Reincarnation Of The Strongest Spirit Master-Chapter 1392: Luck Is on His Side for Once!

William didn’t give the bastard the grace of a duel. He didn’t offer him the chance to stand, to plead, or to weave a single counter-spell. Before the newly formed body could even draw its first breath of stolen life, William’s monsters were upon him.

William himself didn’t strike; he remained a few paces back, his eyes narrowed and vigilant, scanning the spiritual ripples for any final, hidden trick.

But there was no trick left. Without his divided essence to act as a safety net, the man was merely flesh and bone. The monsters descended like a localised hurricane of teeth and claws. The man fell, his life snuffed out in a brutal, efficient instant, leaving nothing but a broken shell on the cooling earth.

Silence reclaimed the valley, broken only by the settling of the dust.

"For the fallen ones," William murmured.

His face, previously a mask of cold iron, turned unexpectedly solemn. He stepped toward the lifeless body of his nemesis and brought his hands together in a gesture of profound, ancient respect.

Becky watched him, confused by the display of honour for such a wretch. She couldn’t see the ghosts William was seeing.

He wasn’t bowing to the man he had just killed; he was bowing to the memory of the friends, brothers, and sisters who had been slaughtered by this very technique in a lifetime she would never know. It was their blood, their screams, and their ultimate sacrifices that had provided him the knowledge to survive this day.

He knew the truth of the "Blood Tsunami." It wasn’t a simple formation; it was a lethal marriage of high-level illusion and catastrophic elemental manipulation.

The formation had actually turned the river into a lake of boiling, supernatural lava, fueled by the fresh blood of the slaughtered masters. In reality, the entire area was a death trap where a single misplaced step meant instant incineration.

The only way to survive the lava was to remain perfectly still.

The "wave" they had seen was the illusion—a psychological terror designed to trigger the fight-or-flight response. The bastard had counted on his victims’ instincts to save them; he knew that the moment a master tried to flee or dive away from the "water," they would step into the hidden lava and be consumed.

But that hadn’t been the most dangerous part. Through the bitter history of his past life, William knew the Ex had mastered a forbidden, spirit-splitting technique. He had divided his essence into two parts: the physical, withered shell and the fluid, spiritual ego. If one was destroyed, the other would simply retreat and regenerate.

The only way to truly kill him was to force the two halves into a single vessel. William had used Becky as bait to draw his spiritual essence half out of hiding.

Becky watched the embers of the dark master’s essence flicker and die, her mind a whirlwind of confusion.

To her, the sequence of events looked like a frantic, desperate struggle where William had simply been faster, stronger, and perhaps luckier than the man who had haunted her nightmares.

She saw the brutal efficiency of the monsters, the sudden collapse of the illusion, and William’s final, decisive blow as a series of fortunate tactical strikes that had finally pierced her Ex’s veil of secrecy.

She had no inkling of the decades of grief or the intricate knowledge of forbidden soul-splitting techniques that William had brought to bear. All she knew was that the man who had once held her heart in a vice of fear was gone, and the man standing before her had saved her life when the needle was at her back.

"Thanks," she softly muttered. Her voice was thin, catching in the wind that still smelled of ozone and copper. She looked at him with a gaze softened by a vulnerability that would have sparked envy or vitriol in any other woman.

William didn’t look at her with the same intensity. His eyes were already scanning the horizon, calculating the next move on a map only he could see. "You are now free," he said.

He meant it in the most literal sense—free from the tactical trap of a soul-thief, free from the shadow of a master who would have used her as a battery for his immortality.

Becky took it differently. A faint, dusty tinge of red colored her cheeks, a flush of warmth that had no place on a battlefield. "Thanks for that," she whispered, her posture relaxing for the first time in days. She took a breath, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. "Now... what shall we do? Where do we go to recover?"

William finally turned his head, his expression as flat and hard as a coin. "What else?" he asked, his voice devoid of the relief she felt.

"We killed a great number of these motherfuckers today, and we took out the brain behind this specific theatre of war. But the war itself? The war isn’t over. Not by a long shot. We need to clear this sector. We need to kill everyone before we even think about expanding our perimeter."

Becky fell silent, her lips parted in a small ’o’ of surprise. She had expected a moment of reprieve—a chance to sit by a fire, to process the trauma of the day, to celebrate a victory that felt monumental.

But William stood there as if he hadn’t just dismantled a legendary threat. He didn’t look like a man who had earned a rest; he looked like a machine that had just finished its first cycle.

She couldn’t grasp the fire burning in William’s chest. For him, this wasn’t just a battle; it was a miraculous correction of the timeline.

By a stroke of cosmic luck, he had been given the chance to excise a tumour from his future before it could metastasise. He knew that by killing this "bastard" now, he had saved the lives of dozens of friends who, in his previous life, had been fed into the grinder of this man’s ambitions.

He had struck a blow against the inevitable rise of the Fox, a shadow that still loomed large in his memories.