170: Chapter 170 The Power of Dragon's Roar Iron Shirt

Lin Tian on the ground moved.

He used his palms to push off the bluestone platform and slowly stood up.

His rising motion was not fast, even somewhat unhurried. After standing up, he raised his hand to brush the stone dust off his robe, patting his left shoulder twice, then his right waist twice, his movements as careful as if he were dusting off grass clippings he had picked up while walking back from the lakeside to the door of his bamboo hut.

Then he turned around, adjusted the collar of his robe that had been torn open by the palm blade, looked at Chen Ying, and said in a calm tone: "Senior Sister Chen, your speed is truly fast."

Chen Ying was stunned. His gaze fell onto Lin Tian's back—the robe had been torn open by the palm blade, revealing the wheat-colored skin underneath.

On the skin was a shallow red mark, the trace left by the edge of the palm strike, but that red mark was fading at a speed visible to the naked eye, and within a few breaths, it was almost invisible.

There was no blood, no bruising, and not even the skin was broken. His eyelid twitched, and the expression of certain victory on his face seemed to have been struck by something, cracking at the corner.

Below the stage, it was quiet for less than half a breath, then it exploded into an uproar.

"Unharmed! This kid took a palm blade strike from Chen Ying and is completely fine!"

"What kind of joke is this? I've seen Chen Ying's palm strike shatter a piece of bluestone with my own eyes, and it only left a red mark on his back?"

"His physique is this strong too? His sword technique is strong, his palm technique is strong, there's also the Thunderclap Sword Technique, and now even his defense is so monstrous—just how much is this kid hiding!"

The members of Team 6 were so excited they almost jumped off the ground. Chen Lang shook the shoulders of the member next to him vigorously, repeatedly muttering, "Junior Brother Lin is fine."

Ma Gang slowly loosened his clenched fists, let out a long breath, and looked at the lean and upright figure on the arena stage, his lips curving slightly before quickly straightening again.

In the crowd, Chen Yixiao stood with his arms crossed, the wound on his right hand still throbbing with pain.

He watched Lin Tian on the stage—the one who had just blasted him off the stage, and now was using his Acquired hard-training technique to withstand Chen Ying's palm blade—and narrowed his eyes.

He hadn't known that Lin Tian's physique was actually this strong—when they dueled earlier, Lin Tian had kept clashing with him using sword techniques and had never let him land a single hit. Thinking about it now, it wasn't that he couldn't hit him, it was that his opponent simply didn't need to rely on his body to withstand his Great Strength Vajra Palm.

But the opponent had deliberately not revealed his defense, only using sword techniques to skirmish with him until finally using the Thunderclap Sword Technique to decide the victory in one move. This kid had still held back when fighting him.

On the arena stage, Chen Ying withdrew his palm into his sleeve and flexed his slightly numb fingers. He looked at the red mark fading on Lin Tian's back and slowly frowned.

What a strong physique. A Late Stage Grade 4 palm blade, wrapped in Internal Energy, striking the back of a Martial Artist of the same Realm—even if it didn't kill them in one blow, it should at least make them cough up blood and leave half their body paralyzed for a good while.

Yet this person before him just brushed the dirt off his body, turned around, and said something lukewarm to him. However, no matter how strong the defense was, there was a limit.

He could block one palm, but could he block two or three? As long as he kept attacking the same spot, with Internal Energy layered upon itself, even the thickest iron plate could be cracked.

He stopped speaking. His figure flickered, his cyan martial attire leaving only a blurry afterimage in the sunlight, and he vanished from where he stood.

When he reappeared, he was already behind Lin Tian. He was executing the Floating Light Sweeping Shadow movement technique with full force, so fast that among the spectators below the stage, only a few veteran team captains could barely track his trajectory.

Lin Tian struck back with his sword. This time it wasn't the Xiaguang Sword Technique; although the Xiaguang Sword Technique had many sword beams, its speed wasn't fast enough to keep up with Chen Ying's rhythm.

He switched to the Thunderclap Sword Technique—this sword technique was not only violently powerful, but its striking speed was also faster than the Xiaguang Sword Technique. The autumn water sword was wrapped in a layer of incandescent lightning, and as the tip pierced the air, it emitted a sharp metallic vibrating sound, stabbing straight at Chen Ying's throat.

Chen Ying withdrew his palm, his figure flickered again, and he dodged the sword strike by the narrowest of margins.

He did not retreat, but instead circled around Lin Tian rapidly, his cyan martial attire kicking up a whistling wind on the arena stage, with afterimages flickering in and out of existence behind him.

He appeared now to Lin Tian's left, now behind Lin Tian, each appearance wrapped in a palm blade or whip kick, attacking Lin Tian's weakest defensive points: his waist, ribs, and the back of his neck. With the Floating Light Sweeping Shadow combined with the attack techniques of Qingxia Peak, few people within the same Realm could keep up with his speed.

After a few sword strikes, Chen Ying found another opportunity. He slipped through a gap in Lin Tian's sword beams and struck Lin Tian's back solidly with his right palm.

With a bang, the stone dust on the arena stage was shaken into the air. Lin Tian's body swayed, but he stabilized himself by taking half a step forward, and immediately struck back with another sword slash behind him.

Chen Ying had already retreated three steps away, looking down at his right palm—the palm was bright red, as if he had struck a red-hot iron plate.

His attack power was indeed not very strong; Qingxia Peak followed the path of speed and was not adept at direct, hard attacks. But even if it wasn't strong, he was still a Late Stage Grade 4 Martial Artist. With Internal Energy infused, having struck so many palms, a Martial Artist of the same Realm should have been unable to hold on long ago.

But what about Lin Tian? He had taken several palm strikes without even swaying, not even frowning once.

This defense was too outrageous—looking at his opponent's build, he wasn't burly or robust, but thin and tall, standing a good half-head shorter than the tower-like Chen Yixiao. How could his defense be even harder than Chen Yixiao's?

The few Elders watching from below the stage also looked at each other in dismay, one of them whispering to his colleague: "This Zixia Peak Disciple's defensive martial art is not from the Zixia Peak style. Zixia Peak excels in sword techniques and movement techniques, not Body Refining."

"Look, after taking several palm strikes from Chen Ying, there is a faint dark-cyan luster flowing beneath his skin."

Chen Yixiao had already lowered his arms from his chest, his brows knitted into a knot: "Such strong defense. Even a palm blade can't break through it; how is one supposed to fight?"

On the arena stage, Chen Ying's figure appeared and disappeared, each appearance wrapped in a burst of rapid wind-breaking sounds.

His palm blades and whip kicks rained down on Lin Tian from all sorts of tricky angles, wave after wave of attacks with almost no gaps. Lin Tian stood his ground, his feet nailed to the bluestone platform as if rooted, the autumn water sword in his hand dancing into a curtain of light woven from lightning and sword shadows.

He didn't chase after Chen Ying, nor did he bother to—although the Cloud Shadow Step was not slow on land, comparing speed with a Qingxia Peak Disciple who specialized in movement techniques was attacking their strength with his own weakness. He just stood there, using his sword to seal off his vital points and taking the hits with his body elsewhere.

Roaring sounds rose and fell on the arena stage, each collision causing the bluestone platform to tremble. The two fought from the center of the stage to the edge, and from the edge back to the center, the crowd below watching in stunned silence. Neither could do anything to the other.

"What kind of fighting style is this? One is so fast he can't be hit, the other is so hard he can't be dented; neither can win!"

"Could it end in a draw? If it's a draw, who gets to be the team captain?" Even the Elders frowned.

After striking another palm, Chen Ying used the force to leap backward and create distance. Upon landing, he shook his numb arm—this wouldn't do; continuing like this would just waste his Internal Energy in vain.

His attack power was indeed not strong, but no matter how weak, he was still a Late Stage Grade 4 Martial Artist.

Having struck so many palms, let alone a person, even an iron plate should have had a few dents pounded into it. But what about Lin Tian? Forget being injured, even his breathing hadn't been disrupted. He gritted his teeth; he couldn't let this drag on any longer.

The position of Team 7 captain—an opportunity he had waited so long for—must not fail at the very last step. If palm techniques couldn't break the defense, then he would use a weapon. He reached his right hand into his sleeve and drew a short sword.

The short sword was bright as snow, its blade thin as paper, with extremely fine runes engraved on the sword body. This was a standard-issue short sword of Qingxia Peak, forged from cold iron mixed with mithril, and was extremely sharp.

He hadn't used a weapon before because he was confident in his speed, thinking that his palm blade alone would be enough to end the battle. Now, he had no choice but to use it.

He stomped his foot on the ground, his figure once again turning into an afterimage, and the short sword in his hand carved a silvery-white arc in the sunlight, stabbing fiercely toward Lin Tian's right shoulder.