The Demon Lords

Chapter 508 23: Victory! _1

No one could clearly articulate the vastness of the street. It was only known that the Sword Saint of Jin State, who wore Longyuan or had Baili slung at his waist, and the Baili Sword of Qian State, were people of the street. And those who liked to lean against haystacks, picking their ears and humming tunes, idling away their days without doing any proper work—they too were people of the street.

The more diverse the people, the more they gravitated towards unconventional deeds.

Someone once offered critiques of the Four Great Swordsmen, highlighting a distinctive feature of each of their swords—a practice that later generations would call 'labeling.'

Li Liangshen, the Commander-in-Chief of Yan State's Northern Garrison Army, wielded a sword that had slain countless barbarians and drunk its fill of their blood. Among the Four Great Swordsmen, his sword was responsible for the most slaughter and was thus renowned as 'Ruthless.'

The sword of Baili Feng from Qian State, it was said, could shatter stars after a month of accumulating power. Of course, this was an exaggeration. People at the time hadn't yet developed an immunity to casual claims of 'shattering the void,' so naturally, they believed the more grandiose and unconventional the boast, the better.

However, Baili Feng's sword was indeed like a Startling Swallow—elusive and difficult to comprehend—and thus renowned as 'Fast.'

The swordsmith from Chu State—no one had ever seen him wield a sword. He was counted among the Four Great Swordsmen only because the Sword Saint of Jin State, for whom he had forged 'Longyuan,' had praised him into their ranks. Thus, he was renowned as 'Enigmatic.'

And the sword of the Sword Saint from Jin State was renowned as 'Sharp'!

Wherever the blade pointed, all was reduced to dust!

By this time, the Sword Saint had already delivered thirteen sword strikes. Tian Wujing had not taken them all head-on. While a Martial Cultivator's physique was formidable, it was not an indomitable reef of the East Sea, unable to withstand such a barrage. Of the thirteen strikes, Tian Wujing had blocked six and dodged seven.

The Sword Saint's Sword Intent continued to climb, with the unhurried feeling of ascending a slope. Meanwhile, several sword gashes had already appeared on Tian Wujing's gilded armor.

It was clear that the Sword Saint held an absolute advantage.

What swordsmen excelled at, in truth, was one-on-one combat.

The Pixiu lay crouched to the side, not participating in the duel. It merely licked its front paws from time to time, its large, bell-like copper eyes glinting with a dark red light. It was the sole spectator of this confrontation.

When the Sword Saint launched his fourteenth strike, Tian Wujing no longer passively dodged or blocked. Instead, he finally threw his first punch. This punch wasn't particularly forceful, but it carried an extremely peculiar vortex of air.

A duel between masters is quite similar to a battlefield skirmish, except that each side's 'army' consists only of the combatant themself. Therefore, using one's wits is essential.

The Sword Saint was 'ascending the mountain,' his Sword Energy growing stronger with each strike. Tian Wujing's aim with this punch was to forcibly disrupt this rhythm, causing the Sword Saint's momentum to falter midway.

Longyuan was drawn back. This strike was recalled and forcibly positioned before the Sword Saint, shifting from offense to defense.

Tian Wujing's punch struck the body of the sword, making it hum and tremble. However, the Sword Saint used this very force to ascend once more, his aura abruptly intensifying at twice its previous speed!

The next moment, Tian Wujing began to retreat. And then, a sword strike comparable in power to the previous thirteen combined was thrust out with the force of a thunderbolt.

BANG!

The Martial Cultivator's physique ultimately failed to withstand it. A fist-sized hole was gouged in his gilded armor, and blood gushed out from within.

Having landed a successful blow, the Sword Saint did not press his advantage. Ordinary people cherish their lives, and few would dare to fight to mutual destruction. True masters were even more so; after all, a lifetime of arduous cultivation was not easy, and everyone wished to live well.

But Tian Wujing was different. Therefore, the Sword Saint dared not gamble on whether Tian Wujing would seize the chance and attempt a desperate, mutually destructive attack. Although his opponent was of high status and seemingly had no need for such a foolish act, this was Tian Wujing. Who could possibly guess what he truly intended to do?

In any case, he held the overwhelming advantage. Even if it took a few more sword strikes, slowly 'peeling away' at him, he could exhaust this Third Rank Martial Cultivator to death in the most reliable way.

When fighting a Martial Cultivator, one had to pay attention to the 'heat.' A slow simmer was best, stewing their physique until it was soft and tender. In the end, a light flick of the chopsticks would separate flesh from bone.

As for time, the Sword Saint could only hope his younger brother could buy him enough of it.

Tian Wujing silently glanced down at his still-bleeding wound. Perhaps because Sword Energy lingered within it, he made no futile attempt to staunch the flow. Instead, his figure lunged forward, pressing down like a fierce tiger descending a mountain.

The Sword Saint touched down on his toes and his figure flew backward. Though he retreated, his sword point thrust forward—a white gleam aiming for Tian Wujing's center.

ROAR!

Just then, the Pixiu, which had been lying prone 'observing' the battle, suddenly opened its mouth and let out a furious roar. From its massive maw, a black treasured saber shot out, landing straight into Tian Wujing's left hand.

The Pixiu inherently possessed the power of devouring. Moreover, being a unique creature with no 'rear exit,' using its body to store items was naturally an excellent application.

This saber was named 'Kunwu.' A century ago, Emperor Taizong of Qian State led his army on a northern expedition. He wore the Sword of the Son of Heaven on his left and the Kunwu saber suspended on his right. However, after that disastrous defeat, Emperor Taizong lay on an ox-cart as his subordinates escorted him back to Qian State. Both the Sword of the Son of Heaven and the Kunwu saber were lost, becoming war trophies for Yan State.

On the day Tian Wujing was enfeoffed as Lord Jingnan, the Yan Emperor bestowed Kunwu upon him.

The treasured saber turned sideways, its edge pressing down. Saber and sword clashed, emitting a deafening, harsh roar.

The Sword Saint's gaze hardened slightly. He raised his hands horizontally, and two streams of Sword Energy materialized out of thin air. With a point of his finger, they shot towards Tian Wujing, intending to free his Longyuan sword.

However, Tian Wujing slapped his palm onto the hilt of the treasured saber. The saber's body, borrowing this force, acted like a nail, forcibly pinning down the Longyuan sword. In an instant, both saber and sword sank into the frozen earth beneath.

BANG! BANG!

Both streams of Sword Energy struck Tian Wujing directly. His figure trembled slightly, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, yet his eyes remained calm.

Arrogant! Suddenly, a wave of agitation rose in the Sword Saint's heart. Even though Longyuan was pinned underground, he still held the absolute upper hand. Since the fight began, Tian Wujing had only been passively taking blows, while he himself was unscathed. Moreover, cracks had already appeared in his opponent's Martial Cultivator physique. Yet, despite all this, the Sword Saint still couldn't understand where this agitation in his heart stemmed from.

Tian Wujing, without delay, lunged forward again.

This time, the Sword Saint did not retreat. Unable to forcibly recall Longyuan at this moment, he decisively bit the tip of his tongue. A mouthful of essence blood shot out, and under the infusion of his Sword Intent, it directly formed a blood sword.

Daoist esoteric arts included techniques for transforming tongue-tip essence blood into Qi. However, the Sword Saint's blood sword, imbued with his unique, razor-sharp Sword Intent, possessed less subtlety than Daoist methods but an immeasurably greater degree of tyrannical power!

Facing the attacking blood sword, Tian Wujing instantly changed direction, his figure darting to the left.

The Sword Saint flicked his left index finger, and the blood sword followed closely behind.

The frequency with which Tian Wujing's legs pushed off the ground wasn't high, but each push carried immense power, making the surrounding ground tremble. His movement speed, through various brutal and seemingly illogical bursts, reached an extreme.

However, the blood sword, to some extent, had already transcended the limitations of physical form. It didn't even possess a concrete shape, so it continued to pursue him relentlessly.

Especially when Tian Wujing clenched his fist and lunged forward, attempting to strike the Sword Saint, the blood sword instantly accelerated. With a flash of red light, it pierced directly through Tian Wujing's right chest.

Yet Tian Wujing's momentum did not lessen; he continued his attempt to get close to the Sword Saint.

The Sword Saint's long robe stirred. A small, ancient-looking sword, about the size of a dagger, flew out to meet Tian Wujing.

Tian Wujing's fist collided with this small sword. Instantly, the sound of cracking echoed continuously—a sharp, brittle sound originating from his bones.

The fist of a Third Rank Martial Cultivator was incredibly tough, but this small, ancient sword was even sharper. It not only shattered Tian Wujing's Protective Aura but also pierced into his right hand.

Legend had it that the Chu State swordsmiths had not only forged the Longyuan for the Sword Saint but had also helped him refine the essence of his former personal sword into a smaller blade, called the Mother-Child Sword.

Once again, Tian Wujing failed to get close to the Sword Saint, and his physical body suffered another grievous wound.

However, as Tian Wujing retreated, he forcefully slammed his left hand down upon his right. CRACK! The small sword was driven by Tian Wujing directly into the bones of his own wrist. His right wrist instantly became a bloody mess, with white bone visible.

A sudden premonition of danger flared in the Sword Saint's heart. Despite clearly holding the absolute advantage, he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to flee immediately.

Tian Wujing landed with both feet on the ground. Without even looking at his right hand, he brought his left hand up before him. A distinguished Martial Cultivator, actually beginning to form hand seals!

... thought the Sword Saint.

"Heaven and Earth can hide, all laws borrow power—restrain, trap, lock, seal!"

Tian Wujing's blood, spilt during the earlier exchanges, had already formed a circle around the Sword Saint. At this moment, it was forcibly activated by the spell!

A blue barrier of light materialized, sealing the Sword Saint within.

The world knew Tian Wujing as a master of martial arts, but few were aware that the one who had initially tempered his body and laid his foundation was his reclusive ancestor, who had secluded himself within the Tian Residence for decades, single-mindedly pursuing the Dao.

At this moment, Longyuan was pinned underground by Kunwu, and the small sword was forcibly lodged in Tian Wujing's own finger bones. This meant that both sharp weapons the Sword Saint carried were out of his immediate reach. He could not use the sharp aura of a blade to break through this barrier.

This was not a particularly advanced sealing spell. However, the barrier it formed could isolate spiritual energy. This meant that the Sword Energy the Sword Saint could previously conjure even without a physical sword was now nearly useless against this membrane. Only a sharp, metallic aura could forcibly tear it open.

Meanwhile, Tian Wujing had already risen to his feet, preparing to advance once more.

Only now did the Sword Saint understand the source of his earlier unease. Although he had held the advantage throughout, and the duel had seemed to hold little suspense from the start, he had fallen into Tian Wujing's machinations very early on. Step by step, bit by bit, it had led to the current situation where he was like a turtle trapped in a jar.

Suddenly, the Sword Saint's gaze focused. He extended his left hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together. His entire left arm transformed into a sharp sword. Forcibly channeling his power, he swung it forward. SWISH! The barrier was sliced open, but the Sword Saint's left arm was now riddled with wounds, almost crippled.

As Tian Wujing once again moved to close in, the Sword Saint, without the slightest hesitation, turned and fled using his movement technique.

Swordsmen and Martial Cultivators were different. A Martial Cultivator, until his vital energy and blood were utterly exhausted, remained a stubborn rock. Swordsmen, however, were far more fragile. What had seemed like merely crippling an arm was, in reality, a forced expulsion of his own vital qi and blood. He had used his physical body to forcibly channel Sword Energy, imposing a task meant for divine weapons upon his own vulnerable flesh. The resulting backlash was absolutely terrifying.

Unlike Mr. Chen, who had sawed off his own poisoned leg to continue fighting, Mr. Chen had only lost the lower half of a leg. The Sword Saint, however, had damaged his very foundation.

Even though Tian Wujing was also covered in wounds, the Sword Saint knew clearly that if the fight continued, his own defeat was certain.

So he left. He didn't even retrieve Longyuan or the small sword, leaving without any hesitation. In other words, he had lost.

Tian Wujing did not pursue.

Instead, he slowly sat down on the ground. The Pixiu rose, walked over to Tian Wujing, and lay down again, allowing Tian Wujing to lean against it and rest.

Tian Wujing reached out and gently grasped the Pixiu's soft fur.

Having just defeated the Sword Saint of Jin State, he felt not the slightest trace of excitement or elation.

He merely leaned lightly against the Pixiu's broad, sturdy body.

Beside his ear, the evening breeze blew gently, seeming to carry with it the entreating murmurs of an old man:

Little Mirror, Little Mirror, I'm begging you, alright? Don't just focus on martial arts. Practice some Daoist spell incantations too, won't you?

Just do it for my sake, for your ancestor's sake, how about it?

Oh, Little Mirror...

My little young master...