Chapter 253 Clash between the Flesh and Blood Furnace and the Primal Cultivators

At six in the morning, the thick radiation clouds had not yet dissipated, and the leaden sky hung low over the wasteland, so dark that even the puddles on the crooked tin roofs of Bloodstone Town could not reflect any light. A deep and penetrating roar of an engine suddenly broke the long-silent morning, like a steel behemoth swooping down from the depths of the clouds.

A streamlined, armed shuttle adorned with the Hunter's Guild headquarters emblem forcefully pierced through the concealed magnetic field above Bloodstone Town, hovering above the temporary headquarters of the Unaffiliated Alliance. The high-temperature airflow emanating from the shuttle's exhaust nozzles sent mud and trash swirling everywhere, causing several already dilapidated metal signs to rattle and clang as if they would collapse at any moment.

The shuttle's hatch slid open silently.

A short-haired youth dressed in a pure white nano-level defensive robe landed smoothly on the muddy street, stepping on a flying sword that shimmered with a deep blue light. Just as his boots were about to touch the ground, a pure, invisible wave of energy rippled outwards, pushing the sewage, gravel, and silt three meters away, clearing a clean area.

This is a genuine Foundation Establishment stage cultivator.

In the Green Zone, they are known as "Native Cultivators." These people are born with complete spiritual roots and grow up immersed in the pure spiritual liquid monopolized by powerful clans; they are a true privileged class.

"Who created that unusual spiritual pressure here just now?"

The young man in white robes ignored the scattered hunters around him, who were on high alert and armed with heavy machine guns. His gaze swept coldly across the entire area. His voice, amplified by a miniature megaphone in his face, carried an undeniable air of authority.

"The guild's deep formations have detected an unregistered Foundation Establishment stage energy tide here. Who's secretly hiding a high-level spirit gathering array here, or are they conducting some kind of forbidden spiritual energy experiment?"

Hundreds of lone hunters stared intently at him, no one spoke, only heavy breathing and the click of guns being cocked.

The young man in the white robe frowned slightly, seemingly extremely impatient with the silence.

He snorted coldly, and the blue flying sword beneath his feet emitted a clear and melodious hum, instantly transforming into a dazzling blue lightning bolt!

puff!

The veteran hunter at the very front didn't even have time to activate his exoskeleton shield. He only saw a blur before his eyes, and his proud third-generation alloy mechanical right arm was severed cleanly at the root. The cut was extremely smooth, and blood mixed with machine oil gushed out instantly. The broken mechanical arm crashed into the mud, still crackling with tiny sparks of electricity.

"Ah!" the hunter screamed, clutching his severed arm and collapsing to his knees in the mud.

"Don't point your junk at me." The white-robed youth's flying sword hovered in mid-air, spotless. "I'll ask one last time: where is the thing that caused the spiritual pressure surge? Hand it over. Today, we'll only hold the person in charge accountable. Otherwise, there's no point in Bloodstone Town's black market existing."

Panic spread through the crowd.

This is the suppressive power of native cultivators. Faced with the supersonic, beyond-visual-range strikes of sword control techniques, the cumbersome exoskeletons and firearms of the Yellow Zone hunters appeared utterly powerless. It wasn't a battle on a single level; it was a naked crushing defeat, a blatant life-and-death struggle where the higher-ups unabashedly control the lives of the lower-ups.

Just as the crowd was inevitably stirring, an extremely rough voice came from a dark corner of the street.

"Just because you cut off a robotic arm, you think you can become the King of Hell in this muddy mess?"

The crowd parted to both sides with remarkable tacit understanding. Old Ding, wrapped in his large black raincoat, slowly walked out, stepping through the blood on the ground. Every step he took was steady, not even fast, but it was precisely this frighteningly calm demeanor that gradually suppressed the escalating unrest in the street.

The young man in white robes turned his head, his eyes, covered with a faint spiritual light, swept over Old Ding, and then revealed an extremely absurd look of astonishment.

"There's no fluctuation of a native spiritual root... but the qi and blood in your body..." He stared intently at Old Ding, as if looking at an incomprehensible monster, "You forcibly fused with the essence blood of a second-tier mutated beast? That's impossible. A mortal's meridians simply cannot withstand such violent energy; your physical body should have collapsed long ago!"

"Collapse? That's because you hothouse flowers have no idea how weeds survive." Old Ding slowly raised his head, and a dangerous, dark golden glint flashed in his eyes beneath his hood.

"Playing tricks!"

A flash of anger, a hint of displeasure, crossed the white-robed youth's eyes. How dare an old mercenary, who didn't even possess a spiritual root, look at him with such disdain, even condescension!

"Clang!"

The blue flying sword in mid-air instantly tore through the air, carrying a sharp sword aura capable of easily slicing through the armored vehicle's main armor, and stabbed straight at Old Ding's right shoulder. He didn't go for the kill, because he wanted to capture this strange "experimental subject" alive and bring him back to the Green Zone to report.

But what happened next completely shattered this native cultivator's entire understanding.

Old Ding neither dodged nor flinched, but rather thrust out his newly grown left arm with extreme brutality.

when!

A sharp, resounding clang, so loud it made one's eardrums ache, echoed through the street.

Old Ding actually caught that incredibly fast Foundation Establishment stage flying sword in his palm with remarkable precision!

The blue sword energy frantically sliced ​​through Old Ding's palms, bursting forth with dazzling sparks. The layer of biological keratin on Old Ding's palms, as fine as snake scales, was cut open, the blade piercing deep into flesh and even touching the bone, causing dark golden blood to flow out.

But that was all. The flying sword was firmly held in Old Ding's hand, unable to advance even an inch further.

The white-robed youth's pupils contracted instantly, his face filled with disbelief.

Catching a flying sword with bare hands?! How could the density of a mortal's flesh and blood possibly withstand a magical weapon tempered by spiritual energy?!

"The sword is a fine sword. It's a pity that the person wielding it is too soft."

Old Ding remained expressionless. Suddenly, he exerted force with his left hand, bracing against the cutting sword energy, and swung it to the side, slamming the flying sword hard against the cement pillar next to him.

The sword light dimmed, and the flying sword whistled as it bounced to the side. His natal flying sword thwarted, the white-robed youth groaned, his face instantly turning pale.

Before he could even re-form the sword incantation, Old Ding had already moved.

boom!

The concrete pavement beneath Old Ding's feet instantly blasted open, creating a shallow crater. Without the aid of an exoskeleton, the sheer explosive power of his physical body transformed him into a blur, carrying a suffocating stench of blood, as he instantly closed in on the white-robed youth.

The nano-defense robe on the white-robed youth instantly glowed with a thick layer of defensive light.

Old Ding didn't use any weapons. He twisted his waist, gathering all the violent blood and qi in his body, like a river bursting its banks, into his right fist, and slammed it down hard!

Bang! Crash!

The shield, which was said to be able to withstand direct fire from a psionic mortar, shattered in less than half a second under Old Ding's all-out punch.

Old Ding's fist continued its momentum, stopping with extreme precision less than half an inch in front of the white-robed youth's nose.

The violent force of the punch blew the young man's hair straight back, and his once arrogant and domineering face was now filled with extreme terror, cold sweat pouring down like a waterfall.

Dead silence.

The streets of Bloodstone Town fell into a deathly silence, with only the patter of raindrops on the tin roofs.

Old Ding slowly withdrew his fist, glancing at the sword wound on his palm that was visibly healing. He hadn't killed it; he knew very well that killing a guild envoy would bring a devastating attack from the Green Zone's heavily armed forces and Golden Core cultivators tomorrow. The Yellow Zone currently lacked the resources for a full-scale war with the Green Zone.

"Stone."

Old Ding turned around, his voice low and rough: "Take off his storage magic items and this Taoist robe, and use them as medical expenses for the brother who was injured earlier. Then throw him out of town."

Little Stone was stunned for a moment, then his eyes flashed with an extremely fanatical light, and he roared, "Yes! Uncle Ding!"

Old Ding turned around, looking at the native cultivator who was trembling slightly from extreme humiliation and fear, his tone extremely cold:

"Go back and tell those office-bound geeks in the Green Zone that Bloodstone Town will be left to its own devices from now on, following the wasteland's rules. We'll keep the demon cores to exchange for resources; we won't be paying any more fees."

"If they're not satisfied, let them send their enforcement team to fight. But next time they come, it won't be as simple as leaving behind a sword."

Several fierce-looking lone hunters rushed forward and roughly removed all the equipment from the white-robed youth, throwing him into the muddy wilderness outside the town like a bag of garbage.

The tarnished shuttle took off in a disheveled state, fleeing hastily towards the Green Zone.

The streets of Bloodstone remained quiet. There were no cheers, no roars.

The hundreds of low-level hunters looked at Old Ding's back, shrouded in a black cloak, with extremely complex and awe-inspiring expressions.

Everyone realized one thing.

On this night, an extremely savage and cruel path of demonic cultivation, which showed all mortal hunters infinite possibilities, was completely illuminated.