One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Zhang Chulan was furious.

This ninja is just like a venomous snake; even on the verge of death, he doesn't forget to bite.

His right fist had already lost momentum and was difficult to defend; his left fist was also too slow to block—the poison needle was too fast and too close, and his hand simply couldn't reach his lower abdomen in time.

Just as the poisoned needle was about to reach the body—

The golden light flowing around Zhang Chulan suddenly seemed to come alive, gathering and condensing on its own in front of his lower abdomen.

It wasn't something he actively controlled.

It's a reaction that happens automatically with the Golden Light Mantra.

Just as a person would pull their hand back when burned, the golden light sensed the threat and began to move on its own. In an instant, it formed a palm-sized, yet incredibly solid, golden shield in front of his lower abdomen.

The surface of the small golden shield was as smooth as a mirror, its edges were neatly trimmed, and it was more than a finger's thickness. It hovered in front of Zhang Chulan's lower abdomen, as if someone had placed a small shield there.

"Ding!"

The poison needle struck the small golden shield with a soft click and was deflected.

The needle tip left a tiny white dot on the surface of the small shield, then "poof" it shot into the ground next to it, penetrating three feet into the soil.

"Golden Light Mantra - As easy as using your own arm!"

Zhang Chulan himself was also taken aback for a moment.

He was overjoyed.

This is an advanced technique that can only be mastered when the Golden Light Mantra has been cultivated to a certain level—it allows one to control the shape and defensive focus of the golden light at will, no longer a round, round shield, but one that can be deformed, moved, and its local defense strengthened as needed.

He had been struggling to grasp the technique, no matter how much he practiced, he couldn't get past the basics. Unexpectedly, under this life-or-death pressure, he unintentionally used it!

"A great opportunity!"

He didn't have time to think it through.

Taking advantage of the moment when Hattori Chizo had thrown the poisoned needle, his old strength exhausted and new strength yet to be generated—and his left shoulder was severely injured, causing him to lose his balance and center of gravity—

Lightning flashed beneath his feet!

His figure appeared in front of the opponent as if he had teleported!

With his right index and middle fingers joined together, a point of condensed white lightning flashed out from the tip of his finger, like a venomous snake spitting its tongue—no, faster than a venomous snake, swifter than lightning.

With lightning speed, it aimed at Hattori Chizo's throat!

"Thunder Magic - Red Lips!"

This finger.

Swift.

Sharp.

A chilling murderous intent emanated from him!

It was the same move that had defeated Ivan, one of Bald Bear's henchmen. But this time, it was even faster—so fast that the air hissed as his fingers passed through it. The lightning energy was more condensed—the point of white light wasn't scattered, but condensed into the shape of a needle, like a miniature lightning sword.

Hattori Chizo's pupils suddenly contracted.

He felt a deadly threat.

Before the finger even touched his skin, the sharp, destructive force of lightning had already penetrated the air, making the hairs on his Adam's apple stand up, and causing a sharp pain in his throat.

He wanted to hide.

However, his left shoulder was severely injured, and every movement was accompanied by excruciating pain, severely affecting his balance and speed. He couldn't lift his left hand at all and could only use his right hand and legs to adjust his center of gravity.

He tried to block it.

But he had no knife in his hand—he had thrown away the broken one, and the other had long since broken. How could he, bare-handed, block acupoint strikes with lightning?

In the rush, he could only turn his head slightly and raise his intact right arm to block.

"Sizzle—!"

The condensed lightning finger energy was like a red-hot wire being inserted into butter—no, even easier and more effortless. The layer of gray-black protective qi that he had hastily gathered on his arm was like a thin sheet of paper in front of the lightning finger energy, crumbling at the slightest touch.

It easily pierced through the hastily gathered protective qi covering his arm.

A charred, bloody hole was left on his right arm—about the thickness of a finger, with charred edges and the muscles and blood vessels in the middle burned and solidified by the lightning force, so little blood flowed out.

The decline has lessened slightly.

But it still grazed his neck.

A small piece of skin and flesh was removed—about the size of a fingernail—from the side of the neck, slightly to the left of the Adam's apple. A charred burn mark remained, as if burned by a cigarette butt.

"Ugh!"

Hattori Chizo let out a scream.

This was the first time he had screamed in agony from beginning to end—before, when he was grazed by lightning or had his bones broken by the force of a punch, he had only groaned. But this time, he couldn't hold back. His right arm was severely injured, his neck was wounded, and the excruciating pain and the numbness from the lightning energy caused him to lose his balance instantly. It was as if someone had given him a hard push, and he staggered, his body swaying precariously.

Zhang Chulan is unforgiving when he's in the right.

Take a step forward.

His left fist followed closely behind, its surface shimmering with golden and lightning light, like a golden meteor wrapped in lightning.

It slammed hard into Hattori Chizo's stomach!

"Bang--!"

A dull thud.

The sound wasn't like a fist hitting flesh, but more like a hammer striking a sandbag—dull, heavy, and solid.

Hattori Chizo was struck as if by a charging rhinoceros; his body arched like a shrimp, his abdomen caved in, and his spine bulging out. His eyes bulged, the blood vessels around his eye sockets bursting, and the whites of his eyes instantly turned red. A mouthful of blood mixed with gastric juices gushed out, splashing onto the ground with a "plop," a horrifying sight of dark red and pale yellow mingled together.

He was thrown backward like a tattered sack.

He flew about seven or eight meters before crashing into a wall—no, not a wall, but a pile of junk supported by an iron frame. The frame collapsed with a loud crash, and all sorts of debris rained down on him. He rolled off the pile and onto the ground, tumbling several times and leaving a winding trail of blood.

They curled up in a ball.

He kept coughing up blood.

His right hand clutched his abdomen, while his left hand—the crippled left hand—fell limply to the ground, his fingers twitching twice. Each cough brought up dark red blood clots, splattering on the ground like shattered red flowers.

They have clearly lost their fighting ability.

Zhang Chulan stood still.

He was breathing slightly heavily.

The golden and lightning light emanating from his body slowly receded, like the tide going out, layer by layer. The golden armor melted into his skin, and the white lightning snakes burrowed back into the depths of his muscles. Only his chest continued to heave violently, his breathing heavy and rapid.

He glanced at his lower abdomen, where he had almost been attacked by a poison needle—there was a small needle hole in his clothes there, but the golden shield had blocked it in time and had not damaged his skin.

Then he glanced at Hattori Chizo, who was lying paralyzed in the distance.

He pursed his lips.

"Tch, is that all there is to ninjas? Besides running fast, shooting arrows from the shadows, and using poison, what else can they do? They have absolutely no skill involved."

The entire room fell silent.

No one speaks.

Only Hattori Chizo's faint, intermittent coughs in the distance mingled with Zhang Chulan's rapid breathing.

A moment later.

"In the first match, Zhang Chulan from the Chinese side wins."

The voice of a suit-wearing elite rang out.

With a hint of barely perceptible amazement.

He hadn't expected it either. This seemingly unreliable young Chinese man was actually incredibly strong. Not only was his defense astonishing—the golden light spell was as thick as a city wall—but his speed, strength, and lightning magic were all at a remarkably high level. Moreover, his combat intuition was sharp, and his ability to adapt to changing situations was extremely strong. The final combination of the golden light shield and the lightning acupoint strike was exquisite, like that of a veteran who had practiced the golden light spell for ten years.

Over in the land of cherry blossoms.

Sato Ittosai's face was so gloomy it was almost dripping with water. His brows were furrowed into a deep frown, the corners of his mouth were slightly downturned, and his fingers gripping the hilt of his sword tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white.

Fujiwara Sousuke silently stepped forward and dragged the heavily injured Hattori Chizo back. His movements were very gentle—as gentle as if he were moving a fragile piece of porcelain—but his aged face showed no expression. He quickly checked the injuries, applied medicine, and bandaged them.

Although Hattori Chizo survived, he suffered a comminuted fracture of his left shoulder, his right arm was pierced by lightning, his neck was injured, and his internal organs were also damaged—at least two ribs were broken, and his spleen may have ruptured. He wouldn't recover for several months and was completely incapacitated.

"Yay! A great start! Brother Chu Lan is awesome!"

Wang Zhenqiu was the first to jump up and cheer. Although jumping aggravated his injuries, causing him to grimace in pain, he still didn't forget to give Zhang Chulan a thumbs up. That thumbs up was held high, like a flag being raised.

"Well done."

Nie Lingfeng nodded as well.

A hint of approval flashed in his eyes. It was faint, fleeting, but Zhang Chulan noticed it.

Although Zhang Chulan's battle was somewhat perilous—he was nearly struck by Hattori Senzo's sword and poison needles several times—he ultimately won thanks to his solid foundation and on-the-spot breakthroughs. He also forced out many of his opponent's techniques and weakened one of their key generals, thus successfully completing his mission.

"Hehe, so-so, third in the world."

Zhang Chulan walked back, speaking modestly, but his face beamed with a wide smile. His mouth stretched to his ears, and his eyes narrowed into slits.

He took the water bottle from Chen Duo and gulped down several mouthfuls. The water in the bottle was warm, with a faint herbal scent—Chen Duo had added something to quickly restore his strength. He took two large gulps and felt a warm current spread from his stomach to his limbs, making his sore muscles feel much better.

The full-power burst just now had taken a considerable toll. His legs were still trembling slightly, not from fear, but from exhaustion. Driving the Thunder at full power was exhilarating, but it was like a high-powered engine with the fuel tank rapidly depleting.

"Don't get too cocky, there are still two games left."

Master Wang poured cold water on him.

But there was a smile in his eyes. That smile was hidden deep within his tired eyes, like the winter sun, not intense but warm.

"However, that golden shield you used just now was quite good. I didn't expect you, who are usually so carefree, to be so decisive in a real situation."

"That's right! Don't you even know who trained him!"

Zhang Chulan's tail twitched up again. His chin was held high, as if he had won a battle of the century.

Meanwhile, the people from the Sakura Kingdom carried Hattori Chizo away for treatment. Someone gave him a bottle of medicine, someone set his bones, and someone wiped the blood from his face with a warm, damp towel.

Sato Ittosai slowly stood up.

His movements were slow—even somewhat slow, as if he were deliberately suppressing something. His left hand gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, and with a gentle push of his thumb, the hilt guard moved slightly away from the scabbard with a soft "click."

That sharp, razor-sharp gaze swept over Zhang Chulan and finally landed on Nie Lingfeng.

"The second match."

He spoke slowly.

The voice was icy, like the winter wind scraping across a knife's edge.

"I've come myself. Whom will you send?"

The atmosphere became heavy again.

The first victory was just the beginning. The real battle is only just starting.