On the second floor of the tavern, the sword aura, sharing the same origin as the blade itself, was further fueled by Luoyang’s fiery momentum. The sword’s radiant energy surged in an instant, startling Xu Fengnian. He quickly summoned eight flying swords to form a thunderous barrier for defense. The flying swords and the sword aura clashed like brothers at war, striking each other with a continuous clinking sound. Xu Fengnian’s actions surprised everyone further—he did not rush to destroy the sword aura. Instead, he fought while retreating, maneuvering skillfully across the second floor, gradually wearing down the aura until the last trace of it vanished.
Afterward, Luoyang descended the stairs, pressing forward relentlessly. Song Nianding, disregarding the main confrontation upstairs, summoned the twin swords Morning Bell and Evening Drum, followed by the trio of swords embodying timing, terrain, and human harmony. Then came the sword Zhao Dan (Reflecting Courage), totaling eight swords—all newly forged and dazzling, like young saplings in a forest of blades. Particularly impressive were the three swords that stole the essence of the Heaven-Sent Realm and the unsteady, staggering stride of Zhao Dan, which left Xu Fengnian in awe. Setting aside the unconventional flying sword techniques, Xu Fengnian’s sword cultivation had barely entered the hall, but his eye for swordsmanship was exceptional. Watching Song Nianding’s steady progression, one sword after another, Xu Fengnian remained vigilant against the lurking presence of Liu Haoshi, not daring to miss even the slightest detail. Watching the swords was like appreciating calligraphy. To an outsider, a piece of calligraphy might seem merely fluid and elegant, but without understanding the structure and strokes, one could never truly grasp its essence. This was why most in the martial world sought a master to guide them through the gates. Xu Fengnian was like a spectator who often watched calligraphers at work—seeing scripts that were graceful, refined, distant and profound, or majestic and imposing, all uniquely expressive. Yet deep within, he harbored a secret, audacious dream: to one day forge all these styles into a single furnace and rise as a towering peak in the sword world, where the trees might be few, but each would pierce the heavens.
Xu Fengnian glanced at the old horse with swords strapped to its back on the street below. Fourteen swords had been reduced to eight. He wondered whether Song Nianding’s remaining six techniques could transcend the Finger Mysticism and reach the Heaven-Sent Realm. If he remained stuck at Finger Mysticism, attempting to harm Luoyang would be like chasing a dream. Luoyang was not one of the three great sects; her cultivation was the genuine martial path, the same as Wang Xianzhi’s—utterly ruthless. Among the top five martial experts before the New Martial Rankings—Tuoba Pusa, Deng Tai’a, Hong Jingyan—she had fought them all, even dragging Hong Jingyan from his fourth place and taking it for herself. Facing such a nearly flawless demonic woman, even a Finger Mysticism sword would struggle, let alone a Heaven-Sent one—there was little chance of victory.
After a brief moment of shock and anger, Song Nianding sighed deeply. “This old man’s vision is dim. Having secluded myself for years, I’ve become a frog at the bottom of a well. Only now do I recall the white-robed woman who once blocked the useless monk at Qingdu River. I finally understand your identity. I wonder if it’s already too late.”
Luoyang said she would teach Song Nianding a sword technique, but no sword appeared in her hand, nor did she borrow any object as a blade. Instead, she extended her left hand across her chest, palm up, and slowly pressed her right hand downward.
Song Nianding, standing beside the horse, looked up at the gray sky. He passed his gaze over the six swords hanging from the horse’s back. None were drawn; three touched the ground, three floated in the air, scattered in all directions as if randomly placed.
Song Nianding murmured to himself, “This old man has held a sword all my life. I married and bore children only as a duty to continue the family line, fearing it would hinder my sword cultivation. Forty years ago, I had a moment of enlightenment, nearly attaining the sword of the Immortal. Twenty years ago, by chance, I watched the clouds rise and fall in a blessed cave-heaven, and as the red sun rose in the east, it seemed to leap into the world. I was deeply moved, but still abandoned that sword. From then on, I secluded myself, determined to advance step by step—first into the Heaven-Sent Realm, then into the Immortal of the Land. As I gradually gained insight, I realized that though I was born into the Sword Pool, my first sword was a legendary blade, my first sword manual a supreme secret, and my first internal cultivation technique a world-class heart method. My sword master was a grandmaster of his time. I had a smooth path, yet I was still left far behind by those wandering cultivators from the mountains and villages. I finally understood that when things are unequal, they cry out. If my heart holds no injustice, how can I resonate with heaven and earth?”
Luoyang paid no heed to Song Nianding’s realization, nor did she acknowledge the six swords standing between heaven and earth. Her hands seemed to press together, yet a narrow gap remained between her palms.
A strange phenomenon unfolded in the heavens and earth.
Xu Fengnian gasped in shock. The highest point in the city was a Daoist temple’s bell tower. Its pointed eaves, as if crushed by an invisible celestial hand, snapped. Then the tower collapsed downward in a strangely even manner. The next tallest structure, an ancient thousand-year-old pagoda, also began to break apart. The entire city’s tall buildings crumbled in unison, sliced flat as if by a single knife. In an instant, the city became like tofu on a chopping board, effortlessly sliced thinner and thinner. Xu Fengnian no longer dared to remain on the second floor and drifted down to the ground, ears filled with the deafening sound of immense pressure crushing wood and stone. He lightly stamped his foot, then let out a bitter smile. It wasn’t just the sky pressing down—the ground beneath was also restless, as if a great Buddha, gazing down from above, had joined his palms together, leaving no place to escape.
Heaven and earth converged into a single line—the sword of Luoyang.
Song Nianding’s expression grew grave. The three floating swords stabbed upward, while the three grounded swords pierced downward, clearly attempting to form a mighty stance of holding up the sky and standing firm on the earth.
Between heaven and earth, there remained only a three-zhang-high line. Needless to say, the city walls and high towers had already been obliterated.
The elite cavalry dispatched earlier from outside the city to clear the area had inadvertently saved many lives. Without their foresight, Luoyang’s single sword strike would have turned the city into a graveyard of nearly ten thousand souls.
Even as the situation seemed decided, Xu Fengnian had not forgotten the lurking masters Liu Haoshi, Murong Longshui, and the old moth of the spiderweb still hidden within the city. Indeed, Murong Longshui and the old man were within the city, not far away—only three streets apart. Murong Longshui sat atop a low wall in a narrow alley, somehow acquiring a pot of wine. He sat cross-legged, his robe holding a handful of snacks. The old moth stood in the alley, mirroring Xu Fengnian’s action with a fierce stomp that cracked the stone pavement beneath. He sighed, “Never did I expect that Luoyang, after her battle with Tuoba Pusa in the far north, would become even more ruthless and insidious. Princess, with her here, should we still intervene? I fear that trying to pluck chestnuts from the fire will leave us empty-handed and bring disaster upon us.”
Murong Longshui flicked a few peanuts with his finger—one far, one near—watching them explode before his eyes. “Such divine command over heaven and earth is similar to borrowing swords at Snowy Peak. After all, even the most flawless sword techniques cannot be perfect everywhere. If the swords of immortals are invincible, then you and I will inevitably be discovered. But if we seize a sliver of survival, it’s not impossible. What worries me most is that the F family’s watchdog in Taian City might act recklessly, waiting until Luoyang finishes us off before attacking. But by then, even he would find it harder to kill Xu Fengnian. It all depends on how Liu Haoshi chooses to act. I’d wager Xu Fengnian’s head is worth more than the two of us combined. Besides, I’ve heard the old man has a personal vendetta with Beiliang. Let’s just watch from a distance. Luoyang’s temperament is unpredictable. If she gets angry, I don’t want to die here in Liyang.”
Murong Longshui lightly landed in the alley. The old moth had already begun to leave in haste. The tall princess glanced at his hurried figure and smiled.
On the street, Song Nianding’s three floating swords began to descend, while the three buried swords started to rise. All six trembled violently, swaying unsteadily.
Song Nianding closed his eyes and focused.
A man has seven orifices. With each sword snapping, Song Nianding’s corresponding orifice bled.
When all six swords shattered, blood poured from his eyes, ears, and nose. The great swordsman’s pitiful and terrifying appearance was truly horrifying.
Yet Song Nianding remained calm.
Since only six of the seven orifices were bleeding, it suggested that aside from the fourteen swords on the horse, the first swordsman of the Sword Pool, Song Nianding, likely still concealed one final sword.
As Song Nianding prepared to speak his final words, Xu Fengnian had only guessed half correctly. The princess and the old moth were indeed in the city, but Liu Haoshi was not lurking within.
Ten miles beyond the city walls,
A stern-faced old man stood still. Only when Luoyang’s hands began to close the heavens and earth did he slowly begin to move his feet.
His first step was less than half the length of an ordinary man’s stride.
His second step quickened slightly, matching the pace of an average person.
His third step was already twice the distance of a common stride.
And so it continued.
A horizontal thunderclap across heaven and earth, racing toward the city.
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