Renegade Immortal Chapters 55-57: Wang Lin's Triumph and the Dragon Capture Hand

The air on the competition stage, once thick with the Heng Yue Sect’s humiliation, now crackled with a newfound, electric hope. Wang Lin stood at its center, his previously overlooked figure now the axis upon which the entire arena’s emotions spun. The thunderous impact of Zhou Peng’s body hitting the ground still seemed to echo, not just in the stone, but in the stunned silence of the Xuan Dao Sect and the rapidly swelling pride of his own fellow disciples. His heart, a drumbeat of exhilaration, slowly steadied as he surveyed the sea of faces before him. His gaze, once habitually lowered, now swept across the Xuan Dao Sect disciples with a calm authority that mirrored Zhou Peng’s earlier arrogance. “Today’s exchange is not over,” Wang Lin announced, his voice clear and carrying. “Who is going to come up next from the Xuan Dao Sect?”

A palpable wave of discomfort passed through the Xuan Dao ranks. Disciples who moments before had been jeering and posturing now found the patterns on their shoes suddenly fascinating, avoiding the sight of the unassuming yet terrifying figure on the stage. The reversal was absolute and deliciously ironic for the Heng Yue Sect.

From the depths of their shame, a roar of vindication erupted. The title “trash,” so casually and cruelly assigned to Wang Lin for years, was incinerated in the furnace of their collective euphoria. Cheers and shouts, laced with months of pent-up frustration, tore through the plaza.

“Xuan Dao Sect’s trash, how come none of you are coming out after seeing how strong our senior brother Wang is?” “Where did all the drive you guys had before go? Quickly, send someone up!” “Liu Feng, you looked so strong before. Come on out! Do you dare?” The chants grew more creative and personal. “Li Shan, you ***! You sold us those stink bombs with bad intentions, but we all saw through it, especially senior brother Wang Lin. Have you learned your lesson?” And then, the ultimate capitulation: “Senior brother, I mocked you before, but I’m here to apologize to you now… You are now my boss! If you tell me to go east, I definitely won’t go west!”

The title ‘senior brother’ settled onto Wang Lin’s shoulders as naturally as if it had always been his. On the high platform, Elder Ouyang’s face underwent a chromatic journey from furious red to ashen white, perfectly mirroring the anguish Sect Head Huang Long had endured earlier. Swallowing his pride, he barked a name. “Yang Yi, you go!”

A tall, thin youth with a resigned expression stepped forward. As he moved toward the stage, a misguided Xuan Dao disciple, caught in the old script of encouragement, shouted, “Second senior brother, go! Go and give Wang Lin a—!” The sentence died in his throat as he registered the venomous, hate-filled glare from Yang Yi and the pitying stares of his peers. The unspoken ending—“a good beating”—now sounded like a suicidal joke.

Yang Yi’s mind raced with bitter curses. This moron! Wang Lin flattened senior brother Zhou in one move, and now this old fool Ouyang throws me to the wolves? And how many of those damned stink bombs did that swindler Li Shan sell him? He shot a fierce look toward the hapless Li Shan before turning to Wang Lin, his demeanor shifting into one of extreme, almost comical respect. He clasped his hands and bowed. “Brother Wang, I am Yang Yi. Brother is very handsome and has such high cultivation! You will definitely become famous in the cultivation country of Zhao! Having the chance to battle with brother is really a privilege!”

Wang Lin regarded him silently, offering no reciprocal flattery. Unfazed, Yang Yi pressed his strategic gambit. “Brother Wang, we are only here for a friendly exchange. How about we fight ‘by touch’ to determine the winner? If I can last 100 seconds, then it’s my win.” Seeing Wang Lin’s impassive face, he hastily downgraded his own terms. “No, 50 seconds. Actually, let’s do 30 seconds… no, let’s go with 20 seconds.”

The Heng Yue Sect disciples howled in derisive delight. “Get off the stage! You’re so shameless!” “From 100 seconds to 20? You’re not worthy of fighting our senior brother!” Their loyalty, once so fickle, was now firmly and loudly purchased by Wang Lin’s display of power.

In the elders’ stand, Huang Long’s smile was so wide it threatened to split his face. He turned to Sun Dazhu, his voice dripping with a newfound camaraderie. “Junior brother Dazhu, this disciple of yours is very good!”

Sun Dazhu felt a surge of light-headed pride. To be called “junior brother Dazhu” by the sect head was unprecedented. He puffed out his chest, seamlessly rewriting history. “That is true. I’ve had my eyes on Wang Lin from the moment he came into the sect! Hehe, good thing no one fought with me for him. Hmph, when I took him as his master, quite a few people even mocked me!” He glanced sideways at Dao Xu and the red-faced elder, who colored further but were silenced by a sharp look from a beaming Huang Long.

On the stage, Yang Yi paid the hecklers no mind. His survival depended on Wang Lin’s agreement. “Ok,” Wang Lin said simply.

A spark of cunning hope ignited in Yang Yi’s eyes. He agreed! Wang Lin, your technique is strong, but I specialize in speed. Let’s see if you can catch me in 20 seconds! He clasped his hands, crushed a piece of white jade, and was enveloped in a burst of light that propelled him sideways in a blur. His plan was not to fight, but to flee—to weave and dodge for twenty precious seconds.

Wang Lin allowed a faint, mocking smile to touch his lips. To his powerful divine sense, Yang Yi’s frantic speed was perfectly trackable, like a bird in a slow-moving sky. He calmly activated his attraction technique, and an invisible hand of force began to constrict the space around the darting disciple. Then, with deliberate slowness, he drew out another stink bomb.

The sight of that small, ominous sphere made Yang Yi’s blood run cold. He poured more spiritual energy into his movement technique. From the Xuan Dao Sect crowd, Li Shan watched in utter despair, muttering to himself, “Martial Brother Wang, Elder Brother Wang, Grandpa Wang! Please don’t use it anymore! I have already angered senior brother. If I anger second senior brother as well, my life will be over…”

His prayers went unanswered. Wang Lin’s eyes flashed. The invisible hand clenched. Yang Yi felt the world solidify around him, the air turning to thick syrup, pressing in from all sides, halting his flight utterly. He could only stare, wide-eyed and helpless, as the stink bomb traced a graceful, terrible arc through the air toward his face.

Bang! The impact was both physical and olfactory. Yang Yi stumbled back, his face smeared black, an eye-watering stench immediately blooming from his robes. But horror overrode humiliation. The sheer, inescapable power of that grasping technique was far more frightening than any smell. As the force loosened slightly, he broke free with a desperate surge, his heart hammering against his ribs. This ‘Dragon Capture Hand’ is monstrous! I can’t win by running. Fine, a desperate strike!

Wang Lin watched him calmly. “There are still more than ten seconds left. You can continue.”

Gritting his teeth, Yang Yi went on the offensive. He spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged spiritual energy that coalesced into a fierce, sword-shaped red light, shooting toward Wang Lin with piercing intent. Simultaneously, he hurled handfuls of talismans into the air, which burst into a chaotic rain of minor offensive techniques.

Wang Lin’s response was a study in dismissive efficiency. A flick of his wrist, and another manifestation of the attraction technique swatted the talismans aside, their energies dissipating harmlessly. A second invisible hand reached out and seized the red sword light in mid-air. The light struggled, revealing the core of a red flying sword. Wang Lin’s divine sense, far superior, easily located and erased Yang Yi’s spiritual imprint on the weapon. With a slight squeeze of the ethereal hand, a sharp crack echoed. The flying sword snapped in two, its pieces clattering to the stone.

Yang Yi recoiled as if struck, a mouthful of blood spurting from his lips. He staggered back, his expression a mix of defeat and stubborn pride. “Brother Wang’s ancient technique, the Dragon Capture Hand, is very strong,” he declared, wiping his mouth. “But I don’t admit defeat! What defeated me was not you, but your ancient technique!”

Wang Lin was momentarily taken aback, then let out a genuine chuckle. “Ancient technique Dragon Capture Hand? This is the first time I’ve heard of it!”

“Hmph, you don’t have to deny it. Your Dragon Capture Hand has already been seen through by my uncle-master!” Yang Yi stated defiantly before retreating from the stage, the crowd of Xuan Dao disciples parting before him less out of respect and more to avoid the potent smell he carried.

Elder Ouyang, seizing on this narrative to salvage some face for his defeated disciples, coughed and spoke with stiff authority. “Junior Wang Lin, the technique you used is really the Dragon Capture Hand. These ancient techniques are very unpredictable and powerful. I’ve only ever heard of it in some old texts myself. I never thought that the Heng Yue Sect still had a technique that has been lost for thousands of years. No less from a powerful sect from 500 years ago!” As he spoke, he almost convinced himself. The power on display had to be from a lost ancient art. A basic attraction technique couldn’t possibly manifest such dominance.

Wang Lin was privately amused. The ‘heaven-defying bead’ and its time-dilated space were secrets beyond their comprehension. His two decades of relentless practice in that dream realm had refined this basic technique to a degree unimaginable to these cultivators. Furthermore, as Situ Nan had explained, Wang Lin’s actual cultivation hovered at the half-step to Foundation Establishment—the 14th layer of Qi Condensation—though his body’s aura was stuck at the 3rd layer due to a strange desynchronization caused by the bead. The combination of profound spiritual power and a maximally refined basic technique created an effect that seemed legendary.

Huang Long, recognizing a perfect opportunity to twist the knife, narrowed his eyes. “Wang Lin, is the technique you used really some ancient technique?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he desired a specific answer.

Wang Lin played his part flawlessly. He shook his head. “Sect Head, the technique junior used is clearly the attraction technique. As for the Dragon Capture Hand, disciple has never heard of it before.”

Huang Long’s smile returned, full of glee. He looked at the flustered Xuan Dao elders. “Friend Ouyang, I can tell you that this technique is not the Dragon Capture Hand, but the most basic technique of my Heng Yue Sect: the attraction technique. Your disciples can’t even defend against the most basic technique of my sect, and you guys are making up this grand name to justify it.”

Elder Ouyang, cornered, could only double down. “Friend Huang Long, you don’t have to deny it. Hmph, I already saw through it. This is the Dragon Capture Hand!”

It was Dao Xu who delivered the masterstroke. He chuckled and said to Huang Long, “Sect Head, I think that name is pretty good. How about we change the attraction technique’s name to the Dragon Capture Hand?”

Huang Long’s eyes sparkled with malicious delight. “Good! From now on, my Heng Yue Sect’s attraction technique will be renamed to the Dragon Capture Hand. I’d like to thank the Xuan Dao Sect for the name!”

The three Xuan Dao elders could only swallow this bitter pill, their faces portraits of stifled fury and humiliation. They shook their heads, unable to muster a retort.

Standing alone on the stage amidst the cheers, Wang Lin fell into a brief contemplation. The victories had cemented his confidence, but his opponents had been unable to push him to his limits. He was keenly aware of his own imbalance—spiritual power rivaling the 14th layer, but a repertoire consisting almost solely of the supremely practiced attraction technique. To truly gauge the depth of his strength, he needed a greater challenge. A bold, almost arrogant idea formed in his mind, one that would completely shatter the remaining decorum of the exchange.

He raised his head, his voice cutting through the noise. “Fellow senior brothers of the Xuan Dao Sect,” he announced, his tone calm yet carrying an edge that silenced the crowd. “All of you can come up at once.”

A stunned silence blanketed the arena, followed by an explosive uproar from the Xuan Dao side. Insult burned in their eyes. They cursed Wang Lin’s arrogance inwardly, yet a chilling fear kept their feet rooted. Not a single one volunteered. Elder Ouyang and the other two elders frowned deeply, their gazes turning cold and hostile.

Wang Lin let out a light laugh, and in that moment, his demeanor perfectly mirrored Zhou Peng’s earlier, swaggering dominance. “Xuan Dao Sect,” he pressed, the challenge hanging in the air. “Are you all too scared to even all come up at once?”

That was the spark that ignited the Heng Yue Sect’s frenzy anew. Their cheers became a unified, taunting roar. “Is the trash of the Xuan Dao Sect too scared to come out? Where did all of that arrogance go?” “Senior brother Wang Lin is invincible! Punch the Xuan Dao Sect! Kick the Xuan Dao Sect!” “Your senior brother was not good enough! Your second senior brother was also not enough! Do you guys have a third senior brother? All of you, come out together!”

The collective shame and anger finally boiled over among the Xuan Dao disciples. One voice shouted, “Wang Lin, you are too arrogant! It is you who wants all of us to come up! Fellow martial brothers, let’s all go and beat him up!” Another joined in, “That’s right! This is his request, so it’s not against the rules. Elders, let us all go up!” The plea became a chorus, a desperate mob seeking to drown a single formidable foe in numbers.

Elder Ouyang, his face a mask of grim resignation, clenched his jaw. The path of retreat was closed. “Since the Heng Yue Sect requested it,” he growled, “then, whoever wants to go, go up!”

It was the permission for a riot. Three disciples leapt onto the stage immediately, then seven or eight more followed in a wave. Even a few female disciples joined the fray. With a collective shout, a chaotic storm of magical treasures—flying daggers, spirit ropes, elemental talismans—was unleashed toward Wang Lin’s solitary figure.

Wang Lin didn’t flinch. A profound calm settled over him. He activated the attraction technique, not as a single hand, but as multiple manifestations of his will. Giant, invisible hands swept through the charging crowd like a deity swatting aside insects. Disciples were plucked from their feet and sent flying through the air with startled yelps. Wang Lin took graceful, measured steps back, controlling the entire stage. The hands grabbed, lifted, and tossed. One by one, bodies sailed off the platform, landing in groaning heaps around the arena.

The more he fought, the more intuitive his control became. The technique was an extension of his limbs, his divine sense painting a perfect picture of the battlefield. Soon, the crowd on stage thinned dramatically. Only three figures remained standing amidst the chaos: Liu Feng, Xu Mu, and the ever-resourceful Li Shan.

Wang Lin let out a soft laugh and reached into his pouch, producing his final stink bomb.

The effect on Liu Feng was instantaneous. His bravado evaporated, replaced by pure tactical surrender. “Brother Wang, have mercy!” he shouted, hands raised as he backpedaled hastily toward the edge. “I surrender, I surrender!” He had no desire to join Zhou Peng and Yang Yi in olfactory infamy and practically tripped in his hurry to get off the stage.

Xu Mu, seeing the writing on the wall, quickly mumbled his own surrender and scrambled away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

That left only Li Shan. His face was a masterpiece of tragic resolve. He puffed out his chest and shouted with forced bravery, “Wang Lin, come! Use your last stink bomb on me!” His plan was diabolically clever. By sharing in the humiliation of his superiors, he might curry pity and lessen the brutal retaliation he was sure to face back at the Xuan Dao Sect. He had even played dead during the brawl, enduring a few stray stomps for this very moment.

Wang Lin looked at him, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. He carefully put the stink bomb away. “This is a treasure,” he said mildly, “so it shouldn’t be carelessly used. You can get off the stage.” With a casual gesture, an attraction hand gently but firmly grasped Li Shan and deposited him unceremoniously off the platform, foiling his plot for shared suffering.

The defeat was total, absolute, and utterly humiliating. Elder Ouyang and his companions trembled with a fury born of powerlessness. They wished the earth would swallow them whole.

Huang Long, his joy uncontainable, floated forward. “Friend Ouyang,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction, “who is the winner between the exchange of our two sects?”

Elder Ouyang snorted, the sound full of venom. “Your Heng Yue Sect has good fortune to have such a good disciple. This exchange is your win!” He waved his sleeve, and a bag of holding shot toward Huang Long, who caught it deftly. “But, what I said before is true,” Ouyang added, his tone dropping, laced with a grim warning that momentarily dampened Huang Long’s glee. “All of your Heng Yue Sect Nascent Soul ancestors are dead! All of the things you want are in that bag. Goodbye!”

With a sharp shout, a dark cloud descended from the sky—the thousand-foot centipede, its countless legs rippling as it settled beside the defeated disciples. Without another word, Elder Ouyang stepped onto its broad head. The Xuan Dao Sect disciples, faces etched with shame, anger, and dejection, quickly followed, a silent, beaten procession.

As the massive centipede began to stir, preparing to depart, Wang Lin’s eyes, which had been fixed on the spirit beast, lit up with determination. The matter of the poison was not something he could let pass. He had to try.

“Fellow peers of the Xuan Dao Sect and elders,” he shouted, his voice ringing out. “I have an unreasonable demand!” Using the attraction technique on the ground beneath him, he propelled himself forward, landing gracefully in the path of the giant centipede.

Elder Ouyang’s expression darkened. For any other Heng Yue disciple, he would have simply commanded the centipede to crush them. But this was Wang Lin, the author of their humiliation, a disciple whose power demanded a sliver of caution. He suppressed his rage. “Speak!”

Wang Lin looked past the elder, his gaze fixed on the eerie, segmented form of the centipede. He spoke honestly. “I would like to borrow some poison from the centipede. I hope Elder Ouyang will agree!”

The request, coming on the heels of their crushing defeat, was the final straw. The Xuan Dao disciples erupted. “Wang Lin, don’t push us too far!” “This centipede is a guardian spirit beast of our sect! How could its poison be just lent to you?” “Elder, this person is too disrespectful! Teach him a lesson!”

The other two Xuan Dao elders sneered openly. Elder Ouyang stared down at Wang Lin, an eerie smile playing on his lips. “Junior,” he said, the word dripping with contempt, “scram. I can’t be bothered with you.”

Huang Long and the Heng Yue elders immediately flew to Wang Lin’s side on their swords, presenting a united front. Huang Long’s voice was firm. “Friend Ouyang, your Xuan Dao Sect is too stingy. It’s only the centipede’s poison. It’s not like he is asking for its life!”

Elder Ouyang’s gaze swept over them, the political realities tempering his fury. “Friend Huang Long,” he said coldly, “taking a bit of poison is not a big deal. But for a junior to dare to be so arrogant, to make demands after a victory, is too disrespectful toward our Xuan Dao Sect!” It was a matter of face, and his sect had none left to give.

Huang Long hesitated. The shocking news about their Nascent Soul ancestors meant the broader balance of power was precarious. Pushing the Xuan Dao Sect into a corner might have unforeseen consequences.

Wang Lin sensed the delicate stalemate. His need for the poison, however, was non-negotiable. It was the key to his next step, a requirement laid out by the mysterious Situ Nan within the bead. He took a deep breath, his mind working. Confrontation hadn’t worked. Perhaps a trade would provide the necessary face-saving exit.

He looked up at the imposing elder on the centipede’s head. “Elder Ouyang,” Wang Lin began again, his tone respectful yet unwavering. “I only want a bit of the centipede’s poison. I promise I won’t hurt him.” He paused, letting his next words hang in the tense air. “If you agree, I’m willing to exchange something for it.”

The offer changed the dynamic. It was no longer a brazen demand from a victor, but a proposed transaction. All eyes were on Elder Ouyang. Would he dismiss it outright, clinging to wounded pride? Or would he, in his heart curious about what this extraordinary disciple might offer, see a sliver of a chance to recover a fragment of dignity from the ruins of the day? The massive centipede hissed softly, its antennae waving, as the fate of its venom—and the final note of this humiliating exchange—rested on the elder’s next decision. The wind carried the fading cheers of the Heng Yue Sect and the bitter silence of the Xuan Dao disciples, waiting to see if this final chapter would end in further conflict or in a tense, unexpected bargain.