Blue Star Cultivator 126 Don't blame me for getting nasty

The dust gathering blocked out the sun and could suffocate a grown man.

A plethora of debris flying from Hartley's clash with the saint in the distance was like artillery falling to the earth, the deadly shower was wreaking a horrific havoc within the densely packed lines of armoured men.

The scene was bloody and brutal, craters were being opened up in every direction with explosions of swirling dust.

People were climbing over the bodies of their dead or injured colleagues to escape the carnage, even ignoring the horrific pleas for help.

The booming sounds of the falling boulders were incessant. It seemed like the falling debris was endless, some of the lucky soldiers would get hit by fist size rocks and kept moving forward with their bleeding wounds. The unlucky ones were turned to paste or disappeared entirely under huge slabs of rocks.

Baron Hontian was being escorted away from the affected area by a large group of his elite soldiers, in this chaos he had no idea where the other nobles disappeared to, and to be honest, he didn't care.

At a time like this, it was every man for himself.

Sitting atop his black horse and desperately cutting through the thick veil of dust, he and his entourage were headed away from the Western Hills.

He still couldn't come to terms with how sour the day's events had turned out. His most reliable backer Song Zemin, who he had pinned all his hopes on, was thrashed before his very eyes. The half-saint's whereabouts was now uncertain, no one knew if he was dead or alive.

"Sir look out." Baron Hontian got a warning shouted at him just in the nick of time, he turned his head to see a shadow flying through the dust and in his direction. With bulging terror stricken eyes, he crouch lower into the saddle of the galloping horse until the thick maine of the horse's back tickled his nose.

Whoosh.... the shadow approaching at light speed was a boulder the size of a carriage that went flying over his head, it's close proximity ruffling his robe with its residual wind. It then rammed into three or four of the elite escorts on his left. Bang! Horses and men were swept away with a sickening sound.

Baron Hontian wiped the sweat from his brows as he raised his head, he had to recite a prayer under his breath even though he wasn't religious. In a situation like this, a noble's life was no more valuable than anyone else's. Anyone could be crushed at random by the swirling debris, with this in mind, he was no longer distracted by his own thoughts, his only mission was to make it out of the western hills alive and in one piece...

Every object in the vicinity of the clash between Hartley and the saint flew around wildly, sometimes even impeding Hartley's vision for a split second, he was then blitzed in an instant by the staggeringly bright incoming fist, the blow was lightning-fast, probably the fastest he'd ever seen. Hartley took defensive measures with nerves jangling within his stomach.

He was feeling an unprecedented sense of danger, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and ran into his eye, bringing a stinging sensation that he ignored.

With his sphere twinkling intermittently, and a gravity-pulse orbiting around his body pushing away the falling debris, Hartley tried dashing to the left with his lightning-quick reactions. His manuever left after-images and dust trailing in his wake. It didn't help much though.

Every single movement from the saint made the space between them wobble like jello in an unstable manner. When the man whizzed forward, the only thing visible was a streak of light. The falling boulders that came crashing down at random intervals seemed to intentionally take a detour around the man's body.

The chaotic debris swimming through the air around the two combatants turned to powder as the yellow fist seem to predict and follow Hartley's movements. The fist collided with Hartley's blue sphere, producing a deafening boom and sending gushes of sparkling blue lights flying out.

Without any suspense or warning, Hartley's sphere disintegrated with a bang, collapsing into tiny blue particles which were sent spraying back at him. Hartley was sent flying backwards with the kinetic energy like a shotgun shell.

Even though his life was in danger, Hartley couldn't help but be impressed.

When an expert went over the threshold for tolerance of power on the mortal plane, it would produce dangerous eruptions of black energy.

This guy obviously had supreme control over his powers, not once had his movements or strikes caused an eruption of the chaotic black energy.

After his recent breakthrough into the 9th layer and his subsequent training, Hartley had assumed himself ready to face the frontal assault of a Saint. He was mistaken.

He quickly found that a Saint's power was almost beyond measuring. The shock-waves from the attack were still rummaging through his body causing him to vomit blood in mid-air.

He landed 100 meters away bouncing among some jagged rocks with debris still showering down around him. Blue flashes diverted any dangerous materials falling towards him as he crawled back to his feet.

The man's punch hadn't even directly come into contact with his body.

This was a shocking level of power. If not for his sphere and the gravity-pulse siphoning off most of the power from the strike, he would have been ripped to bits.

"Oh," said the man with surprise in his voice, "so you are a little bit capable."

The saint finally stood still long enough for Hartley to see the man's features. The white hair man with a sunken face had spoken with both surprise and contempt in his voice .

He was surprised that Hartley hadn't died in the exchange, but still held contempt for the futile struggle of an ant beneath his feet.

The man was short of stature, dressed in blue with skin the colour of dry wheat. With hands behind his back he slowly moved forward watching the bedraggled Hartley pull himself up from the floor.

With cold eyes staring at Hartley, he talked as he moved. "You can only blame yourself, for it is you who have offended people you shouldn't."

Hartley struggled to his feet letting out a few grunts of pain. He brushed down his now tattered robe and answered.

"So the people I offended only sent you? You are really unlucky," he shook his head in disgust. Giving off the impression that he wasn't putting the man in his eyes as he continued patting down his robe.

The saint was triggered, this was provocation of the highest order.

"I will crush your bones to powder with my bare hands and watch as your dust slip between my fingers and blow away with the wind." The man boldly proclaimed slowly with confidence through gritted teeth.

After straightening up himself and brushing the last few bits of dust from his attire, Hartley answered with a scowl and in a similar cadence to the saint, "you are welcome to try, but... don't... blame....me... for getting nasty."

"You cheeky scum!" the sunken face man raged with indignation.

Hartley smiled as the enraged saint bust into a bright shade of yellow, he was about to make his move....but could he make it before Hartley activated his trump card.

That first hit that Hartley suffered at the start of the duel was a blessing in disguise.

Being the victim of a sneak attack by a Saint, Hartley had no time to respond properly, the man was just too fast. He was even faster than the saint he had met in the mountains.

All he could do was defend himself with pure instincts.

However, things were different now, he had 100 meters of space between him and the enemy. No matter how fast the man was, could he be faster than time.

Hartley immediately engaged monochrome, this was his time domain.

The colours bled from the world. The boulders falling from the sky froze in mid air, dust particles stood still like decorations dotted around the mutilated landscape.

The world was revealed to Hartley in a spectacular pallet of black and white.

Hartley grimaced with shock after surveying his surroundings, in the split second it took for him to activate his time domain, the withered old man was only meters away. Frozen in mid-air like a tiger leaping at prey.

His hands were stretched out in claw-like fashion and reaching for Hartley's neck. There was no technique to this move.

His intentions were ruthless and barbaric, fuelled by utter rage he wanted to tear Hartley apart piece by piece.

You could see the evident hatred boiling in his eyes and the lines etched across face, his lips were twisted in a vicious snarl that could give children nightmares. This was a monster, but he had underestimated Hartley like so many others. This was the small chance that he needed.

Breathing a sigh of relief Hartley thanked his lucky stars. Now there was only one thing left to do, and that was to recreate a technique he had practiced countless times in his inner-world.

Powerfully sweeping his left hand to the side, undulations rippled in the fabric of space before him, the area started churning like boiling water in black and white background of Hartley's domain.

Striking forward in a flash with his right hand, a mini-sphere the size of a basketball enveloped the unstable area.

Blue lines weaved and coiled around the sphere as Hartley used his spiral circulation to pump a tremendous amount of elemental power into the sphere.

A flash of black energy burst into existence, trapped in the sphere with startling effect.

The egg sized black energy that formed the nucleus of the sphere turned the whole thing jet-black.

The dark sphere twinkled brightly with blue lines circulating around the unstable centre making the sphere shimmer and wobble as if about to explode out of control.

Sweat trickled down Harley's back, he knew full well the indiscriminate danger of this thing, how could he not be nervous. It was the first time he was using this technique in the real world and he had seen this thing decimate half of his inner world with ease.

He took no chances, he slowly pushed the sphere forward as he used gravity steps to move backwards in a straight line away from the projectile.
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The sphere landed on its target a second later. There was almighty kaboom! sound, Followed by a flash of pure deep black, which attracted more black, the whole scene went bleary.

There was a chain reaction of black energy that engulfed the withered man in an instant. Immediately breaking Hartley's time domain as the colour returned to the world.

It was if the world had come alive and was trying to swallow down the saint into its guts.

The rumbling of the void was deafening. Everything in sight was being peeled lifted and swept forward like a silky wave crossing a calm ocean.

Swallowed in the midst of the explosion, sparks detonated from the man's body as if he was made of iron, it didn't matter, and he couldn't resist for but a mere few seconds . The black energy ate through him like locusts on wheat.

He gave out a gut wrenching scream which could be heard as far as the Cassia province as a half of his body was spat back from within the black.

Chapter end