Chapter 57: A Sword That Soars Free
“Hold your hands, both of you!”
A group of five appeared at the entrance of the Seventh Buddha Grotto. At their head was a man exuding the aura of an immortal, holding a feather fan, his bearing light and airy, as if he might ascend with the wind at any moment—extraordinary in every sense.
It was he who spoke, interrupting the two combatants.
When Yan Qichang saw Hong Ren, his anger twisted into a bitter smile, and the murderous intent around him grew even more intense. “Hong Ren, to think you’re still alive. What a pity I didn’t kill you back then!”
This inner disciple of the Celestial Sea Sect remained composed, even when caught in the most perilous situation, surrounded on all sides.
Hong Ren smiled mildly. “Senior Brother Yan, your great kindness is something I’ll never forget.”
“Meeting here today is surely fate. I have a request—would you be willing to grant it?”
Yan Qichang snorted coldly, his gaze lingering on the Sanmei Divine Wind Fan in Hong Ren’s hand. His expression grew grave. He did not respond.
Hong Ren then cupped his hands to Pang Yue. “I would like to borrow Senior Brother Yan’s head for a moment. If you would excuse yourself, Junior Brother.”
Pang Yue gestured for him to proceed, his figure shifting in a shimmering blur as he stepped onto the Bridge of Regret and drew near Meng Zitao.
“Daoist Brother, I didn’t expect to find you here!”
Meng Zitao replied with a smile.
The two had little time for talk after their reunion, for they were separated almost immediately upon entering the Primeval Secret Realm.
Pang Yue regarded Hong Ren with interest. “How come your magic treasure is in Senior Brother Hong’s hands?”
“It was just in case… Wait, is that the Blood Fiend Secret Art of Mystery Isle?”
Meng Zitao’s words trailed off as his attention was caught by the crimson wheel of light spinning behind Pang Yue. The other three disciples of the Demon Talisman Sect also stared intently at the spectacle.
Within the blood light, shadowy figures writhed—strange and unnerving.
Knowing Meng Zitao’s powerful background, Pang Yue asked, “Brother Meng, do you have any way to break this?”
Meng Zitao hesitated, then shook his head with a wry smile.
Pang Yue looked to the other three, but they also appeared helpless.
Meng Zitao’s sharp eyes swept over the blood-red wheel and quickly recognized the figures hidden within. “You’re as fierce as ever, Brother. Let’s see—Harmony Sect, True Yang Sect, Celestial Sea Sect… How long have you been here? And already you’ve killed so many?”
“This brother clearly has no mercy for beauty, to have slaughtered so many fair maidens…” one of the others sighed, shaking his head at the shadows behind Pang Yue.
Another said, “That looks like Zhou Wuchou, the True Yang Sect’s inner disciple. To think even he fell to you—impressive!”
“Zhou Wuchou?” Meng Zitao’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard of him—supposedly a remarkable talent, already at the ninth stage of Dao Foundation, and one of the seven bearers of True Fire. With prospects for forming a Golden Core in the future… A pity he met you, Brother.”
Meng Zitao was well aware of Pang Yue’s strength. Even years ago, this man could slay Golden Core avatars and suppress countless Dao Foundation beasts. Now, his power was even more unfathomable.
He wondered, how did he compare to the True Inheritor of the Xu family?
As they chatted idly, Hong Ren and Yan Qichang had already begun their duel.
They had been enemies for thirty years; old grudges flared hotter at their meeting.
As soon as they exchanged blows, neither bothered with probing attacks—each unleashed their full might.
Especially with the borrowed Sanmei Divine Wind Fan, Hong Ren’s power soared. First, he conjured a black tornado to shield himself, securing an invincible position. Then, invoking Feather Mountain, he summoned three more black tornadoes, sending them whirling toward Yan Qichang.
Yan Qichang’s face was grave, but he showed no sign of panic. His hands flashed through incantations, unleashing a torrent of aqueous radiance to meet the Divine Wind head-on. For a time, he held his own.
The Sea-Burying Hands—truly worthy of their reputation.
“This Yan Qichang is even stronger than Zhou Wuchou…” Pang Yue thought to himself as he watched the duel.
Though Zhou Wuchou wielded a supreme artifact forged from Qianyan True Fire, in terms of raw spiritual power and mastery of techniques, he was still outdone by Yan Qichang of the Celestial Sea Sect. Only a sect with such deep heritage could make up for quality with sheer quantity of spiritual power, blocking even the Sanmei Divine Wind’s assault.
Yet, although Hong Ren’s Dao Foundation was perfect, his spiritual power was less than a tenth of Yan Qichang’s!
Their contest had become a battle of endurance.
Would Hong Ren’s power run dry first, drained by the first-grade treasure? Or would Yan Qichang be unable to withstand the Divine Wind, his flesh and blood scattered by its force?
“Senior Brother Yan, your spiritual power is impressive, but I have five junior brothers at my back. Let’s see how long you can last,” Hong Ren taunted, striking at both body and mind.
Yan Qichang’s eyes flickered as he calculated. Dealing with Hong Ren alone was already taxing. Among the five Demon Talisman Sect disciples, even the one he faced first was a formidable opponent!
Very well, then. Let them see who truly holds the advantage in numbers.
A cold smile playing at his lips, Yan Qichang swept his wide sleeves, sending a bronze disc spinning into the air to hang above.
While fending off the Divine Wind, he activated the bronze disc.
“That’s the Star-Fixing Plate of the Celestial Sea Sect,” Meng Zitao said, immediately recognizing the artifact.
Hong Ren’s heart sank. He called out, “Junior Brother Meng, he’s summoning his fellow disciples! Stop them, quickly!”
Without regard for his own expenditure of power, Hong Ren fiercely drove the Sanmei Divine Wind Fan, intensifying his assault.
“Too late,” Yan Qichang sneered.
The bronze disc erupted with dazzling light, splitting open with a crack. Nine beams of radiance shot forth, each transforming in midair into a small teleportation array.
Waves of spatial energy rippled out. Of the nine arrays, seven already had figures emerging within them. The other two remained still.
Yet the presence of just these seven was as vast and overwhelming as the ocean.
These seven were all mid- to late-stage Dao Foundation cultivators!
For their expedition into the Primeval Secret Realm, the Celestial Sea Sect had equipped every disciple with a Star-Fixing Plate. Each could be used only once, but could instantly gather up to nine sect members together—designed to respond to emergencies or to focus their strength in pursuit of some rare treasure.
In a blink, seven Celestial Sea Sect cultivators appeared on the field.
“Senior Brother Yan!”
“Demon Talisman Sect disciples…”
At a glance, they took in the situation.
“Attack!” Yan Qichang called out amid a storm of aqueous light, his voice thundering.
Before his words had even faded, a dazzling sword light flashed across the field—swift as lightning.
Scarlet and white, the sword light bloomed with blinding brilliance, slicing through the bodies of the seven newly arrived disciples in a single breath.
Thunderous rumbles of sword resonance echoed belatedly. The sword light, having folded in midair, returned to hover before Pang Yue—now revealed as a bone sword of alternating red and white.
The Flame Demon Immortal-Slaying Sword.
Such was the speed of the sword just now—so swift, so unreal, that the eye could barely credit it.
The seven Celestial Sea Sect disciples stood motionless, their faces frozen in shock. A few heartbeats later, a single crimson line appeared on each of them before their bodies split in two and fell to the ground.
In the blood light behind Pang Yue, seven more shadows materialized.
Meng Zitao was the first to recover, quickly summoning the seven storage pouches from the fallen with a secret art and respectfully offering them to Pang Yue.
“Brother, your swordsmanship is… truly nerve-racking to behold!”
“Thank you, Brother Meng.” Pang Yue accepted the pouches with a calm smile. “Two more remain.”
After centuries in the Demon Phantom Realm, his swordsmanship had returned to its purest essence.
If the countless duels of his past life in Doushuai Heaven were the fertile soil, then his experiences in the Demon Phantom Realm were centuries of careful cultivation.
Now, at last, a towering tree had grown from that earth.
Neither of the duelists had expected such a turn of events.
In less than the span of a single breath, the seven allies Yan Qichang summoned were cleaved in two by a single sword stroke.
Recalling that sword light, all present felt a chill in their hearts and could not help but wonder—
If I faced that strike myself, could I survive it?