260: Chapter 256 A Choice Between Life and Death

The moment the voice fell, the light throughout the entire hall seemed to ripple subtly in accordance with Gu's emotions.

Gu's giant hand, composed of light, waved slowly through the air.

There was no earth-shattering sound, only a deathly silence.

Yet, before Song Yang's eyes, the space seemed to be torn apart by an invisible force. Light swirled and condensed into volumes; scrolls, made of neither gold nor jade, appeared out of thin air and hung suspended in mid-air.

They floated silently, stretching from one end of the hall to the other, dense and numerous, like a brilliant river of stars.

"Here are the peak combat techniques I have scoured from every corner of the universe throughout my endless years, totaling thirteen thousand volumes."

"Your first trial is to choose one from among them and master it, reaching the realm of perfection."

He looked down at Song Yang; in his eyes, composed of light, there was no longer a shred of the previous approval, only cold scrutiny.

"I will give you one year."

"One year from now, if you fail to do so..."

Gu's voice paused, and the invisible pressure almost made the air solidify. "This dojo will become your actual grave."

"I have no need for a talentless waste."

Thirteen thousand volumes of peak combat techniques.

Anyone else would likely be ecstatic right now, but Song Yang's heart sank.

This was not a gift; this was the first, and also the most dangerous, test.

Choice is more important than effort.

Once a wrong choice is made, wasting a year of time, the final result would only be a dead end.

Before Song Yang could think it over, "click-clack" mechanical sounds suddenly came from the four walls of the hall.

The hard walls split to the sides, revealing deep openings.

Heavy and rhythmic footsteps sounded as humanoid mechanical bodies, entirely pitch black, walked out from the darkness.

Their forms were filled with a cold, murderous aesthetic; their surfaces shimmered with a metallic, eerie light, and where their eyes should be were two points of scarlet light, like demons crawling out of hell, locking firmly onto the only figure in the center of the hall.

There were fully a hundred of them.

"These are your 'sparring partners'."

"Only by defeating all the sparring partners here will you have the qualification to leave this hall."

The giant of light finished speaking and said no more.

His massive body slowly faded, turning back into soft white light that enveloped the entire space, as if becoming the supreme rule of this place.

The star-river-like volumes hung overhead, emitting a seductive radiance.

The murderous mechanical guards surrounded him, shining with scarlet killing intent.

The boundary between life and death had never been so clear.

Song Yang slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, his gaze sweeping over those cold mechanical bodies, and finally, it fell back upon the vast "star river" above his head.

He knew he had no way out.

Either embrace everything.

Or be crushed by everything.

Song Yang's gaze flowed slowly through that brilliant star river, sweeping past the scrolls flickering with various colors of light.

"Ten Thousand Dao Sword Canon," "Void Displacement Art," "Giant Spirit Battle Body"... Every name exuded power enough to shake the universe.

But Song Yang knew very well what he wanted.

His line of sight finally locked onto a scroll that was entirely crimson, as if magma were flowing inside it.

"Fentian Nine Spears."

There was no complex introduction, only a brief synopsis branded upon it:

Nine styles in total; each style stronger than the last, each layer of life and death is a new realm.

This is it.

The spear, the thief of all weapons, emphasizes that one inch longer means one inch stronger.

In a desperate situation of being surrounded, there was no weapon more suitable than this.

Song Yang reached out his hand, pointing from afar at that crimson volume.

As if receiving an invisible command, the "Fentian Nine Spears" slowly drifted down from the star river and hovered in front of him.

The moment he touched the scroll, a massive and scorching torrent of information instantly rushed into his mind.

The general outline of the spear technique, the cultivation method for the first style, the route of qi circulation, force generation techniques... countless profound pieces of knowledge were etched into the depths of his spirit like a steel seal.

For an ordinary person, just digesting this flow of information would likely take several months.

But Song Yang simply closed his eyes.

With a shift of his mind, everything in the outside world seemed to be stretched into slow motion by an invisible force.

The red light flickering in the mechanical guards' eyes, the dust floating in the air, all fell into a state of near-stasis.

His consciousness sank into his mental world.

One day outside is ten days here.

This was his greatest trump card for daring to accept this high-stakes gamble.

Without the slightest hesitation, a long spear composed of mental energy condensed and formed in his hand.

In this world, Song Yang's figure began to practice the first style of the "Fentian Nine Spears" over and over again.

Awkward, stiff, full of errors.

Then came gradual proficiency, fluency, and the first glimpse of the path.

While practicing in his mental world, Song Yang looked at the robot nearest to him.

The scarlet eyes, like two never-extinguishing coals, locked firmly onto him.

Song Yang did not speak, simply pointing the tip of his spear slowly toward the opponent.

He stepped forward, taking the first step.

The pitch-black mechanical body received the silent challenge.

Its movements had not a shred of hesitation as it stepped out from the formation of a hundred of its kind.

It did not run, but approached at a steady speed; yet those two points of scarlet light rapidly magnified in Song Yang's pupils, bringing a pressure like a collapsing mountain.

Ten meters away.

The mechanical body moved.

Its figure suddenly sank, the metal floor beneath its feet stepped into a shallow depression, and its entire body transformed into an arrow released from a bow, charging straight toward Song Yang.

Almost at the same time, its raised right arm's metal casing squirmed, deformed, and extended like fluid, reassembling into a two-meter-long blade in less than half a second.

Fast, fast to the extreme!

This strike gave absolutely no room for survival.

In Song Yang's eyes reflected that cold light drawing ever closer.

The thousands of rehearsals in his mental world seemed to transform into physical instinct at this moment.

He did not retreat.

The power within his body roared into operation according to the method of the first style of the "Fentian Nine Spears," and streams of heat instantly coursed through his entire body.

The spear in his hand was no longer an ordinary object; the spear shaft faintly glowed crimson, as if ignited by an internal fire.

"First Style, Prairie Fire."

Song Yang let out a low shout, his footsteps suddenly shifting to the front left, his body twisting at a strange angle, barely dodging the attack.

At the same time, the crimson spear in his hand thrust out with the momentum, the spear tip tracing a tricky arc, bringing up a scorching wave of air, striking upward from below, fiercely lashing toward the mechanical body's blade-wielding arm joint.

This spear strike was not a stab, but a lash.

The intent of the spear technique was like a prairie fire, emphasizing breaking a surface with a single point, an instantaneous explosion, spreading the destructive power to its maximum.

"Clang—!"

The sound of metal clashing was ear-piercingly deafening.

At the connection between the spear tip and the bone blade, a cluster of brilliant sparks burst forth.

A massive, overwhelming force surged crazily along the spear shaft. Song Yang felt his arms go numb, and a tearing pain shot through the web between his thumb and index finger. His entire body slid backward uncontrollably for several meters before he could barely steady himself.

Looking at the mechanical body, its blade-wielding arm was only slightly lifted. Its scarlet eyes flickered once, seemingly analyzing the data of the attack just now.

Song Yang lowered his head to look at his hand; the web between his thumb and index finger had split open, and blood was slowly sliding down the spear shaft.

Rehearsals in the mental world are, after all, different from actual combat.

This "sparring partner," whether in strength, speed, or reaction, far exceeded his estimates.

That strike just now—if he hadn't changed the "stab" in his spear technique to a "lash" at the last moment, dissipating most of the frontal impact force, his arm would likely have been crippled by now.

However, there was not a shred of dejection in Song Yang's heart; instead, a scorching fighting spirit rose up.

He finally understood what Gu meant by "mastery."

These mechanical sparring partners were not there for him to practice moves, but to force him to understand the essence of the spear technique between life and death.

The mechanical body did not give him much time to think; the data analysis seemed to be complete.

The blade on its arm slowly retracted, turning back into a pitch-black fist, but its posture underwent a subtle change.

Its center of gravity lowered, and its body leaned forward slightly, like a steel beast poised to strike.

Clearly, the next attack would be even more violent.

And the ninety-nine silent mechanical bodies surrounding him remained standing in the darkness, their scarlet eyes, like ninety-nine pairs of hellish eyes, coldly watching this one-on-one lesson.