Chapter 120: Exhilaration

Chapter Eleven has finally arrived.

Whether it was a carefully laid scheme or a happy accident, the most tragic figure among the top ten martial artists stood at precisely the right moment and the perfect location. Almost instantaneously, he struck at Xu Fengnian’s mortal weakness. Li Chungan was about to fight Wu Liuding, who carried the legendary Suwang Sword, each representing the pinnacle of swordsmanship in old and new generations. A duel of such magnitude would certainly not end in mere moments. Wei Shuyang, Lu Qiantang, and the others had already rushed into the reed marshes for a bloody battle whose outcome remained uncertain—perhaps even ending in mutual annihilation. At this moment, only Qingniao, the loyal bodyguard, Ning Emu, and a hundred elite cavalry remained at Xu Fengnian’s side. He turned his gaze to Ning Emu, who wielded the great halberd and longed for battle. Without needing words, the mighty general of Beiliang nodded, raised his hand, and thirty cavalrymen fanned out, each crossbow aimed directly at the famed martial expert on the road. This was another fierce clash between a hardened warrior and a martial artist—the inevitable confrontation of military might versus martial cultivation. With Ning Emu standing firm, Xu Fengnian did not even spare a glance for the infamous Number Eleven. Instead, he fixed his eyes unwaveringly on the old swordsman dashing by. Not because he underestimated Wang Mingyin, but because he understood that when two supreme martial artists faced a life-or-death confrontation, every move would be a culmination of supreme ingenuity. Whether it was Li Chungan or Wu Liuding, both were swordmasters of unparalleled renown. Perhaps every strike they launched was more refined than any technique Xu Fengnian had ever gleaned from his secret martial manuals. Gaining even a rough memory of a single move could grant him immeasurable benefit. Xu Fengnian muttered softly, “Truly, the atmosphere has become as tense as a sword about to unsheathe.”

Li Chungan raised his sword and surged forward. Wu Liuding faced this swordsman whose legend spanned over sixty years without a trace of fear, his laughter bright and unrestrained. With a single twist of his hand, the long bamboo pole spun from his shoulder and flew forward. Clad in flowing green robes, Wu Liuding stepped forth, grasping one end of the pole. Just like upon the river, he used the bamboo as a sword, slamming the other end into the road and shouting, “Rise!”

Previously, he had used a bamboo pole to overturn ships upon the river. Now, he wrenched up a massive slab of thick earth and hurled it toward Li Chungan. The bent bamboo stirred a blinding cloud of dust into the air. The pole spun back onto his shoulder. He stomped his foot powerfully onto the ground, creating a deep crater, and from beneath his foot burst forth an intense whirl of dust. The bamboo pole, which should have shattered instantly, bent under his hands into a breathtaking arc. With a single press and twist of his hands, he loosed the bamboo like a bowstring, sending it flying through the air, delivering a sharp sword qi into the dust cloud.

The airborne Li Chungan sneered, slicing his sword downward as usual, shattering the obstructive dust and simultaneously obliterating the hidden sword qi within.

The dust and earth burst outward in all directions, each fragment infused with sword qi, creating dozens of intersecting trenches along the two-hundred-step stretch of road where the two stood. The scene left Princess Jing’an utterly stunned. If she had remained in place, wouldn’t she, as Xu Fengnian had said, have been truly cleaved to pieces? Ending up with no intact corpse to speak of? Even a single sword strike’s might could tear through air and earth—how terrifyingly unparalleled was such power? The princess had previously held little impression of martial cultivation, but witnessing it firsthand, she finally understood its true terror. She stole a glance at Xu Fengnian from the side, but saw no hint of emotion in his eyes—she could not tell whether he was calm and confident or shaken and uncertain.

Li Chungan’s sword was like a celestial rainbow piercing through the heavens, its white glow blinding. He descended like lightning from the dust cloud toward Wu Liuding. Though obstructed by the bamboo and dust, the sword’s momentum showed no sign of waning. Wu Liuding, the green-robed swordsman, leapt back just in time as the pole returned to his hands. Old Master Li’s blade cut down with an overwhelming martial aura, piercing the spot where Wu Liuding had stood into a crater a full zhang deep. Wu Liuding chuckled softly, “A wonderful sword strike indeed—’One Sword to Make Immortals Kneel.’” Even as he spoke leisurely, the bamboo pole did not hesitate. It swept in a wide circular arc toward the Master Swordsman’s head, howling through the air. The old swordsman sneered coldly. How could this upstart wield a bamboo pole against him in a contest of sword technique? His sword’s aura flared, visible even to common eyes as emerald light danced along the blade. When sword qi reached its pinnacle, it was said to connect with the heavens and the earth, forming an invincible righteous force. Others might say that only a true swordsman could wield a three-foot blade to slay enemies, but did they truly think that the sword itself was merely a weapon of copper and iron?

Li Chungan landed on the road but still slashed his sword as casually as ever.

This time, Wu Liuding did not avoid the strike, keeping the bamboo pole on course, sweeping with relentless force.

Their sword techniques were nothing more than a horizontal and a vertical slash.

The clashing of Li Chungan’s blade with Wu Liuding’s bamboo pole produced an unearthly metallic clang that pierced the ears. Poor Princess Pei clutched her ears and screamed, to no avail. Blood nearly spewed from her mouth. Xu Fengnian slightly furrowed his brows and stepped in front of her, unintentionally shielding her from the shockwave caused by the collision.

Rather than rebounding upon contact, Li Chungan’s sword struck the bamboo sixteen times in rapid succession, just like he had once demonstrated sword techniques to Xu Fengnian. Each strike was terrifying in its precision. The sword’s faint green glow, originally an inch long, exploded to three inches in length. All others could see was the old swordsman’s emerald aura dancing wildly while Wu Liuding’s bamboo pole bent and bent again. Finally unable to withstand the endless tide of sword qi, the bamboo snapped with a loud crack. Seizing the advantage, Li Chungan’s expression remained unchanged as he charged toward Wu Liuding’s chest. With the pole broken in half, Wu Liuding held each piece in a hand, retreating rapidly, leaping twenty steps back. Li Chungan followed, twenty steps, his blade never straying from Wu Liuding’s chest. Though the blade remained half a zhang away, the sword qi was like a coiling green snake, missing by barely an inch!

At last, Wu Liuding ceased acting nonchalant. From a single bamboo pole wielded in a single hand, he transformed it into twin blades, wielding them with the unparalleled sword techniques for which the Wu Clan was famed. As the top swordsman of the Wu Clan to have ever left the ancestral mountain, his sword artistry stood at the peak of martial mastery. Though the bamboo lacked any sword qi, its techniques were unpredictable, defying all expectation. Even against Li Chungan, a swordsman who had one foot in the realm of the sword immortals, Wu Liuding wielded his bamboo pole with overwhelming force, charging fearlessly forward. Li Chungan furrowed his brows, then relaxed them, smiling faintly. For some unknown reason, he withdrew his blade’s emerald glow. With no more sword qi, he faced Wu Liuding purely with sword techniques, moving like a strolling scholar, effortlessly countering each blow. The pair fought in close quarters, their movements a dazzling blur, exchanging hundreds or even thousands of blows in the blink of an eye.

Meanwhile, the battle with Number Eleven, the eleventh strongest martial artist in the realm, was equally spectacular. The Liyang Dynasty had eight types of crossbows. Apart from the four that required foot pressure to load, the others, especially the crossbows used by the elite cavalry of Beiliang, were most devastating. These crossbows, known as “Kai Shan” (Mountain Breakers), were as powerful as the imperial cavalry’s “Huang Deng” crossbows, earning them the honor of being named alongside the famed Beiliang swords. Thirty such crossbows fired in unison, their projectiles humming through the air like wasps. Yet, Number Eleven, Wang Mingyin, merely walked forward, unbothered and unafraid. He extended a hand, pointing at the air before him, knocking the first volley of arrows to the ground. After the first rain of arrows passed, a second wave followed in rapid succession. Wang Mingyin, his expression unchanged, clenched both fists, his clothes ballooning outward as he assumed a posture of defiant resistance. Each wave of arrows was violently deflected by his aura, skewering into the earth. In no time, a forest of arrows lay behind him as he strode unscathed toward the thirty horsemen ahead.

This was what a crossbow truly was—its fury was only worthy of its name when it burst forth like a roaring tempest.

Yet this rugged farmer merely silenced it with a calm demeanor.

He had declared he would borrow the young prince’s head.

And he would see that promise fulfilled.

Yuan Meng, the commander of the Fengzi Squadron, narrowed his eyes. Fixing his gaze on the unknown martial artist, he yanked his reins and spurred his horse forward, sword raised high. The Fengzi cavalry moved in perfect coordination. Twenty riders flanking Yuan Meng raised their crossbows into position while the remaining ten followed behind, swords drawn. Beiliang’s cavalry excelled in horsemanship. Even without comparing to their heavily armored knights, their lightweight cavalry’s horses far surpassed those used by other forces in the empire. Moreover, Fengzi Squadron was part of Beiliang’s elite personal guard, riding stallions of heavy breeds, standing seven chi tall and weighing more than two thousand jin. Charging forward, each rider—whether wielding a sword or a spear—was like a floodstorm sweeping through, delivering incredible mounted combat power. Pei Nanwei had never experienced the horrors of total war, only hearing vague tales of Beiliang’s invincible cavalry. Watching only ten riders charge forward now, she found herself involuntarily mesmerized. If only ten riders could unleash such might, how awe-inspiring must have been the thirty thousand iron cavalry under Prince Beiliang’s command when they trampled the six kingdoms?

Yet the scene that unfolded next left Princess Jing’an wide-eyed in shock. The farmer-like warrior faced the ten charging riders head-on, brushing aside the arrows fired from the flanks, and sprinted forward to meet the lead commander Yuan Meng. The Princess expected the brutal sight of the farmer crushed under the horse’s hooves—but instead, with a single devastating impact, the farmer snapped the horse’s neck and sent both Yuan Meng and his horse flying together. Yuan Meng hadn’t even managed to bring his sword down before the expressionless martial artist accelerated forward. His footsteps thundered against the earth, rivaling the pounding of hooves. He spread his arms wide and seized the next two riders, suddenly surging with force, tossing the two horses aside, all four hooves airborne!

Born into a distinguished literary family and raised like a precious pearl in Prince Jing’an’s gilded cage, Pei Nanwei’s mouth fell open, astonished beyond belief. How could there be a martial artist in this world with such divine strength?

Three horses were sent flying by the farmer’s sheer might, and only then did two Beiliang swords manage to slash at him from the side. The mighty swordsman’s expression darkened as he gripped the sharpest sword in the empire. With a single twist of his hands, the blade curled like soft clay.

“Get off.”

With those two calm words, he yanked two brave riders from their saddles and hurled them away.

A horse galloped toward him, its hooves rearing high before slamming down—

His giant hands shot forward like lightning, rising above his head, catching the powerful descending hoof. With a cold snarl, he tore the horse in two!

What power would it take to tear a charging warhorse apart with bare hands?

The Fengzi riders dismounted, their bodies crashing down. The farmer’s fist crashed into one’s chest, breaking through armor and flesh alike, killing him instantly in a bloody mess.

The following riders were thrown aside with ease, not a single one escaping.

Pei Nanwei could not bear to watch any longer. Instinctively, she glanced at the Beiliang prince standing before her. His back remained straight and unmoved. She shifted slightly to catch a glimpse of his refined profile. But instead of the panic she expected, she saw none. Deeply disappointed, she wondered, could this Xu Fengnian genuinely feel no fear at all? She looked back at the battlefield—within a single glance, the young prince’s personal cavalry had suffered several losses. Yet what shocked Princess Pei even more was that, amidst such brutal carnage, the remaining riders of Fengzi Squadron remained as composed as the prince himself, unaffected by the gruesome sight. Especially the mighty warrior wielding the great halberd—enveloped in heavy black armor, carrying himself and his weapon as if weighing over four hundred jin, he merely sat atop his horse, unmoving despite the setbacks. What an iron-hearted soul! Princess Pei’s heart tightened—were all Beiliang soldiers like this, so emotionless and ruthless?

Ning Emu raised his halberd and pointed it toward Number Eleven, Wang Mingyin. Ten of the twenty riders still lifted their crossbows in silence, while the remaining ten launched another charge. Of the riders from the first ten who had not perished, the lightly wounded climbed back into their saddles, and the severely wounded sat on the ground, picking up their fallen crossbows.

A pincer formation was subtly forming.

When fighting the enemy, Beiliang knew only death in battle.

Princess Jing’an, watching the ten riders charge forward at the cost of their lives, finally understood the chilling words once spoken by Prince Jing’an, Zhao Heng.

Her voice trembling, she asked, “Can your cavalry stop him?”

Xu Fengnian made no reply. He was entirely focused on the match between Li Chungan and Wu Liuding—the pinnacle of swordsmanship in the contemporary world. Sweat had already begun to drip from his forehead. All he could do now was memorize every sword technique he could comprehend. This was infinitely more taxing than memorizing Go strategies. Li Chungan had abandoned sword qi and was engaging Wu Liuding in pure sword techniques, both masters demonstrating consummate skill beyond words. The old master hadn’t been without consideration for Xu Fengnian’s benefit as a spectator—he could not afford to squander such a priceless opportunity. The Wu Clan’s sword techniques had taken a narrow path, forsaking ethereal sword intent in favor of pursuing techniques that no one else could comprehend. It was said that within the sword grave, there were swordsmen as gaunt as specters, including formidable sword experts who had been defeated by the Wu Clan and imprisoned for life, their sole purpose to train the next generations with their swordplay. Over time, the sword grave not only buried and preserved tens of thousands of swords but also meticulously recorded nearly all the sword techniques in the world. On this road, although Wu Liuding’s bamboo swords grew shorter with each clash, his moves became increasingly fierce and bold. As the old saying went, the shorter the blade, the more dangerous the strike. Even if Wu Liuding appeared to be falling into a disadvantageous position, having withstood a hundred sword strikes from the legendary Li Chungan—without being defeated—was an achievement enough to be proud of.

Xu Fengnian slowly exhaled, muttering a line that left Pei Nanwei utterly confused: “Technical craftsmanship deserves a reward!”

When Pei Nanwei saw the second wave of cavalry being shattered by the rampaging farmer, the mighty halberd general who had remained unmoved finally prepared to charge. She couldn’t help but anxiously ask, “If even this general cannot stop him, what will you do then?”

Yet, unfortunately, Xu Fengnian still did not respond.

Enraged, Princess Jing’an raised her hand to strike the Beiliang prince’s back. It was a spontaneous reaction, but before she could land a single blow, the sheath of his Xiuwinter sword slammed into her abdomen. Her face turned pale, and she doubled over in excruciating pain, her eyes brimming with tears, nearly believing she was about to die.

Xu Fengnian showed no sympathy. His eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the reed marshes, paying no attention even as Ning Emu finally charged into battle.

Qingniao spoke gently, “If Ning Emu is defeated, I request one weapon.”

Xu Fengnian asked curiously, “What kind?”

Qingniao’s expression was complex as she lowered her head. “The Halberd of Fleeting Moments.”

Xu Fengnian hesitated, turning to her. “Where did I ever get that legendary halberd once wielded by the spear immortal, Wang Xiu?”

Qingniao turned her gaze toward the carriage, speaking calmly. “It has always been hidden within the wheel axle.”

Xu Fengnian was astonished. “Qingniao, tell me the truth, what relation do you have to Wang Xiu?”

She whispered softly, “He is my father. He killed my mother.”

Xu Fengnian sighed inwardly, hesitating slightly before saying, “If Ning Emu loses, then he loses. Truthfully, I never expected him and the hundred riders to exhaust Wang Mingyin completely. When this Number Eleven finally tires himself out, that will be your moment to strike.”

Pei Nanwei, crouched on the ground clutching her stomach, glared up with gritted teeth. “Xu Fengnian, don’t you fear death for every one of these hundred men?!”

Xu Fengnian turned, looking at Princess Jing’an, whose poise had now completely shattered. He replied calmly, “You understand nothing.”

Looking up with her head tilted back, Pei Nanwei laughed hysterically. “Understand what? Aren’t you just like Prince Jing’an’s heir Zhao Xun? Are you both no different, hiding behind others, knowing only how to send people you regard as worthless ants to their deaths? Today, I will see you on your knees, begging for mercy before this brute!”

“Then wait if you must.”

Xu Fengnian turned his gaze back toward the duel between Wu Liuding and the old swordsman in his sheepskin cloak. Unsurprisingly, Li Chungan’s patience was nearly worn thin. What followed would surely be a truly exhilarating battle.

Qingniao fixed her gaze on Pei Nanwei.

One was a lowly servant, the other a noble princess adorned in luxury.

Yet at this moment, it was Qingniao looking down upon Pei Nanwei, who shivered with fear.

Watching the deadly-eyed servant approach the carriage, Pei Nanwei saw her bend down to retrieve a broken wheel axle. In her hands, it shattered, revealing an entire spear shaft of vivid red.

The halberd’s name—Fleeting Moments?