Zhan Ren turned towards the sound and saw two figures rushing toward Yang Ying in front and behind, moving at incredible speed. The one in the lead was powerfully built, wielding a purple lightsaber, covering hundreds of meters with every stride, seemingly arriving at the exact moment his voice did.

Upon seeing him, Yang Ying immediately recognized this figure as one of the three Quasi-Masters who had once served Master Garcia. He recalled borrowing a silver lightsaber from this Quasi-Master, whose name he remembered was Krigen.

The figure following behind Quasi-Master Krigen was clearly a High-Tier Psionicist; because their psionic intensity was lower than the Quasi-Master’s, their speed was slightly slower.

Ulysses paid no mind to Krigen’s shout, wrenching the hand holding Yang Ying, intending to capture him alive. However, he suddenly felt his grip empty; the Yang Ying in his grasp instantly dissolved into an illusion, vanishing without a trace.

“Such a realistic Phantasm Art! Colonel Blade, you continue to surprise me.”

Ulysses’s eyes flickered, finally taking on a slight degree of seriousness.

Yang Ying had activated his Illusion Technique the instant Ulysses lunged behind him, creating a duplicate to stand in his place. He himself overloaded the motorcycle engine, accelerating away to gain a few vehicle lengths of distance.

This momentary slip did not faze Ulysses. He remarked in a casual tone, “The Real Phantasm Art is nothing more than a parlor trick,” delivering the line as if stating an undeniable truth. As his voice faded, his hand stretched out again toward Yang Ying’s back.

The speeding motorcycle seemed as still as a statue to him; with a gentle step, he could close the distance!

“I told you to stop, you traitor to humanity!” Krigen, utilizing the momentary delay created by Yang Ying’s illusion, arrived beside the vehicle. He raised his hand, sending a beam of purple light slicing toward Ulysses’s hand.

“Hmph, lucky break for you.” Ulysses had no interest in clashing with a lightsaber empty-handed, and returned fire with a matching beam of purple light.

The two blades met with a deafening crash!

The windows of the buildings lining the long street shattered violently, and a shockwave erupted outward from the two Quasi-Masters, spreading in all directions.

Yang Ying felt a strong gust of wind from behind pushing him, increasing his velocity further. In the blink of an eye, he was dozens of meters away from the fray. He managed to stabilize his motorcycle with difficulty.

Only then did he have time to look behind him. He saw David intercepting Number Three a short distance behind.

Although Number Three was a Quasi-Master, his psionic intensity was only one level higher than David’s, yet his red lightsaber was two tiers lower than David’s silver one. To prevent his blade from shattering, he exerted himself fully, whirling the saber into a ball of crimson light, pressing David with fierce attacks, aiming for a quick resolution.

David, however, defended steadily. Since breaking free from the conditioning, his strength had advanced again, nearing the peak of a High-Tier Psionicist—only a hair’s breadth away from a Quasi-Master. The gap between a Quasi-Master and a High-Tier Psionicist was one of degree, not essence. While defending, David could even launch occasional counter-attacks, preventing Number Three’s assault from maintaining its fluid continuity.

Number Ten glanced at Ulysses, then at Number Three, then at the fleeing Yang Ying, finally fixing his gaze upon the silver lightsaber in David’s hand. A look of avarice flashed in his eyes.

Although a moment’s thought would reveal that even if he snatched the silver lightsaber, it would never reach him—Ulysses, wielding the purple saber, had clear priority—at times, greed blinds people to the obvious, leading them to commit acts others could never fathom. Furthermore, those who had been subjected to conditioning often had unbalanced minds, their desires amplified to the extreme while reason lagged behind.

Driven by avarice, Number Ten flew toward Number Three, attacking David simultaneously in a pincer movement. He intended to quickly take down David to steal the silver lightsaber.

It would take at least a hundred exchanges for the silver lightsaber to shatter the red one, but under the dual assault, David was forced to block left and right haphazardly, appearing to be in grave danger of lasting even twenty or thirty exchanges.

However, those twenty or thirty exchanges were sufficient. After only a few moves, the High-Tier Psionicist who had accompanied Krigen joined the fray, blocking Number Ten’s attack with a green lightsaber and shoving him aside.

As this High-Tier Psionicist attacked, her long hair streamed behind her, punctuated by delicate cries—she was a female Psionicist. Her swordsmanship was delicate and elusive, sparring vividly with Number Ten.

Seeing that the three one-on-one battles were at a stalemate, Yang Ying nodded inwardly.

When he requested reinforcements from the Thirteenth Fleet, their reply stated they would send one Quasi-Master to assist. Yang Ying hadn’t expected Krigen to bring along an additional High-Tier Psionicist. With her addition, their side was at least numerically competitive against the Ape Sect members.

Yang Ying’s confidence surged. Seizing this opportunity, he retrieved the lightsaber that Ulysses had knocked away and charged toward Number Ten.

Number Ten was the weakest link in the battle line formed by the three Ape Envoys. If Yang Ying went to help Krigen fight Ulysses, he would achieve little and might even become a burden.

But dealing with Number Ten would be different; the gap in power wasn't as vast. Yang Ying believed that with his involvement, the scales would tip in their favor.

As he approached Number Ten, Yang Ying leaped into the air, flipped directly above Number Ten, and pointed his lightsaber straight down at the enemy's head.

“You dare—” Number Ten roared in fury. But the tip of the sword was already inches from his forehead, forcing him to shift his step backward. Simultaneously, his red lightsaber curved back, transforming like a swath of red cloth, sweeping upward over his head.

“Take this!” The female Psionicist immediately stepped forward, thrusting her sword without hesitation toward Number Ten’s vital point.

“Damn woman!” Number Ten, seeing her intent to castrate him, broke out in a cold sweat. The lightsaber that was sweeping overhead instantly reversed direction, blocking the castration-inducing strike.

Yang Ying’s initial strike failed, and the incoming sword aimed at him was parried, so he executed a two-stage jump, flipping back. He continued his downward sweep toward Number Ten’s skull, shouting fiercely, “Die!” as if he wouldn’t stop until he cleaved the head in two.

Number Ten retreated another step, evading the strike. Then, he thrust his left hand toward Yang Ying from a distance. Yang Ying, still airborne, felt a massive force pushing him away from Number Ten, sending him flying backward.

Simultaneously, the female Psionicist seized the opportunity to separate Number Ten’s saber, kicking his right knee and sending him stumbling. Then, another thrust nearly pierced him clean through the chest and back. Number Ten scrambled frantically, managing to evade the worst of it, though his sleeve was sliced open, revealing his bronze skin.

Although Yang Ying was flying backward, he was not entirely out of control. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his waist, turning halfway around to face Number Ten, head-first. He then stomped hard against the air with both feet, causing a visible ripple to appear beneath his soles. Yang Ying acted as if he were stepping on solid ground, not only halting his backward momentum but also using the rebound to charge back toward Number Ten.

Number Ten backed away a few steps, his form blurring as he reappeared twenty meters away. The female Psionicist cried out sharply and immediately followed.

“Hmph, pathetic.” While battling Krigen, Ulysses still had reserves of attention to spare, viewing the fight between Number Three and Number Ten with perfect clarity. Seeing Number Ten—a subordinate—being driven back and forth by the “Colonel Blade,” who only possessed the strength of a Lower-Tier Psionicist, he commented coldly.

“Worry about yourself first,” Krigen retorted, launching his lightsaber attack at Ulysses. In mere seconds, the two exchanged dozens of blows, the sizzling sounds continuous like a steady downpour.

They had been fighting for only a few minutes, yet the area within a thirty-meter radius looked as if it had been scoured by high explosives—potholed and uneven everywhere. Steel fragments, rubble, and broken glass carpeted the entire ground.

The residual shockwaves from their clash rolled in like a tide, lifting the debris several meters high. Some sharp fragments were embedded into the surrounding structures, making the small battlefield even more perilous.

Krigen was unleashing everything he had. His lightsaber attacks were like a relentless tide, one after another, assaulting Ulysses. Yet, his heart grew increasingly heavy.

No matter how fierce his offense, Ulysses’s lightsaber movements remained fluid and effortless. His own swordsmanship, honed over many years, seemed riddled with flaws against his opponent. Even his most treasured techniques, and his hidden killing moves, were neutralized with casual ease.

Ulysses’s swordsmanship could be described as a return to simplicity. A mere thrust or a sweep possessed a subtlety that approached perfection, almost becoming an art form. Only one who understood swordsmanship with profound clarity could achieve such a state.

Krigen could not help but recall his recent battle against Master Gato of the Apes; he had been equally passive then, with none of his moves proving effective, every minute flaw exposed before Gato.

“Is this person truly just a Quasi-Master?” Krigen’s unease rapidly expanded.

“I sense a restlessness in your swordplay. Are you timid?” Ulysses remarked blandly.

Krigen did not reply, maintaining his offensive posture. He centered his focus, concentrating solely on the battle, seeking Ulysses’s weakness with a mind as still as a placid pool.

“Are you and that female Psionicist married? You both wear the same rings.” Ulysses glanced again toward Number Ten.

Indeed, the female Psionicist wore a ring on her right ring finger, as did Krigen—the design of the two rings was identical.

“So what if we are?”

Hearing his wife mentioned, Krigen’s attack intensity surged. His blade aimed relentlessly for Ulysses’s heart, neck, and other vital areas.

“It means nothing, except that although Number Ten lacks strength, he is still my subordinate. Seeing him nearly defeated, I cannot simply ignore him.”

Ulysses finished speaking, easily disentangled himself from Krigen’s entanglement, flickered his form, and appeared behind the female Psionicist, slashing down with his sword.

“Lina!”

Krigen roared, charging forward with desperate speed!