I Become Sect master In Another World-Chapter 152: Worthy of Inheritance

The dust was still swirling.

Thick clouds rolled across the fractured valley floor, rising and falling in uneven waves as residual shockwaves continued to pulse through the air. Pebbles rattled. Broken stone slid into newly formed cracks. The battlefield groaned softly, as if exhausted from enduring too much violence in too little time.

No one spoke.

Every eye was fixed on the center of the dust storm.

Within the protective formation, Sanatan Flame Sect disciples leaned forward unconsciously. Some held their breath. Others clenched their fists so tightly their knuckles turned pale.

Lin Shu stood frozen.

Her fingers trembled as she stared into the dust, heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"Shaurya..." she whispered, barely audible.

The dust began to thin.

Slowly.

Painfully.

First, silhouettes appeared.

Then forms.

Shadow Blade An Ning stood upright, several meters ahead, his robe torn in a few places, a thin trail of blood running down the side of his jaw. His breathing was steady. His posture relaxed. He was injured—but not heavily.

Closer to the center—

Lorgann lay sprawled across the broken ground.

His massive chest rose and fell unevenly, molten scales dimmed, heat flickering weakly between the cracks. One claw dug into the stone as he tried to push himself up—failed—and fell back with a dull thud.

And beside him—

Shaurya knelt on one knee.

His Meteorite Sword was embedded in the ground, both hands gripping the hilt as he leaned against it for support. Blood dripped from his chin, splattering onto the cracked stone below. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath.

Lin Shu gasped and covered her mouth, eyes widening in horror.

Elder Liya stepped beside her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don’t worry," Elder Liya said softly. "He can handle it."

Lin Shu nodded, swallowing hard.

"I... I believe in Shaurya," she said quietly.

"But still..."

Her fingers curled tighter.

"I can’t see him like this."

On the battlefield, Shaurya lifted his head and looked toward Lorgann.

The dragon shifted again, teeth clenched, claws scraping stone.

"Shaurya..." Lorgann growled, voice rough, strained.

"I’m trying... but my body isn’t supporting me anymore."

Shaurya pushed himself upright.

His legs shook violently as he stood fully, blood running down his forearm and dripping from the tip of his blade.

He looked at Lorgann and smiled faintly.

"Don’t worry," Shaurya said, voice hoarse but steady.

"You’ve helped me more than enough."

He stepped closer, placing a hand briefly against Lorgann’s molten scales.

"Now rest properly."

"I’ll handle him."

Lorgann’s molten eyes widened slightly.

"...You sure?"

Shaurya nodded.

"I’ve got this."

Lorgann’s eyes lingered on him for a moment—then he nodded weakly.

His massive body began to glow.

The molten light condensed, shrinking inward as his form rapidly reduced. In seconds, the towering dragon became a small, exhausted, palm-sized form.

The barrier behind them opened slightly.

Elder Wan comes out.

He rushed forward, gently scooping Lorgann into his arms.

The dragon barely reacted—exhausted beyond words.

Before retreating, Elder Wan turned back.

His eyes met Shaurya’s.

"Master," he said firmly,

"Please... be safe."

Shaurya smiled back.

A tired, but unwavering smile.

He nodded once.

"I will."

Elder Wan retreated, the barrier sealing behind him once more.

Silence returned to the battlefield.

Shaurya turned.

Slowly.

He rolled his neck to the side. Then the other. A dull crack echoed.

"Okay..." he said, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"Now it’s just you and me again."

He raised his sword.

"Let’s finish this."

An Ning laughed, low and amused.

"Of course," he replied, tightening his grip on his sword.

"I’m ready."

They began to walk.

Step by step.

Golden aura seeped from Shaurya’s body, flickering unevenly around his shoulders and arms.

Black aura flowed from An Ning like smoke clinging to the ground, thick and heavy.

Shaurya spun the Meteorite Sword once in his hand. The blade hummed softly, golden light tracing along its edge.

An Ning clenched the hilt of his sword, veins tightening across his forearm.

Their eyes locked.

Neither blinked.

They began to circle.

Boots scraped stone. Dust shifted beneath their feet. Sweat dripped from Shaurya’s chin and struck the ground, darkening the cracked surface.

Two predators.

Testing distance. Timing. Intent.

Then—

Shaurya moved.

The ground shattered beneath his foot as he burst forward.

An Ning vanished as well.

They met head-on.

KAAAAAANG—!!

Their swords collided mid-air.

A violent shockwave erupted outward, ripping through the battlefield. Stone cracked. Loose debris was blasted away. Cultivators staggered back, shielding their eyes.

They roared.

Blades moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Golden arcs clashed against black arcs again and again—

CLANG!

CLASH!

SCREEEEE—!!

Sparks exploded with every impact.

An Ning swung—

A horizontal cut aimed at Shaurya’s chin.

Shaurya ducked low, the blade passing inches above his head. He stepped inside the swing and thrust forward, Meteorite Sword aimed straight for An Ning’s chest.

An Ning twisted his torso, sliding sideways just enough for the blade to scrape past his ribs instead of piercing them.

He answered immediately—

A downward vertical slash, sharp and heavy.

Shaurya snapped his blade upward in a horizontal arc.

CLANG—!!

Sparks erupted as steel met steel. The force shoved Shaurya backward several steps, boots carving lines through stone.

An Ning pressed forward, shouting as he swung again—another wide horizontal cut meant to crush Shaurya’s guard.

Shaurya blocked, arms shaking under the pressure. He slid back falling backward, then slammed his free hand against the ground, using the recoil to flip backward and land upright.

But An Ning was already there.

His sword was at Shaurya’s throat.

Too close.

Shaurya reacted instantly—

Golden light flashed as his Golden barrier snapped into existence between them.

The barrier detonated outward, forcing An Ning back several meters.

An Ning spun mid-step, using the momentum to slash again.

A horizontal black spiritual slash tore through the air.

It struck the golden barrier—

CRASH—!!

The barrier shattered into fragments of light.

Shaurya was hurled backward, boots skidding, heels digging in to stop himself.

They stared at each other again.

Breathing heavy.

Eyes sharp.

Then—

They rushed again.

This time, faster.

Their movements blurred, speed creating the illusion of golden and black streaks weaving across the battlefield. Golden energy streak against black.

Motion so intense it tore at perception.

They collided.

Separated.

Collided again.

Sword after sword.

Strike after strike.

Golden arcs and black crescents crossed endlessly, sparks spraying with every impact. Shockwaves burst outward repeatedly, lifting dust into the air—only for the next collision to blow it away again.

The battlefield trembled.

Cracks spread outward like spiderwebs.

Chunks of stone were torn loose, tossed into the air, then pulverized mid-flight by intersecting shockwaves.

From a distance, it looked like two serpents—

One gold.

One black.

Coiling, striking, intertwining at impossible speed.

Shaurya leapt upward from the golden blur, aura flaring.

Sapphire flames ignited around his body, wrapping his body.

An Ning appeared directly in front of him mid-air.

Too close to dodge.

Shaurya thrust his sword forward.

The sapphire flames surged outwards, twisting and condensing, taking the shape of a roaring dragon made of fire behind him.

An Ning’s eyes widened.

The flaming dragon rushed and slammed into him.

BOOOOOOM—!!

They were driven downward together.

The dragon smashed An Ning into the ground, detonating in a massive explosion of sapphire fire and shattered stone.

The golden and black streaks vanished, swallowed by the blast.

Shaurya was thrown upward by the recoil.

He twisted mid-air, flipped once, then descended—

Landing hard.

His boots struck the ground.

CRASH—!!

The stone cratered beneath his feet as he slid back a few meters and came to a stop, sword lowered, chest heaving.

The dust rose again.

Thick.

Heavy.

And the battlefield held its breath once more.

The explosion slowly died down.

Cracked stone rained to the ground in small pieces. Waves of dust rolled outward, then began to settle, layer by layer, like fog being pushed away by an unseen wind.

Silhouettes emerged.

First—

A figure standing upright.

Shadow Blade An Ning.

The dust peeled away from his body, revealing burn marks across the front of his robe. The fabric around his chest was scorched and torn, blackened at the edges, faint smoke still curling upward. His breathing was steady, controlled.

He inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled.

Slowly.

The moment his breath left his lips, the atmosphere changed.

An Ning laughed.

Not loudly.

Not wildly.

It was a low, restrained laugh, carried from his chest rather than his throat. A laugh that sounded calm on the surface, but carried a sharp edge underneath—like a blade being lightly dragged across stone.

It wasn’t amusement.

It was recognition.

Respect mixed with danger.

His laughter faded, and his eyes lifted.

Sharp.

Focused.

Locked directly onto Shaurya.

"You are really something else, boy," An Ning said calmly.

"To still keep up with me despite the difference in our realms..."

He took one slow step forward, boots crunching against broken stone.

"And not only that," he continued, eyes narrowing slightly,

"You improve after every clash."

Another step.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"...Impressive."

The watching cultivators felt it.

This was no longer mockery.

No longer curiosity.

This was acknowledgment.

"I’ve started respecting you," An Ning said.

"You’ve proven that you are worthy of my inheritance."

His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

The smile vanished.

Completely.

In its place—cold focus.

Black energy seeped out from the sword, crawling along the blade like dark veins. The air around it warped slightly, pressure spreading outward in slow pulses.

An Ning lowered his stance.

His feet planted firmly into the ground.

His grip tightened.

His black aura erupted outward—not violently, but densely, pressing down like an invisible weight.

His voice dropped.

Dead serious.

"So," he said,

"let’s end this quickly."

He tilted his head just a fraction.

"What do you say?"

Shaurya stood across from him.

Blood streaked down his arm, dripping from his fingers to the shattered stone below. His chest rose and fell, each breath heavier than the last.

He exhaled.

Then smiled.

A tired smile.

But steady.

"First of all," Shaurya said, voice calm despite the pain,

"it’s an honor to prove myself in front of someone like you."

He straightened his posture.

Rolled his shoulders once.

"I’m ready."

Golden aura began to rise from his body.

At first, it was faint—thin strands of light wrapping around his arms and shoulders. Then it thickened, gathering closer to his frame, pulsing with each heartbeat.

Shaurya clenched his fist.

Then—

He roared.

Not in rage.

In resolve.

The golden aura exploded outward.

The ground beneath his feet cracked in a circular pattern. Loose debris lifted into the air, suspended by the sheer pressure of the release.

Behind him—

Something began to form.

Golden light condensed.

Not into flames.

Not into energy waves.

But into structure.

A massive golden spiritual manifestation rose behind Shaurya, step by step, as if being carved into existence.

First the legs.

Then the torso.

Broad shoulders.

Arms.

A head.

The shape finalized—

A gigantic golden spiritual body, identical in form to Shaurya himself.

Its face calm.

Its eyes closed.

Its presence overwhelming.

The spiritual body towered into the sky, easily rivaling the height of the Burj Khalifa, standing behind Shaurya like a divine reflection.

Every movement Shaurya made—

It mirrored.

The battlefield fell silent.

Cultivators froze.

Sanatan Flame Sect disciples stared in disbelief.

Lin Shu’s breath caught in her throat.

Elder Wan’s hands trembled.

An Ning’s eyes widened.

Not in fear—

In genuine surprise.

"...A Spiritual Spirit Body," he muttered.

Shaurya lifted his Meteorite Sword.

The massive golden spiritual body behind him did the same—its colossal hand forming a sword of condensed golden essence, perfectly aligned with Shaurya’s blade.

Shaurya pointed his sword straight at An Ning.

The giant spiritual blade followed, its tip aimed downward, casting a massive shadow across the shattered battlefield.

A slow smile appeared on Shaurya’s face.

"Fear me," he said quietly.

Then, louder—

"If you dare."

Golden aura surged.

Black aura answered.

The ground between them cracked deeper, splitting apart under the pressure of two wills colliding before the battle had even resumed.

An Ning’s grip tightened.

His stance lowered further.

A thin smile returned to his face—sharp, dangerous.

"Good," he said.

"Show me everything."

The wind stopped.

The dust fully settled.

Two figures stood ready—

One human, one ancient master.

One golden ready to stirke.

One shadowed blade honed over centuries.

The next clash—

Would decide everything.

TO BE CONTINUED...