11. The Deliberately Failed Assassination and the Speech Destined to Succeed (Part One)

A watery mist shimmered over Wei Wuji’s face. At his level of mastery, Daoist arts allowed him to alter his appearance for a short time. This didn’t mean he could transform into just anyone at will, but he could adjust his muscles, blood, and bones to become an unrecognizable stranger. Of course, if he could capture Warrenheit on stage, strip him, and examine every inch from head to toe—studying his physique, structure, and the minutiae—Wei Wuji was confident he could mimic more than seventy percent of his features. This technique, known as the Seventy-Two Transformations in the Far Eastern Daoist tradition, was divided into three realms: the Eighteen Transformations of the Human Path, the Thirty-Six Transformations of the Earthly Fiends, and the full Seventy-Two Transformations of the Heavenly Spirits. At the Human Path, one merely manipulated muscles and bones for basic simulations; at the Earthly Fiend level, it extended to internal structure and elemental resistance; and at the pinnacle, the Heavenly Spirits, resistance to elemental harm approached the legendary state of being “beyond the five elements.”

This art was created by Bodhizi, a Daoist immortal. Though he spent his life secluded in his cave-dwelling and never became famous, one of his disciples would later become a legend. If the Daoist world were to list its least favorite individuals, the Victorious Battle King might not take first place, but he would certainly rank among the top three.

Wei Wuji had not yet reached the level of the Heavenly Spirits, but he had barely crossed the threshold of the Earthly Fiends. As the watery mist flashed over his face, his features shifted beyond recognition; the once-handsome, high-browed visage was now a round face with puffy eyes.

In the great hall, the atmosphere was in turmoil. Even Warrenheit hadn’t anticipated how effective his incitement would be, and he was contemplating whether to use the moment to rally support for a few upcoming bills. Raising his head, he saw a corpulent man leap towards him. A cold murderous intent flickered in Warrenheit’s eyes—his first instinct—but he quickly changed his mind, deciding instead to take advantage of the situation.

Wei Wuji extended his hand, his index and middle fingers together, pointing outwards as a faint golden sword-light swept toward the podium. He had no intention of killing Warrenheit—not just because he admired the man, but because he had never needed to kill him. All he required was a staged assassination in the great hall; inevitably, the Republic would heighten its vigilance. This would mean more people like the Secret Service’s covert units would remain in Valencia. The lives of government officials surely outweighed those of a mere chief engineer.

Warrenheit, with agility belying his age, shoved the table aside and rolled to a corner of the stage. The table before him was cleaved in two by the golden sword-light, toppling over and even carving a deep fissure into the stone platform beneath. Warrenheit first crushed a scroll on his person, a golden triangular sigil enveloping him, and at the same time, the female mage Akasha completed her incantation. A hexagram of starlight descended upon Warrenheit; two defensive spells shielded the Prime Minister just in time.

Wei Wuji, seeing his first strike fail, prepared to attack again, but Akasha’s fellow sorceresses had also finished their spells. Two pale beams of light further fell upon the Prime Minister, enhancing his vitality. The remaining four or five spells, however, were offensive magics. With the hall so crowded, the sorceresses avoided fire spells, but unleashed webs and ice spells at Wei Wuji without hesitation.

Wei Wuji laughed heartily. With a flick of his fingers, the nine-stars, seven-fiends Geng Metal sword-light swept across, shattering all webs and ice lances in its path. Only the hail of ice pellets could not be completely evaded; two managed to strike him.

Any ordinary person hit by two of these ice spells would have frozen midair and plummeted, but Wei Wuji’s Seventy-Two Transformations had reached the Earthly Fiend level, granting him some resistance to frost. A layer of icy rime formed on his back and leg, but he did not fall. Instead, he grabbed a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, swaying on it as the kerosene inside spilled out.

From his vantage point above, Wei Wuji saw the chaos below and felt satisfied. The situation was now beyond containment—even if Warrenheit himself wasn’t cowed, the panic among the masses could not be concealed by the elite; only heightened security could calm their fears.

Just as he was about to leave, a sword-light shot up from below, gleaming green as it slashed at him. Wei Wuji snorted, pressing his thumb as Geng Metal sword-lights shot forth in succession. The first three shattered his opponent’s earth-elemental battle aura, the next four forced him into a frantic defense, sending his greatsword flying apart. The final sword-light slashed straight for the man’s chest. Realizing his battle aura had been broken, the swordsman did his utmost to defend, but even so, his heavy chest armor was split open by Wei Wuji’s last sword-light, leaving him stunned.

No sooner had Wei Wuji driven back the swordsman than another enemy appeared atop the chandelier behind him, using that foothold to slash at his back five times—each stroke fiercer and more venomous than the last. Wei Wuji chuckled. Where the blades fell, a translucent water membrane shielded his back; each strike felt as though it hit a thousand pounds of water, meeting heavy resistance, like a branch thrown into a lake—ripples abounded, but the shield held. Seeing this, the attacker’s expression shifted; without hesitation, he abandoned his blades, letting them drop as two short daggers appeared in his hands, sheathed in a black energy. He stabbed in a rapid chain, finally breaking Wei Wuji’s Northern Sea True Water Sigil.

Wei Wuji let out a surprised “hmm.” At that moment, the swordsman, having recovered, attacked from the other side, sandwiching Wei Wuji. He pressed his fingers, sending Geng Metal sword-light towards the dagger-wielding assassin, who proved formidable—his body flickered, splitting into five identical figures advancing in unison. It was impossible to tell the real one from the illusions. The sword-light pierced one, the phantom vanished, and the real body appeared before Wei Wuji, daggers stabbing down.

Wei Wuji’s expression shifted; he hadn’t expected this opponent to be so troublesome. During the Huaguo campaign against the Peacock Dynasty, he had fought spell duels at sea and endured a lightning tribulation, losing all his magical instruments—only his sect’s legacy sword, now fused with his body, remained. Yet, despite its power, he dared not use it recklessly.

Fortunately, he was a seasoned adept with more than a few tricks. With a thought, the Eight Trigrams appeared around him, floating runes in all directions. The sword-light aimed at him struck these suspended runes, and he felt all the force drained away, leaving only the battle aura, which, closely tied to life essence, could not be absorbed by the spell and had to be forcibly diverted.

The swordsman felt as if he were a child wielding a heavy rod, suddenly seized by a strongman. The rod couldn’t be taken from him, but he was pulled along with his own strength, crashing into his companion.

The floating Eight Trigrams shifted—Heaven moved, Earth turned—and the black-glowing daggers collided with the swordsman’s greatsword. One possessed brute strength, the other sharp precision; both fought with all their might, knowing Wei Wuji’s reputation. The assassin was flung sideways, tumbling over several rows of seats and crashing into a crowd, flattening dozens; those hit first suffered broken bones and collapsed. The swordsman fared slightly better—his strength was in frontal assault, and his greatsword weighed more than fifty kilograms, but even so, he staggered back several steps, the blade punctured in two places by the daggers, now battered and ruined.

Wei Wuji used the shifting arts of the Qimen Dunjia to break their combined assault and strode toward the exit. By now, the Secret Service agents scattered through the hall finally converged. The most threatening, however, was the mage from Warrenheit’s security trio, who, seeing his two partners separated from Wei Wuji, unleashed a pillar of green light directly at him—a seventh-tier spell, Disintegration.

Even as he retreated, Wei Wuji twisted mid-air as if he had eyes in the back of his head. With a casual grab and release, several Secret Service agents were flung before him, shielding him from the Disintegration spell. True to its reputation, the spell annihilated everything in its path. The first agent was reduced to nothing; starting with the second, each had a gaping hole through their torso, flesh liquefying and mingling with blood, the rest of their bodies slowly dissolving as the green ray continued toward Wei Wuji.

Having hurled the agents, Wei Wuji took a deep breath and exhaled a stream of white vapor, a white lotus blooming at its tip, perfectly intercepting the Disintegration ray.

The white lotus was half-melted before the spell was neutralized. Startled, Wei Wuji thought, Good thing I was cautious and used the Lotus Breath technique. Of the three attacks just now, this Disintegration was by far the most dangerous. Had he taken it head-on, it wouldn’t have killed him, but even with his abilities, he would have been gravely injured.

Wei Wuji retreated at lightning speed, and, after breaking through the Disintegration spell, slipped out of the great hall. Yet, the moment he emerged, he realized trouble awaited: out on the plaza, three rows of soldiers with modified rifles already had their weapons trained on the exit.