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Every Mystic-Communion Art gives rise to an extraordinary vision.
Transcendence, Fusion, Unity—only above these does one reach Mystic-Communion Arts. This is true, concept-defying, wondrous power: evolving profound visions and fusing with the forces of heaven and earth.
For example, Andrew Han.
If he did not possess a Mystic-Communion Art, he would never have defeated Iron Sun Sect Master Cen Dongsheng. And if Cen Dongsheng had wielded such an art, Andrew might not have prevailed.
"Nanyang Pilgrimage! Mystic-Communion Art!"
"No matter how peerless you are, do not think you can act recklessly!"
Keaton Nan's left palm clamped down hard on Andrew Han's shoulder, while his right fist thundered upward.
In an instant—Saint of the South! Saint of the South!
Half a meter deep in the ground, Keaton Nan seemed surrounded by illusory figures, kneeling and bowing, all chanting 'Saint of the South.' Even Andrew Han was moved by the spectacle.
A raging downpour erupted, manifesting as a natural storm.
Nanyang Pilgrimage conjured the vision of pilgrimage.
Even among titled Martial Lords, there are degrees of strength.
In a flash, Andrew Han's mind remained calm, his Internal Power surging: "This Southridge Sect's Keaton Nan, his grasp of Mystic-Communion Arts far surpasses Cen Dongsheng's."
Though his body was restrained,
Still—
How could Inspiration be restrained?
"Ignite!" "Ignite!" "Ignite!"
Those clear, crystalline eyes flashed with immeasurable brilliance. Then, a dazzling radiance burst forth—like a mighty pillar holding up the sky, descending from the ninth heaven, crashing down upon Keaton Nan.
Inspiration surged, rolling in waves as if it had substance.
The intimidation was indescribable, as if the very sky was collapsing.
Below.
Keaton Nan's expression froze: "Such powerful Inspiration?"
The overwhelming Inspiration crashed into his mind like a tsunami. Even his right fist, unleashing the Nanyang Pilgrimage Mystic-Communion Art, barely grazed Andrew Han's shoulder.
Crack!
Andrew Han's shoulder nearly shattered, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
It proves that only titled Martial Lords with Mystic-Communion Arts are true Martial Lords. If Iron Sun Sect's Cen Dongsheng faced this, one punch would leave him gravely wounded and unable to fight.
Cascade of Three Thousand Streams!
Andrew Han spun, retreating violently backward.
"Hahaha, do you think you can escape?" Keaton Nan roared wildly, breaking free from the ground's restraint like a savage beast unleashed, shaking the earth for hundreds of meters—a miniature earthquake.
With just two steps, he crossed twenty meters.
In such close quarters, how could Andrew Han escape?
But the problem is—
Andrew Han responded with a long howl, standing tall in midair: "The one who should be escaping is you!" His left fist conjured a fierce whirlwind, as if borrowing the power of the heavens, and he turned, howling boldly.
Boom!!!
A collision without any flourish, but the aftershock was born.
No movement speed could match the speed of his punch—not even a supersonic missile could compare. The world fell silent.
In the absolute silence, he struck again—left fist! Right fist! Left fist! Right fist!
Relentless and unstoppable, like splitting bamboo. Yet no matter how Andrew Han circulated his Internal Power, he could not force Keaton Nan back even a step or two. This was a battle of equals.
Here and now.