Wu Zhangkong's icy gaze swept over the four yellow mechas and fifteen white mechas encircling them.
A bone-chilling aura radiated from his body.
His voice dropped to glacial calm:
"I'll give you one chance to leave. Otherwise…"
"HAHAHA!"
Guang Biao's derisive laughter boomed from the purple mecha.
The soul-guided cannons on its arms glowed with dangerous red light.
"And if we don't? You think one man can stand against our entire Mecha Soul-Guided Battalion? Hand over the killers—or no one leaves alive!"
At that critical moment—engine roars echoed from afar.
"I'd like to see who dares lay a hand on a Xie!" a thunderous voice boomed.
Dozens of soul-guided war vehicles, emblazoned with the Xie Clan insignia, roared onto the scene.
Their rooftop cannon arrays unfolded in unison, cold barrels locking onto the mecha formation with soul power glinting in their muzzles.
Simultaneously, disciplined footsteps approached from another street.
President Mu Chen led the Blacksmith Association's elite, every member's forging badge gleaming under the sun—symbols of their exalted status in Donghai City.
Guang Biao's laughter died instantly.
Through his cockpit, his face paled with dread.
The sudden intervention of the Xie Clan and the Blacksmith Association had completely reversed the tide.
Wu Zhangkong stood with hands clasped behind his back, his white robes fluttering gently, utterly detached from the surrounding bloodthirsty tension.
He looked at the mechas as if they were lambs awaiting slaughter.
"Now… do you still wish to proceed?" His voice was deadly calm, yet brimming with absolute authority.
"You—!"
Guang Biao's purple mecha involuntarily retreated half a step, his subordinates' anxious whispers crackling over comms.
From the Xie convoy, an elderly man stepped forth.
"Young Master—this old servant arrives late."
The butler bowed deeply to Xie Xie, eyes filled with concern.
Xie Xie's lips curved into a faint smile. "Perfect timing, Butler."
Meanwhile, Mu Chen clapped Tang Wulin's shoulder. "Wulin—am I too late?"
Tang Wulin scratched his head, relief washing over him. "President—you couldn't have come at a better time."
Guang Biao's mecha let out a grating screech as he forced down his rage.
"Fine! Since the Xie Clan and Blacksmith Association stand with you, I'll concede this point. But the killer of my brother must be handed over!"
"Over my dead body!"
Xie Xie and Tang Wulin shouted in unison, stepping in front of Fang Yang—eyes blazing with resolve.
Mu Chen's voice turned grave. "Guang Biao—as Donghai's Mecha Captain, is threatening students your idea of honor?"
"Students?!"
Guang Biao's mecha shuddered violently, voice trembling with grief and madness.
"These 'students' murdered my brother Guang Long! Blood for blood—there is no other way!"
Silence fell—only the low hum of mecha engines echoed.
Mu Chen frowned, weighing how to defuse the crisis.
"Oh?" Fang Yang spoke, still holding Gu Yue's hand, voice laced with quiet mockery.
"So we're the villains now—monsters beyond redemption?"
Gu Yue's eyes glinted with lethal frost. To her, these so-called mecha pilots were arrogant insects, blind to the heavens above.
The Xie butler stepped forward, voice steady.
"Guang Biao—we of the Xie Clan know the full truth. Your brother Guang Long bullied innocents and committed countless evils. Yesterday, he nearly killed our young master!"
"If not for Fang Yang's timely intervention," he continued coldly, "it would be Xie Xie lying dead on that stretcher."
"You—!"
Guang Biao's mecha trembled with fury.
Inside the cockpit, his eyes were bloodshot, nails digging into his palms.
He knew his brother's sins better than anyone—yet Guang Long was his only family.
The Guang brothers had only each other since childhood.
Guang Biao's prodigious talent had consumed all their cultivation resources—robbing Guang Long of his chance to train.
That guilt made Guang Biao indulge his brother endlessly, always cleaning up after his rampages.
Now, with his brother brutally slain, that guilt had ignited into all-consuming rage—shattering his last shred of reason.
He glared at Fang Yang, mecha fists creaking—as if to tear him limb from limb.
He knew: if he didn't avenge his brother now, he never would.
He'd already alienated Donghai Academy, the Xie Clan, and the Blacksmith Association.
His title, his freedom—all would be lost.
"Then…"
Madness flashed in Guang Biao's eyes.
"Don't blame me for showing no mercy! I'd rather defect to the Holy Spirit Cult than let this go!"
The purple mecha erupted with soul power—
all weapon systems activated, cannons locking onto Fang Yang!
"Careful!" Long Hengxu cried out in panic.
After all—Guang Biao was a Six-Ring Soul Emperor, and his purple mecha amplified his power…
At that life-or-death instant, Wu Zhangkong raised his head.
The Skyfrost Sword materialized in his hand.
He spoke two words—soft, yet earth-shattering:
"Sky… Ice."
Brilliant light exploded from his body.
The Skyfrost Sword melted into his form.
In a blur, he stood before Fang Yang—blocking Guang Biao's killing strike.
Gone was the flowing white robe.
Now, white light-points ignited across his body—
forehead, shoulders, chest, elbows, wrists, palms, waist, hips, knees, soles.
Silver threads spun from these points, weaving into exquisite, glowing patterns.
His aura surged terrifyingly, the air froze into glittering ice crystals.
On his forehead, a teardrop-shaped blue crystal blazed.
A snowflake-crested white headband formed—five crystalline spikes rising like frozen petals, metal plates flowing down his cheeks like solidified wind.
From his neck, sleek white armor spread—silver runes swirling across its surface, encasing him fully.
When the final rune solidified, Wu Zhangkong stood transformed—
clad in radiant white battle armor, eyes now piercing ice-blue, his six soul rings fused seamlessly into the armor's design.
In his grip, a massive sword materialized, one-third longer than the Skyfrost Sword.
Hilt and guard: pure white.
Blade: four feet of translucent ice-blue steel, radiating soul-chilling pressure.
Wu Zhangkong—the Ice War God incarnate—stood tall.
His handsome face, framed by armor, was colder than winter's heart.
Visible frost currents swirled around him—the battlefield's temperature plummeting by the second.
"Sky Ice Wu Zhangkong… ready!"
"That's… Battle Armor?!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd—awe and terror in every voice.
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