Chapter 214: Victory!

No one could say exactly how vast the martial world was. All anyone knew was that the Sword Saint of Jin, with Longyuan at his side, and Qian's Baili Sword, with Baili hanging at his waist, were men of the martial world—and so was the fellow who spent all day leaning crookedly against a haystack, picking his ears and humming tunes instead of doing anything useful.

Once enough assorted people gathered together, they naturally started meddling in assorted nonsense.

Someone had once evaluated the Four Great Swordsmen by choosing one defining quality for each man's sword. In later generations, this would simply have been called putting labels on them.

Li Liangshen, Commander-in-Chief of Great Yan's Zhenbei Army, had slaughtered countless barbarians, and his sword had drunk more barbarian blood than any of the other four. Thus his sword was called "Ruthless."

Qian's Baili Feng was said to be capable of gathering momentum for a month, then shattering the stars with a single sword. Naturally, that was an exaggeration. People of this age had not yet developed immunity to boasts about casually "shattering the void," so naturally everyone tried to make their exaggerations sound as fresh and extraordinary as possible.

But Baili Feng's sword truly did flash like a startled swan, impossible to grasp or predict. Thus it was called "Fast."

As for Chu's Swordsmith, no one had ever actually seen him use a sword. He had been forcibly dragged into the ranks of the Four Great Swordsmen simply because he had forged Longyuan for the Sword Saint of Jin and the Sword Saint had praised him. Thus his sword was called "Mysterious."

And the sword of Jin's Sword Saint was called "Sharp."

Wherever its edge pointed, all was reduced to dust!

By now, the Sword Saint had already unleashed thirteen strikes.

Tian Wujing had not accepted every one of them head-on. A Martial Artist's physique might be formidable, but it was no ten-thousand-year reef standing in the Eastern Sea. It could not endure such reckless punishment forever.

Of those thirteen swords, Tian Wujing had blocked six and evaded seven.

The Sword Saint's sword intent was still climbing, rising with the unhurried steadiness of a man ascending a mountain.

Several deep sword scars had already appeared across Tian Wujing's gilded armor.

The situation was obvious.

The Sword Saint held an absolute advantage.

A swordsman's greatest specialty, after all, was single combat.

The Pixiu lay crouched nearby and did not interfere. From time to time, it stretched out its tongue and licked its forepaw. A dark red gleam flickered in its bell-sized eyes.

It was the sole spectator to this duel.

When the Sword Saint launched his fourteenth strike, Tian Wujing no longer passively dodged or blocked.

At last, he threw his first punch.

There was nothing especially ferocious about the blow.

Instead, an extremely strange spiral of qi curled around it.

A duel between experts was, in truth, much like armies clashing in formation.

The only difference was that each side's entire army consisted of a single man.

Which meant using one's head was essential.

The Sword Saint was "climbing the mountain."

Each sword was stronger than the one before.

What Tian Wujing needed to do was use this punch to forcibly break his rhythm and make that ascent fail halfway.

Longyuan withdrew.

The Sword Saint forcibly recalled the strike and laid the blade horizontally before himself, turning attack into defense.

Tian Wujing's fist smashed into the sword.

The blade gave a trembling hum.

But the Sword Saint actually borrowed the force of that punch to climb higher once again.

His aura suddenly surged upward at twice its previous speed!

The next instant—

Tian Wujing began retreating.

And a sword carrying power comparable to the combined force of the previous thirteen strikes stabbed forward with the speed of thunder.

Bang!

In the end, even a Martial Artist's body could not withstand it.

A fist-sized hole was gouged through the gilded armor.

Blood welled steadily from within.

Having landed his blow, the Sword Saint did not immediately pursue.

Ordinary people cherished their lives. Few dared force an enemy into mutual destruction.

True experts were even more cautious.

Cultivation hard-earned over a lifetime was not easy to obtain.

Everyone wanted to live.

But Tian Wujing was different.

So the Sword Saint did not dare gamble on whether Tian Wujing might seize an opening and drag him into death together.

True, the man's status was exalted and there should have been no reason for him to do something so foolish.

But this was Tian Wujing.

Who could possibly guess what he might do?

In any case, the Sword Saint already held every advantage.

A few more strikes slowly peeling away layer after layer would eventually exhaust this Third Grade Martial Artist to death by the safest possible method.

When fighting a Martial Artist, the heat had to be controlled.

A low flame and a slow simmer would do.

Cook that powerful body until flesh and bone softened then, at the end, one gentle lift of the chopsticks would separate meat from bone.

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

Tian Wujing silently lowered his head and glanced at the wound, which was still bleeding.

Perhaps sword qi remained inside it.

He made no pointless attempt to stop the blood.

Instead, his body lunged forward.

Like a tiger descending the mountain he crushed straight toward the Sword Saint.

The Sword Saint touched one toe to the ground and flew backward.

His body retreated but the sword edge advanced.

A streak of white light stabbed straight down the centerline.

"ROAR!"

At that moment, the Pixiu, which had spent the entire duel crouched there "watching," suddenly opened its jaws and roared.

A black treasured saber shot from its mouth and flew directly into Tian Wujing's left hand.

Pixiu possessed the innate ability to swallow things.

And since the creature itself was a peculiar beast with no rear opening, its body made an excellent place to hide objects.

The saber was named Kunwu.

A century ago, Emperor Taizong of Qian had led an army north with the Son of Heaven's Sword on his left and the Kunwu Saber hanging on his right.

After that disastrous defeat, Emperor Taizong had been carried back to Qian lying on an ox cart under the protection of his remaining soldiers.

Both the Son of Heaven's Sword and Kunwu had been lost and became spoils of war for Yan.

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

The treasured saber turned sideways.

Its edge pressed down.

Saber and sword collided with a piercing roar.

The Sword Saint's eyes narrowed slightly.

He raised both hands horizontally.

Two streams of sword qi appeared from empty air.

With a forward point they shot straight toward Tian Wujing.

He intended to relieve the pressure on Longyuan.

Yet Tian Wujing slammed one palm against Kunwu's hilt.

Borrowing the force, the saber became like an iron spike forcibly pinning Longyuan in place.

For a moment, both saber and sword were driven beneath the frozen earth.

Bang!

Bang!

Both streams of sword qi struck Tian Wujing directly.

His body trembled faintly.

Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

Yet his eyes remained calm.

"Arrogant!"

A sudden agitation rose inside the Sword Saint.

Even though Longyuan had been suppressed underground, he still held the absolute advantage.

Since the duel began, Tian Wujing had done little except take blows.

The Sword Saint himself remained completely unharmed.

And cracks had already appeared in the Martial Artist's formidable body.

Yet despite all this the Sword Saint still could not understand where that unease in his heart was coming from.

Tian Wujing did not pause.

He lunged forward again.

This time, the Sword Saint did not retreat.

He could not forcibly recall Longyuan at the moment.

So instead he bit the tip of his tongue.

A mouthful of essence blood shot out.

Empowered by his sword intent it condensed directly into a blood sword.

Daoist schools possessed techniques for transforming essence blood from the tongue into qi.

But the Sword Saint's blood sword carried his unique, razor-sharp sword intent.

Compared with Daoist methods, it lacked some of their mystery but possessed vastly greater dominance and killing force.

Faced with the incoming blood sword, Tian Wujing abruptly changed direction and moved left.

The Sword Saint flicked his left index finger.

The blood sword followed.

Tian Wujing's legs did not strike the ground especially quickly.

But every step carried tremendous force.

The earth around him trembled with each impact.

His speed reached an extreme through methods so brutally direct they seemed almost unreasonable.

But the blood sword had, to some degree, already transcended the limitations of flesh.

It did not even possess a truly fixed physical form.

So it continued following him.

Especially when Tian Wujing clenched his fist and attempted to smash into the Sword Saint the blood sword suddenly accelerated.

Red light flashed.

It pierced straight through Tian Wujing's right chest.

Yet Tian Wujing's momentum did not diminish.

He continued trying to close the distance.

The Sword Saint's long robe fluttered.

A small ancient sword, no larger than a dagger, shot out and flew directly toward Tian Wujing.

Tian Wujing's fist collided with the small sword.

Crack after crack immediately rang out the brittle sound came from bone.

A Third Grade Martial Artist's fist was immensely hard.

But that ancient little sword was even sharper.

It not only pierced Tian Wujing's protective qi it stabbed directly into his right hand.

Legend held that Chu's Swordsmith had not only forged Longyuan for the Sword Saint.

He had also taken the finest essence from the Sword Saint's former weapon and reforged it into a small companion blade.

Together, they were known as the Mother-and-Child Swords.

Once again—

Tian Wujing failed to close with the Sword Saint.

And his body suffered another severe wound.

However, as Tian Wujing retreated, he suddenly slammed his left hand against his injured right.

Crack!

He forcibly jammed the small sword between the bones of his own wrist.

Blood instantly drenched his right wrist.

White bone showed through.

Warning exploded inside the Sword Saint's heart.

Though he clearly held an absolute advantage a sudden impulse seized him.

Run.

Leave immediately.

Tian Wujing planted both feet on the ground.

He did not even look at his ruined right hand.

Instead he raised his left hand before his chest.

A dignified Martial Artist actually began forming Daoist hand seals!

"............" The Sword Saint.

"Heaven and earth may conceal; all methods lend their strength.

"Bind.

"Confine.

"Lock.

"Seal!"

The blood Tian Wujing had spilled throughout the earlier exchanges had already formed a ring around the Sword Saint.

Now the spell forcibly activated it.

A blue barrier instantly enclosed the Sword Saint.

Everyone beneath Heaven knew Tian Wujing was a powerful Martial Artist.

Very few knew that when he had first begun laying the foundation and tempering his body the one who guided him had been his great-granduncle.

That old man had secluded himself inside the Tian estate for decades, refusing to leave as he single-mindedly pursued the Dao.

At this moment, Longyuan was pinned beneath the earth by Kunwu.

The small sword had been forcibly trapped between the bones of Tian Wujing's hand.

Both sharp weapons belonging to the Sword Saint were away from him.

He could not borrow their metallic sharpness to tear through the barrier.

This was not some extraordinarily profound sealing art.

The barrier merely isolated the flow of qi.

In other words, the sword qi the Sword Saint could summon even while unarmed was almost useless against it.

Only the sharp qi of metal could forcibly cut it apart.

Meanwhile, Tian Wujing was already moving forward again.

Only now did the Sword Saint understand where his earlier unease had come from.

He had held the advantage the entire time.

From the beginning, there had barely been any suspense in this duel.

And yet he had fallen into Tian Wujing's calculations long ago.

One step at a time.

One piece at a time.

Until finally he had become the turtle trapped inside the jar.

Suddenly the Sword Saint's gaze sharpened.

His left hand reached forward.

Index and middle fingers pressed together.

His entire left arm transformed into a sword.

He forcibly drove his sword intent through his own flesh then slashed forward.

Rip!

The barrier split open.

But the Sword Saint's left arm was now riddled with wounds almost completely ruined.

When Tian Wujing moved forward again to close the distance the Sword Saint did not hesitate.

He turned and fled using his movement technique.

Swordsmen were different from Martial Artists.

Until a Martial Artist reached utter exhaustion, until his blood and qi ran dry he remained a stubborn rock.

A swordsman was far more fragile.

Earlier, it had looked as though the Sword Saint had merely sacrificed one arm.

In truth, what he had condensed and released was his own blood and qi.

He had forcibly used his body to wield sword qi making fragile flesh perform the work meant for a divine weapon.

The backlash was terrifying.

This was different from Hero Chen, who had once sawed off his poisoned lower leg and continued fighting.

Hero Chen had merely lost half a leg.

The Sword Saint had damaged his foundation.

Tian Wujing was covered in wounds as well.

But the Sword Saint understood clearly:

If the fight continued he would certainly lose.

So he left.

He did not retrieve Longyuan.

He did not retrieve the small sword.

He simply left without hesitation.

Put another way he had been defeated.

Tian Wujing did not pursue him.

Instead he slowly sat down on the ground.

The Pixiu rose, walked to him, then lay down again so Tian Wujing could lean against its body and rest.

Tian Wujing reached out and gently gripped its soft fur.

He had just defeated the Sword Saint of Jin.

Yet there was not the slightest excitement or elation on his face.

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

In his ears the evening wind whispered.

And within it there seemed to linger the pleading, rambling voice of an old man:

"Little Jing, Little Jing, consider your great-granduncle begging you, all right?

"Don't spend all your time practicing martial arts.

"Practice a few Daoist arts and incantations too.

"Just give your great-granduncle a little face, won't you?

"Little Jing...

"My little ancestor..."

(End of Chapter)