This rain of swords rising from below annihilated over thirty of the nation-guarding immortals, whom the Liyang Dynasty had summoned from their celestial thrones, in the blink of an eye.
Yet the sword formations near the Imperial Observatory continued to ascend, each blade a raindrop, countless tips densely pointing toward the structure, turning it into an invisible cage for trapped beasts.
A court official, scorned by thousands, might perish without visible cause. A battlefield general, facing a hail of arrows, would likely become a pincushion—neither fate is pleasant. Now, with myriad swords suspended, poised to strike, the immortals at the center of this deadly focus must surely find the experience equally unbearable.
On a high wall about a mile from the Imperial Observatory, two spectators lounged boldly—one clad in snow-white robes, the other in vibrant crimson. The white-robed figure sat with one knee bent, the other leg dangling, a wine gourd tied to his wrist with a red string. He took a swig and chuckled softly, “Sword God of Peach Blossoms, does this move remind you of my welcome at Dunhuang’s gates during that downpour years ago?”
Deng Tai’a, the named swordsman, finally appeared, standing not far from the white-clad Luoyang. He nodded, “Somewhat similar, though the scale here is grander.”
The former Northern Wilderness’s foremost demon, now the master of Zhulushan, Luoyang gazed at the unprecedented battlefield ahead and mused, “Having wandered as a ghost for eight centuries, I’ve seen many ascendants and banished immortals. I know a thing or two about their ways. Sixty-some Longhu Mountain patriarchs descending en masse are constrained by the Heavenly Dao—most possess only mortal bodies at the Diamond Realm and energy at the Finger Profound Realm. At best, they wield a few diluted immortal techniques, merely masquerading as terrestrial deities. Paper tigers, fearsome but hardly lethal. Yet those seven or eight at the center, even diminished, remain at least at the Celestial Phenomena Realm—formidable, especially the three grandmasters among them. Aren’t they Daoist sages?”
Deng Tai’a crossed one arm over his chest, rubbing his chin with the other. “The sword-bearer is Longhu Mountain’s founding patriarch. The one crowned with lotus is Liyang’s first Guardian Immortal, said to have created the Purple-Gold Lotus Pond at the Celestial Master’s residence. The white deer rider, by seniority, is Qi Xuanzhen’s martial uncle. All towering figures. Had they descended just before ascension, yet to cross the Heavenly Gate, they’d be truly transcendent. Now? Merely ordinary terrestrial immortals—weak in flesh but profound in Heavenly Dao comprehension… Though, given their earthly presence, especially facing that brat, even that’s no advantage.”
Suddenly, a figure in azure robes appeared with effortless grace. In demeanor, the unremarkable Sword God of Peach Blossoms paled in comparison. Even with frost-touched temples, standing beside him, Deng Tai’a seemed a rustic villager next to a refined scholar—proof that comparisons are odious. No wonder Deng’s disciple insisted his aesthetically challenged master recite poetry whenever he rode his donkey. The azure-robed scholar observed the Imperial Observatory’s turmoil and sighed, “Deng Tai’a, Luoyang, facing over sixty first-rank experts—three of them sages—what would you do in their place?”
Deng Tai’a pondered seriously, “Slash until my arms tire. Might need several swords, and still not finish.”
Luoyang smirked, “Hard to kill, hard to flee.”
Cao Changqing, the Grand Secretariat who’d inexplicably lingered in the capital instead of returning to Guangling, wore a resigned expression.
Luoyang asked casually, “Deng Tai’a, after Li Chungang lent you his sword, have you ever truly wielded one since?”
Deng replied calmly, “If ever, not today. My debt to that brat’s long settled. Don’t expect me to intervene.”
Cao Changqing intoned gravely, “It begins!”
The sword formation, arcing over the Imperial Observatory in a vast semicircle, unleashed its blades as one.
The deer-riding immortal tugged his reins lightly, and his mount stepped forward.
The white deer’s hooffall was like a boulder dropped into a pond—a majestic ripple surged outward.
As if hearing celestial music, the flying swords’ momentum faltered, though their speed barely waned before they pressed on.
The deer’s second step landed heavily, another wave of immense energy unfurling.
Again, the swords hesitated.
With earth as a bell, each immortal deer’s step was a resounding chime of divine resonance.
By the thirtieth step from the Imperial Observatory’s gates, the sky-obscuring swarm of swords had slowed from a furious onslaught to a drifting crawl.
A thousand heavy cavalry lining the streets raised their sabers against the suffocating blade-cloud overhead. Though decelerated, the swords descended with inexorable, crushing inevitability.
Mortals say the divine watches from three feet above.
Now, three feet above were flying swords.
A few defiant riders, refusing to await death, leaped from their steeds to slash at the blades.
Their sabers passed through the swords like cleaving water—no damage done, but the touched blades, as if summoned, veered from the formation and vanished.
Six riders were instantly impaled as if by ballista bolts, nailed to the ground, their bodies pierced by fist-sized holes—no swords in sight, only fatal wounds.
A suicidal endeavor.
A quick-witted commander bellowed, “Dismount! No blades drawn without orders!”
The heavy cavalry scrambled down, putting distance between themselves and the swords.
The deer-riding immortal flicked his sleeve, and above every soldier’s head bloomed a purple-gold lotus bud, swiftly unfurling, swaying gracefully without wind.
Like armies deadlocked in battle, neither side dared act rashly. The swords froze mid-air, utterly still.
The immortal raised a hand, fingers splayed, and commanded softly, “Five Peaks, heed my decree!”
A towering mountain surged beneath Xu Fengnian, lifting him high. Four more peaks, each uniquely majestic, rose around him.
Xu drew his sheathed Liang blade, planted its tip, and pressed down lightly with both hands on the hilt.
Not only did his own mountain halt its ascent—the surrounding peaks trembled precariously.
The edge of Northern Liang yields not to storm or snow.
Across Liyang’s vast lands, atop five sacred mountains, every Daoist temple’s incense—indoors or out—simultaneously extinguished, their smoke spiraling unnaturally.
Meanwhile, four immortals emerged from the Imperial Observatory, each taking a peak’s summit. They produced seals—wooden, bronze, jade, and gold—topped with carvings of Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise.
Xu Fengnian cast a peculiar glance at the immortal atop the Western Peak. A mere look reduced the figure, seal, and mountain to dust.
The lotus-crowned elder, watching impassively, gazed west and sighed as if overwhelmed.
Xu pressed his advantage, driving the hilt downward.
The scene evoked the scholars’ lament of “Central Plains’ Submersion” muttered for twenty years.
After the Western Peak’s immortal shattered in a burst of radiance, the other three peaks’ guardians followed suit.
Xu descended slowly, his scabbard’s tip touching earth.
Simultaneously, thunder cracked atop all five peaks, regardless of weather.
Truly, when gods battle, mortals suffer.
The hovering swords abruptly accelerated anew.
The deer-riding immortal snorted, yanked his reins, and his celestial mount reared, hooves slamming down.
Countless swords shuddered violently mid-air, buzzing like angry hornets.
The protective lotuses withered visibly.
Soldiers instinctively ducked, sweating profusely as they gulped at the blades now inches away.
The white deer vanished.
A streak of light plunged into a cavalryman, who abruptly charged Xu Fengnian like lightning.
Xu merely raised his scabbard—the golden-armored rider exploded into motes that dissipated steps away, leaving him unmoved but for a fluttering sleeve.
The light split into two, arcing into two more riders who galloped forth.
Xu sheathed his blade. Before they closed ten paces, both riders’ skulls seemed pierced by arrows, dropping dead instantly.
The lights divided again—four riders charged fearlessly.
Xu’s earlier flying swords, expended against Qi Jiejie, had all been deployed. These were the miniature blades Deng Tai’a gifted him by the eastern sea. After several were destroyed in his battle with Han Shengxuan, Xu had secretly replenished the twelve over two years—their spirits now perfected, moving with his will.
Xuanjia and Qingmei, Zhaolu and Chunshui, Taohua and Emei, Zhuque and Huangtong, Pifu and Jinlv, Taia.
Upon the general’s stage, deploying elite troops.
Four golden riders dashed themselves to pieces.
Eight more arrived in dazzling splendor.
Their fall brought sixteen.
Xu’s twelve swords raised a thunderous barrier.
The golden tide broke endlessly against it.
From afar, Deng Tai’a grinned openly. “This time, he’s copying me.”
Luoyang scoffed, “All flash, no substance.”
Deng arched a brow. “Effective and stylish. Admit it.”
Cao Changqing, amused by the banter between these two top-tier martial masters, interjected, “Why argue over this?”
At the street’s ends, over two hundred golden-armored riders leveled lances for a coordinated charge.
The sea of gilded warriors evoked the majesty of heaven’s court.
Even a mile away, Cao’s face glowed gold as he murmured, “Defying celestial might single-handedly rivals Northern Liang’s cavalry resisting an emperor’s decree. Pity so few witness this spectacle.”
Deng nodded. “Those past duels at Emperor Wu’s City, or my own ascents, pale in comparison.”
A mere twelve swords formed an impregnable wall against thousands.
The golden celestial cavalry shattered against it in waves, their collective demise like heavenly thunder echoing on earth.
Many martial experts monitoring the scene retreated, some stubborn holdouts horrified to find blood streaming from their eyes, ears, and noses.
Only a handful—like the Wu Family’s ancestral swordmaster Wu Jian or Dongyue Sword Pool’s Chai Qingshan—held their ground.
Then came the climax: over four hundred golden riders charged Xu Fengnian from both flanks.
The radiance was blinding—a sun rising not from the east, but from the Imperial Observatory.
A crimson dawn, born at the heart of the capital.
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