The bunker room was already sealed, and between Yang Ying and Number Ten, only one could leave, yet in reality, only Yang Ying could. This was because he had long since ordered those inside the bunker: should he be defeated, they were to detonate an excessive amount of explosives, incinerating the entire room, destroying both Blade's corpse and Number Ten along with it.

Yet, Number Ten was still banking on capturing Blade alive as a hostage to ensure his exit from the room. Yang Ying, however, had already resolved never to let anyone who had seen the true face of the Blade Emperor leave this place alive.

Now, Yang Ying was even better prepared. If Blade died, he could inhabit a new body instantly, as, over the past half-month, more than one replacement body had been made ready on the Floating Continent.

Nevertheless, even with a guaranteed fallback plan, Yang Ying would still strive for victory by any means necessary if he could win!

When Number Ten’s finger pierced his chest, Yang Ying felt an intense, stabbing pain, but it was just that—pain. Because of this sharp agony, he felt even more power surging within his body!

As Number Ten withdrew his finger and laughed, Yang Ying suddenly lashed out with his left hand, snatching at Number Ten’s wrist. Number Ten reacted even before Yang Ying moved, instantly pulling his hand back.

But he still underestimated Yang Ying's burst strength. Yang Ying managed to seize his fingers, yanked hard, causing Number Ten to stumble, and followed up with a reverse sword-slash aimed at his head.

Although alarmed internally, Number Ten instantly responded, as if having rehearsed the move countless times; he spun 180 degrees and delivered a perfectly timed kick, sending Yang Ying flying back.

However, Yang Ying still held onto his fingers. Instead, he wrenched and twisted harder, resulting in a sickening crack. Number Ten screamed, and the two fingers that had pierced Yang Ying’s chest were violently ripped away!

“Why are you fine?” Number Ten roared the question from the depths of his throat.

“No need to explain to you.” Yang Ying knew this was due to the Zerg’s physical traits: high intensity, high hardness, high recovery, and low consumption.

Though that stab looked immensely powerful, with both fingers embedded in his chest, the actual damage was limited. At least half the impact force had been blocked by the biological armor covering his skin, and a portion of the rest was absorbed by his muscles. Only a small fraction of the force truly penetrated his chest cavity.

Aside from the penetration damage caused by finger strength, the external wounds inflicted by the fingers themselves were trivial. Given the Zerg's regenerative capabilities, it amounted to little more than a scratch.

By now, granulation tissue was already sprouting from the wound, closing it in less than ten seconds. The biological armor then reapplied itself. After just half a minute, the wound vanished without a trace.

Naturally, Number Ten wouldn't just stand by watching Yang Ying heal during that half-minute. The moment he saw the granulation tissue, he knew the creature before him possessed the regenerative ability fitting his monstrous reputation. He immediately lunged forward with his sword, intending to inflict more wounds while Yang Ying was still recovering.

Number Ten’s hand was no longer bleeding. With his level of strength, he could completely control every muscle in his body; forcing the muscles around a wound to contract and compress the blood vessels was child's play.

Seeing Number Ten charge, Yang Ying instantly leaped into the air, using Number Ten’s two severed fingers as projectiles to throw back.

The two fingers streaked through the air like bullets along straight lines, aimed at Number Ten’s eyes.

“Damn you, daring to use my own fingers against me!” Number Ten roared in fury, but he still wanted to recall the fingers for potential limb reattachment surgery. He certainly didn't want mechanical fingers replacing his left index and middle fingers for the rest of his life.

After throwing the fingers, Yang Ying immediately followed up, charging toward Number Ten’s position, his sword tip aimed directly at Number Ten's forehead. The murderous aura chilled Number Ten to the bone.

Number Ten used his immense psychic power to neutralize the brute force attached to the two fingers, then caught them with his left hand while meeting Yang Ying’s sword with his own right. With a hiss, the two blades locked together.

Using the momentum of his charge, Yang Ying forced Number Ten back three paces.

“Ah!”

When Number Ten regained his footing, his face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He roared, stomping the ground until it cracked, releasing a surge of power that shoved Yang Ying back again.

Then, he tucked the two fingers into a pocket inside his robe and pressed close to Yang Ying, spitting out a torrent of fierce fire that materialized into nine serpentine flames rushing toward Yang Ying.

“Switching to magical attack?” Yang Ying knew that the opponent’s psychic strength surpassed his own, which was why he adopted a strategy of playing to his own strengths. Normally, magical power was directly proportional to psychic strength.

Yang Ying cleaved his light sword, striking two of the fire snakes. The pure energy blade reverted the energy within the fire snakes back into pure energy and absorbed it.

However, the remaining seven fire snakes continued their unwavering advance toward him.

Under the cover of the fire snakes, Number Ten’s sword moved like a venomous viper, its tip wavering as if ready to strike a killing blow at any moment.

“If it’s about magic, I’ll oblige. Although my understanding of sorcery is incomplete, let alone profound, I still have a few trump cards.” Yang Ying suddenly flashed backward several steps. Two brilliant beams of white light erupted from his eyes.

This was the other peerless technique of the Protoss Templar, aside from illusions.

Psionic Storm!

A dazzling electrical discharge ignited instantly, accompanied by sharp crackling sounds. Lightning transformed into numerous electric serpents, filling the space within a ten-meter radius. Yang Ying deliberately kept the power confined to this area.

Since ancient times, humanity has revered thunder. The ancients believed lightning symbolized divine, terrifying majesty, the will of heaven and earth—invincible, irresistible by anything.

Although the Psionic Storm Yang Ying unleashed could not match the intensity of natural lightning, within that small spatial confines, it possessed overwhelming power.

The seven fire snakes were instantly swallowed by electric serpents as thick as a man's arm, exploding into sparks. The electric serpents wriggled and climbed onto Number Ten’s body. In almost an instant, his entire frame was covered by them. His clothes began to smoke, and he emitted another piercing shriek as his form flashed, fleeing the area enveloped by the Psionic Storm.

Outside the radius, he still dared not stop, fearing the lightning might extend. After fleeing over ten meters, he finally halted, using his psychic power to draw moisture from the air, coalescing it into a water orb to douse the flames engulfing him.

When the Psionic Storm dissipated, the air was thick with the smell of burning and ozone—the ozone resulting from the lightning ionizing the oxygen, and the burnt odor being the scent of Number Ten’s flesh searing when the electric snakes wrapped around him.

The escaped Number Ten looked utterly miserable: his robes were tattered, several patches of skin were charred black, and his face was disfigured. And these were merely external injuries; internally, the lightning strike had disordered his nervous system, which relied on electrical signals, reducing his overall combat power by at least thirty percent.

Yang Ying knew that any ordinary person suffering Number Ten’s injuries would likely have already fallen unconscious.

“Take this!” With a double thrust of his legs, Yang Ying instantly moved to Number Ten's left side, transforming into three figures simultaneously. One slashed, one stabbed, and one swept, all three executing different moves in unison against Number Ten.

Despite his serious injuries, Number Ten still sneered at Blade, believing that 'Blade' was merely relying on superior physical strength to injure him with such meager psychic force.

‘Even after failing once, you still use the same old tricks? A true novice, after all. If I test with Wind Blades, your illusions will either be cleaved apart or you, the real body, will expose yourself to block my Wind Blades. Either way, releasing illusions is useless.’

He thought this while unleashing another barrage of Wind Blades to clear the path, simultaneously whirling his light sword into a crimson blaze. He planned to identify Yang Ying’s true form with the Wind Blades and then deploy his killer move to reclaim all the damage Yang Ying had inflicted.

However, events did not unfold as he expected.

“What? They’re all illusions?” Number Ten watched as the Wind Blades passed unimpeded through the three Yang Yings, causing all three to dissipate into bursting bubbles of light.

“Where is the real body?” Number Ten instantly grew tense.

In reality, when Yang Ying flashed, he had activated the Dark Templar’s invisibility, then projected an illusion, followed by using an illusion technique on that illusion, splitting it into three to successfully draw Number Ten’s focus.

Number Ten, experienced from numerous battles, immediately spun, resting his light sword across his back just in time to parry a light sword that materialized abruptly from the void. Simultaneously, Number Ten lunged forward, absorbing part of the force of Yang Ying’s strike.

After several aggressive steps, Number Ten abruptly spun around, psychically gathering the water used earlier to extinguish the fire, transforming it into streams of ice arrows shot toward Yang Ying.

Yang Ying inwardly regretted this move. He had only managed to approach Number Ten this closely because Number Ten was emotionally agitated right after being hit by the Psionic Storm. If Number Ten had maintained full concentration, Yang Ying, despite being at the level of a lower-tier Psionic Adept, would not have been able to approach within ten meters silently, even while cloaked.

Still, the invisibility technique managed to disrupt Number Ten’s vision and served as a considerable aid. If he had been wielding a Dark Templar's Cloak, the result would have been perfect.

At this point, Yang Ying had revealed all his trump cards; nearly every move had been demonstrated once. This meant Number Ten now had countermeasures, and future uses of these abilities would be much harder to make as effective as the first time.

The two exchanged blows for another hundred rounds. Number Ten, relying on deeper experience, gained a slight advantage, occasionally shearing off a section of Yang Ying’s bone wings or inflicting minor wounds on non-vital areas that wouldn't impede combat.

In truth, he could have done better, but every time he neared a decisive blow, Yang Ying evaded it. The Blade Emperor's Zerg heritage fully unleashed Yang Ying's combat instincts.

Yang Ying employed a strategy of trading minor injuries for major opportunities, escaping crises that could have resulted in lost limbs or even decapitation numerous times, while also inflicting several wounds on Number Ten—though none were deep.

The longer the fight progressed, the more impatient Number Ten became. He knew that if this dragged on into a war of attrition, the opponent would likely win. Between preserving his life and completing his mission, he chose life.

“Die!” Number Ten unleashed his most powerful ultimate move, locking onto Yang Ying tightly. His sword danced into a blazing red light, coalescing into a massive axe that nearly split Yang Ying in half.

However, Yang Ying managed to escape the axe’s reach at the cost of two bone wings.

He retreated several steps, gripping his light sword and pointing it unsteadily at Number Ten. The fierce battle was causing his numerous wounds to rapidly regenerate. In contrast, Number Ten, who only bore a few shallow cuts, seemed to have exhausted all his strength, gasping heavily in place.

“Indeed, your experience places your swordsmanship above mine. I have learned a great deal from this duel,” Yang Ying said with a smile. “But you have exhausted all your moves and still failed to kill me. Now you are past your peak, while I remain full of vigor. The victory is clearly decided.”

Yang Ying shouted, raising his sword and charging at Number Ten once more. The two clashed intensely for twenty or thirty more exchanges, until Yang Ying’s sword severed the hand holding Number Ten’s weapon.

“I refuse to accept this.”

Number Ten yelled hatefully, “Your body is not human!”

“So what?” Yang Ying showed no hesitation, sweeping his sword across Number Ten’s neck and severing his head.