard for a single, critical breakthrough from the 9th Spirit to the Origin realm, had been consumed for one advance. The Divine Lightning’s appetite was terrifying, a path of cultivation paved with astronomical resource. He looked at the remaining five hundred beads and, with a sigh of pragmatic resolve, stored them away. He would need them, and far more, later.
A knock at his door broke his contemplation. He opened it to find Chu Yue and Chu Xue.
“Chu Feng, you’ve finally returned!” Chu Yue said, her face lighting up before adopting a teasing smirk. “Speak honestly. Where did you go? I heard you went out with the #1 beauty in the inner court, Su Mei.”
Chu Feng rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish, non-committal smile.
Chu Yue laughed. “Okay, I won’t tease you. We were just passing by. Since you’re here, come with us and join in the liveliness.”
“Liveliness? What liveliness?”
A new, curious glint entered Chu Xue’s eyes as she asked, “Chu Feng, have you heard of the Cultivation Formation?”
The core disciple exam loomed, but new mysteries and opportunities within the Azure Dragon School itself were already unfolding. Chu Feng’s journey, fueled by the Imperial Sky Technique and an ever-hungry Divine Lightning, was accelerating onto an even more unpredictable and dangerous path.