The Bloodflame Blade—this was none other than the ancestral martial art of the Luo clan, a technique as fierce as it was tyrannical, distilled by their forebears from the carnage of ancient battlefields into a peerless killing art. Five years ago, Luo Xiong, endowed with extraordinary talent, reforged and refined it, elevating the Bloodflame Blade into what was then hailed as the mightiest combat technique in all the lands surrounding Moonwatch City.
Thus, when House encountered such an uncanny strike, he naturally mistook Robert's move for the clan's inherited blade technique. Yet the truth was otherwise—though Robert had long since memorized every secret incantation of the Bloodflame Blade, the nature of his attribute prevented him from wielding its higher forms. What he unleashed instead was the Azure Dragon's Roar, improved and perfected by Ya'er herself.
His opening soundwave struck true. Seizing the instant when House staggered and his force field faltered in pain, Robert lunged into the breach, his mouth unleashing another sonic assault, his palms conjoining in a cleaving strike aimed at House's neck. This shifting fusion of palms was, in fact, the truest barehanded embodiment of the Fireflame Blade.
House, though wounded, still towered in strength over Robert. With a single motion, he seized Robert's wrists and yanked him forward, following it with a brutal headbutt meant to crush Robert's face.
"You dare seize my left hand!?"
Robert had already braced himself for a desperate gamble, yet House's grip upon his wrist jolted him with sudden clarity. The left hand—before gods it devours gods, before men it consumes men!
As House's skull crashed against his cheek, Robert's left hand hooked onto his foe's forearm. A shudder rippled through House—he felt the divine power he had hoarded within himself surge forth like a storm, flooding uncontrollably into Robert's grasp. What sorcery is this? Heaven above, the god-given power I spent six bitter years to attain!
For six relentless years, he had endured torment unthinkable to ordinary men, until at last he ascended to the third tier of godly might. Yet now, in an instant, Robert wrenched away that hard-earned strength as though plucking fruit from a tree.
The more House realized it, the deeper terror hollowed his gaze—his proud, piercing eyes dimmed into bewilderment, then despair, until nothing remained but helpless fear. Shrinking back, he looked upon Robert with quivering lips: "A… a demon!"
One stream, then two, then three… in all, six currents of warmth coursed into Robert's left hand through the six energy points. Before his eyes, House collapsed limply, even his savage headbutt dissolving into powerless futility.
"You bastard—you're the true devil! Now return Sena's life to me!"
Robert, grief-stricken by Sena's sudden collapse, roared in fury. Still clamped upon House's forearm, he leaned close to his enemy's ear and bellowed, "Break!"
A sonic wave, unrestrained and absolute, flooded into House's ear canals, piercing his mind. With a stifled groan, House toppled to the earth with a dull crash. At the same time, the six currents of warmth ceased—the last vestiges of his divine gift utterly consumed.
"Damn it all…" Robert's spirit slackened, exhaustion sweeping through every fiber of muscle and bone, and he too collapsed, his chest heaving in ragged waves.
…
Almost instinctively, battle analysis unfolded within Robert's mind, as though such insight were etched into his very nature. During the devouring, his left hand had been gloved, and House's arm still covered in cloth. Clearly, skin-to-skin contact was unnecessary—so long as the touch connected, the absorption would proceed.
Moreover, from the instant the devouring began, House had withered into weakness. Thus, once the divine power began draining, the victim's strength plummeted with terrifying speed.
Most crucial of all, the stolen might flowed wholly into Robert's left hand, refusing to share even a fragment with the rest of his body. It seemed such god-given power could not be distributed—at least, not yet.
"Damn it all!"
As the thought crossed him, agony erupted from the bones of his left hand, searing as if wildfire consumed his very marrow. Robert clenched his fist, writhing and groaning, half his body convulsed with numbness. Will my left hand shatter completely?
Biting his tongue until blood welled, he forced his mind awake and recalled: House's divine power drained, streamed through six points into his left hand, and then—circled, spiraling around the bones of his hand…
Yes! The torment was born of that spiraling force!
Grasping its origin, Robert rifled through the shared knowledge within his mind until he uncovered a message Ya'er had left:
"The conversion of divine power into usable energy requires a process. This process occurs within the bones of your left hand—your bones serve as my energy transmuter.
Thus, devouring energy divides into two paths: If the target is a neutral item such as a divine crystal, I can consume it directly, bypassing your bones. But if the target bears attributes—be it man, beast, or artifact—then beware: do not devour power far above your rank, lest the strain upon your bones inflict irreparable harm!"
It was like eating fruit—chewing a handful of cherries brought sweetness. But to force an entire melon down one's throat, even if possible, would burst the mouth apart.
"Ya'er, your warning came far too late—your master is in agony beyond words!"
Robert muttered complaint, though his heart brimmed with rueful amusement, as though Ya'er had mischievously played a prank upon him. Still, he resolved: from now on, whether man or relic, he must never devour forces too far above his station.
Clenching against the pain, Robert staggered to Sena's side. The fat man lay motionless, his face and brow scarred by searing flame, yet his heavy chest still rose and fell faintly.
"Ha! You damned oaf—I knew your fortune was too thick for death to claim you!"
Relief flooded Robert's heart. Knowing it was unwise to move Sena violently, he turned to the retainers nearby: "Are you still able? Come, help me bear Young Master Sena!"
The guards, spared from House's fiercest assault, bore lighter wounds. Two of them scrambled up and fashioned a crude stretcher from wagon wreckage to lift the gravely injured Sena. Another crouched over House, felt his pulse and breath—then, after a long silence, raised his head with a bitter smile.
"Young master… House is already dead."