Eight Dragon Guardian Legions, numbering less than a battalion, were nearly all injured and utterly exhausted. Most had collapsed in the woods, gasping for breath, unable to rise. Even Qing Li, who had rushed back from the imperial capital, was covered in blood. His Dragon-Head Sword Corps was the strongest unit within the Dragon Guardian Legions, and he could barely stand, leaning on his sword. But to continue fighting was simply impossible.
Only one man remained capable of resisting the Elders’ assault—just one man, one sword.
Situ Hai leaned casually against a tree at the edge of the forest, gripping his rusted sword tightly. In his entire life, he had never faced so many formidable opponents. Yet at this moment, Situ Hai still wore a relaxed expression. He stood there as if untouched by the chaos, an untouchable presence, halting the advance of the three hundred Elders.
The eight Elder Stewards pushed through the crowd and stood opposite Situ Hai.
Wei Yi glared darkly at Situ Hai for a moment before saying, “Hand over the Qianlong Pavilion, and we’ll let you return to see Guan Ran.”
Situ Hai gave a bitter smile. “Master, you’ve already destroyed the Qianlong Pavilion. What else is there to hand over?”
“Five thousand years without falling, and this is all the strength the Qianlong Pavilion has left?” Wei Yi pointed toward the Dragon Guardian Legions in the woods. “These people are all Guan Ran relies on?”
“At this point,” Situ Hai sighed, a trace of melancholy in his voice, “anyone with even a shred of spirit would refuse to live in shame. If there were even one person left in the Qianlong Pavilion, they would still fight to the end.”
“Without being summoned, we shall never appear.” Wei Yi sneered. “Isn’t that your Qianlong Pavilion’s sacred vow?”
“There’s no need to talk further.” Situ Hai waved his sword. Though he had long entered the Saint Realm, he had never regained his former peak strength, making him appear even more despondent. “Esteemed Masters, the Qianlong Pavilion has endured for five thousand years without falling. Today, though only these few remain, we will still fight to the last breath.”
The eight Elder Stewards swept their divine senses across the planet, extending their consciousness to every corner, but found no response. Except for the Dragon Guardian Legions in the woods, there seemed to be no trace of any high-level cultivators anywhere else on the planet.
Hei Feng leaned close to Wei Yi’s ear and whispered, “It seems these really are the only ones. Perhaps we should kill them all quickly and return to Earth to deal with Guan Ran, that reckless little—”
Though Wei Yi still harbored doubts, he began to waver—not because of Hei Feng’s words, but because over the years, the Elder Council had gained control over the cultivation world to an astonishing degree. Wei Yi believed that even if the Qianlong Pavilion had hidden forces, they would be laughably weak—perhaps not even able to muster a few Saint Realm experts.
With this thought, Wei Yi decided that as long as they killed everyone in the woods, the Qianlong Pavilion would no longer pose a threat to the Elder Council. Without this force’s support, even the Heroic Emperor and Yang Hao would find it difficult to turn the tide.
“Situ Hai,” Wei Yi said coldly, “I respect you as the disciple of the old Sword Saint and the junior brother of the Heroic Emperor. I’ll give you one last chance. Step aside and don’t interfere, and I’ll spare your life. I might even allow you to join the Elder Council.”
The cold wind howled, rustling the dark-gold ceremonial robes of the Elders.
In the Galactic Empire, joining the Elder Council was the ultimate honor. Wearing these robes meant having the power to take whatever one desired, access to ancient cultivation techniques, and the embodiment of strength and authority.
But what else was there?
Situ Hai had already discarded his wine bottle; he no longer needed it. His life had been like a dramatic film—full of highs and lows, glory and disgrace, early fame and middle-aged disillusionment. Now, at the end of this cinematic journey, what more could he desire?
With a flick of his wrist, Situ Hai’s rusted sword traced a dazzling arc at an impossible angle. He spoke softly, “The sword is still in my hand!”
“Roar!” A thunderous roar erupted from the Dragon Guardian Legions, astonishingly powerful for a group on the brink of death.
Wei Yi feigned a sigh and waved his hand. The Elders surged forward.
Infinite sword lights burst from Situ Hai’s hands. His rusted sword instantly shed all its rust, shining with brilliant radiance. Despite the overwhelming numbers of Elders, none could breach the range of Situ Hai’s sword.
This once-young Sword Saint thrust his sword forward again and again, without aim or hesitation.
This was a heaven-shattering strike, powerful enough to make the heavens themselves recoil.
Wherever the sword light reached, none dared oppose it. Even the Elders clad in their dark-gold ceremonial robes could not advance a single step.
The Elders had already summoned their various magical artifacts—dozens of different cultivation tools unleashing their powers into the air. Those without weapons joined hands, unleashing a collective palm strike.
Back at the Grand Palace, ten Elders combining their palm strikes could repel four flying dragons. Now, with dozens of Elders unleashing their power together, the force was so immense that even Qing Li in the woods felt suffocated.
Yet Situ Hai blocked it all. Not only that, he struck again.
This was a sword strike more dazzling than the wind, more radiant than light.
As he unleashed this strike, Situ Hai smiled.
On his weary, despondent face bloomed a smile of arrogant supremacy, reminiscent of his youthful days of unmatched brilliance.
The wind howled violently, darkness surged like a flood, and the impossible strike forced hundreds of Elders to retreat a step.
Shock was written on every face. Elders never retreated—they only advanced. Especially now, when they had committed their full force, determined to crush the Qianlong Pavilion in one decisive blow.
Yet how could they not break through the sword of a mere Saint Realm expert?
Elder Wei Yi had already seen the truth. Situ Hai was not relying on Saint Realm power at all. For him, Saint Realm strength was almost irrelevant. A man like Situ Hai needed only a sword to hold off a thousand.
Wei Yi recalled what the Supreme had once told him before departing: though the Elder Council had mastered all known cultivation techniques, that did not mean no new experts would emerge. Intelligent beings could create their own superior methods.
Thus, the old Sword Saint had appeared, evading a decade of pursuit by the Elder Council with only his sword. Now, among the old Sword Saint’s three disciples, only Situ Hai had truly inherited the essence of the sword.
Modern cultivators relied too much on Saint Realm power, needing cultivated strength to fight. But in this world, there was more than one path. Mastering martial techniques to their ultimate peak could also grant supreme combat power.
What Situ Hai relied on was the soul of the sword, the soul of swordsmanship itself. Situ Hai himself was the embodiment of the sword’s soul.
The Supreme had said that in this world, besides power, there was also soul—and soul controlled power. With the soul of the sword in his hands, Situ Hai could hold off the Elders and remain undefeated.
Wei Yi felt a chill, even a hint of panic. He dared not attack recklessly. If even three hundred Elders could not defeat him, what hope would the eight Stewards have? If Situ Hai still stood after that, where would the Elder Council’s dignity lie?
At this point, the only way to defeat Situ Hai was to shatter his sword soul, leaving him powerless to fight.
“Situ Hai, you were a prodigy, reaching the peak of the Saint Realm before twenty, shaking the entire empire,” Wei Yi said, watching Situ Hai’s weary expression as his effortless sword strikes forced the Elders further back. “But you were arrogant, believing yourself invincible, daring to single-handedly halt the empire’s expansion.”
“I succeeded,” Situ Hai’s eyes gleamed, his sword soul shining even brighter. “The imperial fleet never expanded another inch.”
Wei Yi’s words, instead of breaking Situ Hai, seemed to fuel his courage and fighting spirit.
“That’s right, you succeeded. You and He De created a miracle in cosmic history—two men alone caused the destruction of the entire fleet in the Outer Mongol Spiral Arm.” Wei Yi saw Situ Hai respond and knew he had fallen into his trap. “But Situ Hai, wasn’t that the beginning of your tragedy?”
“Tragedy?” Situ Hai’s sword slowed, his expression darkening.
“After the battle of the Outer Mongol Spiral Arm, rumors spread that you were dead. So a woman—your woman—began her quest for vengeance. Situ Hai, do you remember her name?”
Situ Hai felt as if struck by a bullet. He staggered back, still gripping his sword. “How could I forget? Her name is Chang Rong, the greatest assassin in the universe.”
“Indeed, Chang Rong,” Wei Yi’s dark robes billowed, his expression unusual. “Knowing of your death, she decided to risk everything to assassinate the Emperor for your sake. This woman loved you deeply.”
“Deeply loved me?” Situ Hai’s sorrow was like an ocean.
“Chang Rong sought out your master, and then your senior brother. What was his name?” Wei Yi sneered.
“Jia Ran.”
“Guan Ran—what a beautiful name. He was handsome in his youth,” Wei Yi said. “Back then, Guan Ran spent his nights among flowers, no one knew who he was. No one knew his identity. They say that night when Chang Rong found Guan Ran, he was drinking in the Star Sea, dancing with beauties. No one expected that when Chang Rong walked through that door, all the beauties paled in comparison. No one could match her beauty, her star-like eyes, her flawless skin. All the beauty in the world couldn’t compare to a tenth of hers.”
Situ Hai stopped his sword strikes. The Elders before him also paused. The entire world seemed to freeze, time itself halting.
Elder Wei Yi’s expression was chillingly mocking. “Those were truly beautiful days. Guan Ran helped Chang Rong assassinate the Emperor. He removed every obstacle for her, helped her overcome countless dangers. They were together day and night, through all seasons. Every cold night, Chang Rong and Guan Ran sat side by side.”
“They did nothing,” Situ Hai’s voice was like ice, cold as iron.
“Yes, perhaps,” Wei Yi continued cruelly. “The day that changed history finally came. After enduring countless hardships, Chang Rong finally reached the Grand Palace. She saw the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire—the Emperor she had sworn to kill, the man who had taken her husband’s life.”
Heavy breathing filled the air between Situ Hai, the Dragon Guardian Legions, and the Elders. No one interrupted Wei Yi’s narration. It was as if his voice was the only sound in the world, slicing through Situ Hai’s soul like a knife.
“Do you know what happened next? Chang Rong witnessed the most incredible, most beautiful scene of her life. The man she sought to kill—the enemy who had taken her husband’s life—was none other than Guan Ran himself. The charming, flower-loving man who had comforted her every night was the Emperor of the Empire. Everyone knew, but no one told Chang Rong. She was the loneliest pawn, manipulated on someone else’s chessboard.”
“Enough!!” Situ Hai roared. His face turned pale. The memories buried deep in his soul began to ache, so much that even his sword-wielding hand trembled.
“Enough? The real climax hasn’t even come yet,” Wei Yi laughed. “Even more horrifying was that Chang Rong discovered she had fallen in love with Guan Ran. She loved the man she had sworn to kill. How absurd, how ridiculous.”
His laughter rained down on Situ Hai’s soul, making his entire body tremble.
“But that was Chang Rong—the greatest assassin in the universe.” Even Wei Yi couldn’t help but admire her. “A true assassin is never swayed by emotions. Yes, she loved Guan Ran, loved the Heroic Emperor, but Chang Rong still plunged her dagger into Guan Ran’s chest. The sharp blade pierced the young Emperor’s heart, and blood spurted out. Who could forget that glorious moment?”
Wei Yi closed his eyes, as if recalling that day—the sound of blood spraying, the handsome, smiling face of the Heroic Emperor Guan Ran, and the tears on Chang Rong’s face.
The Grand Palace floor should still bear the Emperor’s blood.
“Heh…” Tears streamed down Situ Hai’s face, all the sorrow of his life condensed into this moment.
“The true ending of the story was so clever, even Heaven’s Strategist couldn’t have predicted it,” Wei Yi marveled, unable to contain his excitement even as a mere narrator. “After Chang Rong assassinated the Heroic Emperor, you—you, the greatest wandering swordsman in the universe, the reckless fool—you returned. You came back unharmed to the Grand Palace. You saw with your own eyes how your wife avenged you. You saw how your senior brother died in your wife’s arms.”
“Chang Rong looked at me,” Situ Hai murmured, lost in memory. “Chang Rong looked at me… She said, ‘You’re alive.'”
“You were alive, but she had killed the one she loved most,” Wei Yi said without mercy. “Chang Rong finally understood what she had done. She thought she was just a pawn on Guan Ran’s chessboard, controlled by the Heroic Emperor all along. But in reality, it was you—the young hero, the indomitable spirit of the universe, the greatest swordsman, the unsurpassable peak—who had caused this tragedy. Situ Hai, in your heart, your wife wasn’t worth even a blade of grass in the universe.”
Situ Hai fell silent. He sank into a long, lonely silence. The past surged forward, completely engulfing him. After years of drinking and decadence, Situ Hai thought he had forgotten, had healed all his wounds. But they hadn’t healed—they had only buried deeper, deeper than even he could reach.
“As Chang Rong felt her lover’s body grow cold in her arms, she finally understood everything. She knew who she should choose. Situ Hai, your wife did everything she could for you. Finally, she did something for the one she loved.”
Wei Yi asked coldly, “Do you know what she did?”
Situ Hai knew, better than anyone in the world. “Chang Rong used a secret technique—the last inheritance of her family. She exchanged her life for the blessing on Guan Ran’s chest. With all her life force, she revived Guan Ran and bound him forever to her love.”
“So you lost her,” Wei Yi sneered. “All for your desire to be a hero, to seek fame, to prove your strength. What did you gain in the end?”
“I lost her.” Situ Hai collapsed. Anyone with eyes could see that Situ Hai had fallen—his entire spirit, soul, and strength were utterly shattered.
What broke Situ Hai was not Wei Yi’s words, but the past itself, his own memories.
That endless pain, that boundless regret, surged like an ocean of despair in Situ Hai’s chest and veins, reducing this man to the same broken state he had been when he watched his wife leave.
No force in the world could rival love—not even the strongest person could stop love from fading. Situ Hai was a heartbroken man, from a young genius burdened with infinite hopes to the drunken cat guarding the royal family. No one knew what had happened to him.
Only Situ Hai himself knew—he had always been guarding, guarding Guan Ran, the Emperor of the Empire. But Situ Hai could not let the Heroic Emperor die, for the body of the Heroic Emperor was sustained by his wife’s love. As long as the Heroic Emperor lived, Chang Rong’s love would never disappear.
To guard another man for the sake of the woman he loved—what boundless pain.
Finally, Situ Hai was broken. His eyes lost focus, his hands trembled, and his rusted sword fell to the ground.
Chk! Chk! Chk!
Three Elder swords pierced Situ Hai’s body. But this genius swordsman showed no reaction, merely looking down in disbelief as the swords skewered him. Blood flowed from the wounds, thick and dark red, like Situ Hai’s endless longing.
“You can go join Chang Rong now, Situ Hai,” Wei Yi delivered the final verdict.
More swords, chaotic and uncoordinated, pierced Situ Hai’s body. Now, what flowed was not just blood, but his very life force—the firm grip he had held onto his life for so long now slipping away.
“Chang Rong…” Situ Hai suddenly clutched his chest, his face showing disbelief. His eyes gazed at the sky, where clouds drifted like white dogs, and light poured down, spreading warmth across the world.
“Chang Rong…” Situ Hai’s tears stopped. The sorrow flowed inward, the pain in his body gradually fading as memories surged forth. The scene from that day in the Grand Palace reversed before his eyes—the sound of Chang Rong’s voice, the intimacy between lovers, the beautiful moments, all reappearing.
“Chang Rong…” Situ Hai’s face showed an unprecedented calm and happiness. This was not the arrogance of youth, but the recollection of the happiest time of his life. Between him and Chang Rong, there had been more than just pain and sorrow, more than just the final separation in the Grand Palace. There had been more—moments of love, moments of mutual devotion.
It turned out these memories had never been forgotten—they had been hidden, buried beneath pain and sorrow. Only when Wei Yi tore open the deepest wound of Situ Hai’s suppressed past did those happy memories flow forth like a warm current, filling his veins, his eyes, his fingertips.
This stopped his trembling.
He felt strength returning, life flowing back, his soul healing its wounds, everything growing stronger, even stronger than before.
When Situ Hai finally turned his gaze from the vast sky, the last sword pierced his chest, but he felt no pain. It was as if life’s power was rapidly expanding, surpassing death itself.
Situ Hai fixed his gaze on Wei Yi. In his eyes was peace and happiness. “Chang Rong left her love for Guan Ran, but I still have my memories.” He pressed his hand to his chest, where warmth surged. Situ Hai closed his eyes, his face filled with happiness.
A radiant glow emanated from Situ Hai’s body.
It was the radiance of the Saint Realm, the peak of the Saint Realm. Decades later, the once-youthful hero finally returned to his former peak in his final moments.
Situ Hai looked at his body, riddled with countless sword wounds, yet he made no effort to stop the bleeding. The flow of blood was like time itself—irreversible.
Situ Hai straightened his body. He had not only returned to the peak of the Saint Realm but also to his former self—the invincible young swordsman who now revived.
Wei Yi’s expression turned grave. He didn’t know what had happened to Situ Hai, but he could see that this dying man had become even more invincible.
“The sword… is still in my hand!” Situ Hai roared to the heavens.
“Roar!!”
Innumerable sword lights burst forth from Situ Hai’s fingertips. With a light flick of his hand, he pointed toward the formation of three hundred Elders. Three hundred, three thousand, thirty thousand sword lights appeared in the air, an almost endless torrent of attacks raining down on the Elders.
Like a breached dam, like a collapsing avalanche, the energy was indescribable, trapping the Elders in its midst.
What kind of power was this?
The eight Elder Stewards were astonished beyond measure. They witnessed true swordsmanship in Situ Hai—a sword art not reliant on power, not even on technique, but on a profound principle—the ultimate principle of swordsmanship.
The ultimate sword principle blossomed in Situ Hai’s heart. Perhaps it had been buried deep within all along. This genius, who had reached his peak at twenty, might have already mastered the sword’s ultimate principle, but his past grief and sorrow had buried it.
Only today, at the edge of life and death, did it finally bloom.
Standing alone at the edge of the woods, Situ Hai controlled countless attacks with a single gesture, controlling three hundred Elders. This was no longer something a human could do—it was the work of a god.
Perhaps Situ Hai had become the Sword God. Only a Sword God could possess such supreme sword techniques.
In all the heavens, none could rival his swordsmanship.
Perhaps not even the Supreme himself. A sudden wave of fear surged in Wei Yi’s heart—a fear he only felt in the darkest nights when he thought of the souls he had wrongfully destroyed.
But what slightly reassured Wei Yi was that no matter how much energy Situ Hai unleashed, he was dying. Anyone could see it—Situ Hai was only sustained by his last breath of energy. He was pierced by countless swords, his blood nearly drained, his spirit and soul already shattered.
Now, one final heavy blow would be enough to kill him.
A dead man could not become a god.
Wei Yi signaled. Four Elder Stewards charged forward like eagles, rushing toward Situ Hai. The power of four Saint Realm peak experts was immense—just their flying momentum blew all the leaves from the trees, swirling green leaves falling like a soul-destroying melody.
The four Elder Stewards unleashed a killing palm strike with all their might. In the universe, there had never been such a powerful combined attack.
But Situ Hai raised his eyes, and four sword lights appeared out of nowhere.
Chk! Chk! Chk! Chk!
They pierced not just the wind, but the four Elder Stewards’ robes, blood flying like dust. The four Stewards were forced back and wounded by Situ Hai’s gaze alone.
At the same time, behind Situ Hai, Wei Yi’s shadow appeared like a ghost. This most cunning of Elders had used his four comrades as bait, shamelessly launching a surprise attack from behind.
Wei Yi’s white palm pressed firmly against Situ Hai’s back.
“Heh, it takes five Stewards to kill me. I must be the greatest in the world,” Situ Hai laughed.
Wei Yi unleashed his palm force. There was no sound, no explosion. But Situ Hai’s face changed. The Sword God had reached his end. Not only was his body pierced with countless wounds, but his internal organs were completely shattered by Wei Yi’s strike.
“The sword…” Situ Hai spat blood, waving his hand to stop the Dragon Guardian Legions from rushing out recklessly from the woods.
“The sword…” Situ Hai’s face was pale, black blood spewing from his mouth. This was his last breath of energy. He had to lean on a small tree to stay upright.
“The sword…”
Wei Yi’s eyes burned with murderous intent. He placed both hands on Situ Hai’s head. “Let me send you off for the last time.”
“The sword is still in my hand!!!” A long roar came from afar.
Accompanying it was an arrow—an arrow of wrath. This arrow had once gravely injured the Ghost Elder and contained the accumulated fury of the Fire God over a thousand years. It was the strongest weapon in the world—the Flame-Fusing Bow.
The arrow of wrath targeted Wei Yi beside Situ Hai. Wei Yi dared not block it, hastily abandoning Hun Yuan Zi and frantically retreating to his comrades’ side. But the arrow relentlessly pursued.
The four Elder Stewards roared in anger, unleashing their full strength together.
The flame arrow spewed fierce flames, burning all four before slowly dissolving into the air.
This single arrow saved Situ Hai.
“Who!!” Wei Yi roared, his beard bristling with rage.
Yang Hao stood high in the clouds, his expression calm, his hands drawing the bow. At this moment, Yang Hao was like a war god. The dying Situ Hai had ignited Yang Hao’s battle fury.
“Brat!!” Hei Feng stomped his foot in fury. “Yang Hao, dare you come here to die too?”
He De led a group of experts from the flank, launching a surprise attack. Under Elder He De’s leadership, these Sword Saints sent the Elders into chaos. Though there were three hundred Elders, the sudden ambush was difficult to resist.
After injuring dozens, the three hundred Elders finally established a defensive line, blocking He De’s attack.
The tide of battle had shifted.
The Elders’ opponent was no longer Situ Hai but Yang Hao. Though Situ Hai was not yet dead, he was as good as dead. But Yang Hao’s sudden appearance was truly unexpected.
No one had expected Yang Hao to actually come, especially with so few companions.
Moths fly into the flame seeking light. But was Yang Hao here to die today?
Wei Yi took a deep breath, slowly wiping his hands, recovering from the previous predicament caused by the wrathful arrow. He looked up at Yang Hao.
“You came,” Wei Yi greeted as if speaking to a friend.
“I came,” Yang Hao nodded, his hands steadily holding the bow.
“I can’t understand why you would come,” Wei Yi asked in confusion. “There’s no reason. Which is more important—your life, your friends’ lives, or the Qianlong Pavilion?”
“There are many reasons,” Yang Hao smiled faintly. The black ring on his hand remained still, as if it had been there for centuries.
The ancient destiny, like a warm current, surrounded Yang Hao, connecting him to the dying Situ Hai and the Dragon Guardian Legions in the woods.
“The sword is still in my hand!” Yang Hao roared, just like his predecessor.
“Roar!!” The Dragon Guardian Legions responded. “Roar!!!”
Wei Yi also saw the ring on Yang Hao’s hand. He naturally understood its significance and who it should belong to.
“Are you the leader of the Qianlong Pavilion now?” Wei Yi roared. “Is this the inheritance of the Qianlong Pavilion?”
The Dragon Guardian Legions knelt to the ground, even Qing Li, who had once clashed with Yang Hao in the palace, now kneeling in tears.
They had been forsaken, resigned to the fact that no rescue would come. Yet now, Yang Hao had arrived alone, accompanied by only a few individuals, daring to enter this place. The indomitable spirit of the Dragon Guardian Legions—their unyielding and fearless determination—had finally found a successor.
Qing Li’s fighting spirit was completely ignited. He waved his sword, calling out to Yang Hao in the sky. “Roar! Roar!!”
The entire Dragon Guardian Legion stood up. Though their bodies were battered and they were on the brink of death, even with just one leg, they supported their dignity.
“The sword is still in my hand!!”
“Roar!!”
“The sword is still in my hand!!”
“Roar!!”
“The sword is still in my hand!!”
“Roar!!”
With Yang Hao and the Dragon Guardian Legions calling back and forth, the Elders’ faces turned pale. They couldn’t understand who was truly the doomed one in the encirclement—who was the real loser.
The Dragon Guardian Legion had withstood the Elders’ full assault for so long. Their mission should have been completed long ago. They had already fallen into a death trap.
If not for Situ Hai holding out for that final period, they would have died long ago.
But now, this defeated army had revived. They stood again as warriors, clenching their fists, waving them in the air. Their swords, stained with blood, were drawn once more.
They were immortal. These people were not the true Dragon Guardians, but they were still immortal.
“Yang Hao!” Wei Yi’s rage was evident in the billowing of his robes. “I will make you regret being born.”
Before he could speak a second sentence, Yang Hao’s arrow had already pierced the sky.
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