Chapter 872: Broken Sword

Fan Li reached up and plucked the "little red flower" from his chest.

There was blood.

The arrowhead even had barbs, so pulling it out tore away a small chunk of flesh.

But to Fan Li, an injury like this was no different from a child cutting a finger while sharpening a pencil.

From the perspective of a Demon King, Fan Li did not care about military achievements.

Promotion and wealth meant even less.

What he wanted was the joy and satisfaction of growing stronger.

After withdrawing from Shangjing, everyone had expected to encounter Qian interception. They had even prepared for a bitter fight to the death.

Instead, the army crossed the Bian River, continued north for quite some distance, and only then discovered from far away that the main Qian Imperial Guard force was returning toward Shangjing.

The scout cavalry of the two armies began skirmishing.

The Yan wanted to withdraw. They had hit their target and intended to leave, so they did not deliberately approach.

The Imperial Guard, for its part, had received orders to return to the capital as quickly as possible and recover the devastated city. They had come without the other regional armies and naturally did not want to create fresh complications.

For a time... both sides became almost excessively polite.

It was rather like this:

Yan army: Ah, you're back? We just stopped by. We're leaving now.

Qian army: Ah, you're leaving? All right. Come visit again sometime.

Chen Yang keenly understood the reason for this "politeness."

By all logic, they should have been blocked around the Bian River by furious Qian troops.

Yet that had not happened.

Which obviously meant someone else... was taking the treatment meant for them.

In other words... once Chen Yang figured that out... the man almost went insane.

For a while, Fan Li found that a little strange.

Whose Master was Prince Pingxi, exactly?

A Demon King was, after all, somewhat detached from ordinary worldly emotions.

Yes, there was a possibility that if the Master died, all of them would perish with him.

But they had never actually tested it.

Most importantly...

Fan Li was still alive, wasn't he?

If they rushed back and discovered the Master had survived and escaped, that would be luck.

If they rushed back and discovered the Master was dead, his head already being passed around for every Qian lord to admire... then Fan Li could look down at himself.

Still alive!

That would be... a surprise!

Chen Yang, however... had always been a man carrying guilt.

This campaign was supposed to wash away his crimes and let him redeem himself through merit.

To a large degree, he had bound his own fate to Prince Pingxi's.

And if he survived... while Prince Pingxi was gone... given Prince Pingxi's prestige inside the military, and more importantly given the relationship between Prince Pingxi and His Majesty...

Chen Yang could predict his own ending with painful clarity.

He would be rewarded heavily.

And then... slowly played to death.

Whether from reason or emotion, self-interest or loyalty...

Chen Yang could not possibly sit and watch Prince Pingxi come to harm.

So afterward, under Chen Yang's command, the main Yan force began racing back to receive the Prince.

And now... they had made contact.

Yes.

At this point, Chen Yang still did not know that Prince Pingxi himself was not here.

He had deliberately avoided competing with General Fan for the glory of the rescue and instead focused on deploying the troops to finish the situation properly.

So... while Fan Li stood there angrily realizing that every preparation, every performance, every carefully calibrated detail of his heroic arrival had been wasted on the wrong audience...

Chen Yang had already directed the army into a battle formation around Baili Sword.

Not merely an encirclement.

A formation.

Crossbowmen occupied the middle to provide suppressing fire.

Shield bearers pressed forward.

Spearmen protected them.

Two cavalry detachments, each around a hundred riders, began circling.

Because they were facing only one man, throwing too many troops into the center would be meaningless.

The inner ring would be fighting.

Everyone outside would merely stand there watching the excitement.

But... this "one man" carried an entirely different kind of significance.

Breaking Shangjing had destroyed a foundation of Qian's political prestige.

Killing Baili Sword as well would strike Qian's entire jianghu and, along the way, batter the confidence of Qian's common people.

For a very long time, Baili Sword had been one of the "totems" of the Qian people.

Otherwise, how could his arrival in Shangjing dressed all in white years ago have created such an enormous sensation?

The Sword Saint had originally intended to act too, at minimum supporting the battle from one side.

But a Dispatch Officer brought Chen Yang's military order:

"Please ask the Sword Saint to rest!"

That meant they did not need him involved.

Naturally, this was not because Chen Yang was overbearing or stubbornly arrogant.

Rather, if the Sword Saint entered the battle, the moment two peak swordsmen began killing one another, the soldiers around them would have no idea how to coordinate or provide support.

It would actually be better to let the army handle matters cleanly itself.

Nor was Chen Yang indifferent to his soldiers' lives.

He simply did not know the Sword Saint's present condition.

After all, he had earlier seen the Sword Saint being "driven back" by Baili Sword, and there had been no time to stop, think carefully, and ask questions.

So the Sword Saint stood far away with Longyuan in hand.

He watched Baili Sword become surrounded.

He watched the Yan army form a battle array specifically designed to deal with him.

One could say that unless a Qian army now performed its own miracle and descended from Heaven...

Baili Sword was already dead.

There was no way he could escape.

Even if the Sword Saint were not standing here... he still could not escape.

Once, the Sword Saint had heard Zheng Fan sigh and say that this world was actually pretty good.

There were powerful experts, certainly.

But in the end, none of them possessed the sort of divine ability that could move mountains and overturn seas.

No matter how high your martial arts, you still fear the butcher's knife.

No matter how high you stand, if I am willing to fill the gap with human lives...

I can still grind you flat.

And now...

Baili Sword was being "ground flat."

A swordsman was like porcelain.

Easy to break.

A peak swordsman was simply an exquisite, top-quality piece of porcelain.

And now... a crowd of green bricks had surrounded that porcelain and was preparing to smash it apart.

The Sword Saint did not mean to belittle the Yan army or elevate Baili Sword.

Still... he could not stop that metaphor from appearing in his mind.

The world said that he, Yu Huaping, had once broken a thousand cavalry with one sword before Snow Sea Pass.

In truth, there had not actually been a thousand riders.

Who would have stopped to count at the time?

People said "a thousand cavalry" largely because saying "ten thousand" would have sounded too exaggerated.

Besides, those Savage riders had already been fleeing rats.

Especially after he killed Gelimu, their morale had already collapsed.

That was what gave him the opportunity back then.

The problem was...

Baili Sword had no such luxury now.

More importantly, he had already exhausted far, far too much strength.

Especially with that final sword... he had sacrificed his own lifespan.

When the crossbowmen began suppressing him and the shield bearers pushed forward, Baili Sword had no choice but to defend.

Then... his sword cut through Yan shields.

It tore open Yan armor.

And Baili Sword decisively chose close-quarters combat, trying to bury himself among the enemy soldiers and use the crowd itself as protection.

Blood continued spraying.

Screams rose without pause.

Whatever else could be said... he was still Baili Sword.

Yet his apparent bravery and unstoppable momentum failed to create the situation he wanted.

Because Chen Yang had deployed the army's first-assault troops.

These were soldiers who ordinarily ate the best food, drank the best drink, and received the respect of their comrades.

At the crucial moment... they were the death-sworn troops sent first into a formation or first onto a city wall.

Their lives were already intended to be spent.

Their armor.

Their weapons.

They were nothing more than firewood used to consume the opponent's blood qi.

And the most awkward weakness of a swordsman lay precisely here.

Their sword qi could possess power unmatched beneath Heaven.

But unlike Martial Artists, they could not simply use their bodies to absorb damage.

No matter what path a powerful expert cultivated... his own qi and blood could never flow without end.

Sooner or later, he needed one breath.

One instant in which old and new strength exchanged places.

Baili Sword did not have that instant.

After he swept eight armored soldiers away with another sword... a gap appeared.

From where he stood, the Sword Saint could see very clearly that Baili Sword did not understand how to fight inside a chaotic mass of soldiers.

In the past... the Sword Saint himself had not understood it either.

But after joining Zheng Fan on campaign again and again... little by little, he had learned.

Killing and wounding were two different concepts.

Where you wounded someone mattered enormously too.

Sometimes, you did not even need to pursue breaking armor.

A simple thread of sword qi blooming into a flower of blood in a place the armor did not protect... could be enough to make the enemy before you lose the ability to fight for a short time.

This was arithmetic.

You had to calculate it carefully.

Unfortunately...

Baili Sword did not know how.

Because throughout his life, he had always avoided this kind of battlefield.

At last... eight long spears came down toward him.

Baili Sword laid his sword across himself and blocked, then swept out another wave of sword qi to create space.

But in that instant... shield bearers pressed forward and compressed the room around him.

Saber-and-axe men stabbed through the gaps between shields.

"ROAR!"

A roar like that of a wild beast burst from Baili Sword's throat.

Blood wrapped in sword qi exploded outward and shattered every restraint around him.

Shields.

Weapons.

Men.

Everything was hurled away.

Baili Sword's hair hung loose.

His eyes had become muddy.

His aura was so chaotic it could hardly be described.

This was an exceptionally suffocating way to fight.

If he were facing a group of jianghu men, even if they surrounded him and attacked together, he could still move with ease and grace.

Even if it were a bandit stronghold of several hundred men, Baili Sword alone could enter beneath the cover of night and trample the place flat.

But now... he was facing an elite army unafraid of death.

Even if the Sword Saint were placed in exactly the same situation, he could kill more people than Baili Sword and endure for longer.

But... the final result would not change.

And before Baili Sword had time to restore his blood qi... the cavalry charged in.

He forcibly rose.

One hand seized an incoming horse lance.

His sword swept out and sent one rider flying.

Then he turned and kicked another rider out of the saddle.

The Sword Saint's fingertip moved slightly.

He shook his head.

There was no need for that.

He could simply have dodged.

Once cavalry charged past, turning around for another attack required time.

That interval... could have been used.

The Sword Saint could not help evaluating the battle inside his own mind.

And sure enough... after overturning four cavalrymen in succession... the fifth rider drove straight in.

The horse lance... pierced directly through Baili Sword while his body was still airborne.

"Ah!"

The combined momentum of warhorse and rider gave the lance terrifying force.

Baili Sword was skewered in midair.

The rider pressed his arm downward and braced the lance against the ground.

Nearby armored soldiers immediately rushed forward, refusing to give Baili Sword another chance to counterattack.

Yet... at that moment... a golden point of light appeared between Baili Sword's brows.

Blood flowed from both eyes.

Suddenly... another surge of sword qi erupted.

The rider before him was split in half together with his horse.

Sword qi swept sideways and forced back the armored soldiers trying to close in.

After doing this...

Baili Sword turned his head.

His gaze locked directly on the Sword Saint standing outside the formation.

The Sword Saint's eyes were still as deep water.

Baili Sword opened his mouth and laughed.

His once-handsome face was twisted and hideous now.

Even his white teeth were covered in blood.

His finger began moving quickly across the blade in his hand, apparently carving something into it.

The sword seemed to possess a spirit of its own and actively absorbed much of Baili Sword's blood.

The Sword Saint had already said Baili Sword walked a path similar to a demon beast.

Naturally, he possessed certain abilities ordinary swordsmen did not.

Still... the Sword Saint understood what he was doing.

He was writing a final testament.

An ordinary man's final testament was written on paper.

A swordsman's... was written upon his sword.

The Swordsmith had once said that what made a famous sword famous was not merely excellent materials and fine internal patterns.

Those were only the foundation.

A true famous sword depended upon the long nurturing of its swordsman.

It was like a man wearing jade.

People always said jade nurtured the man.

In truth... the man nurtured the jade too.

A famous sword possessed a spirit.

And that spirit was given to it by its master.

The Sword Saint had once possessed another sword, inherited from his own master.

Unfortunately, that sword had broken during a duel.

Later, the Sword Saint found the Swordsmith and exchanged a promise for the man's personal work in forging Longyuan.

In the future... when he grew old... when he died...

Longyuan would probably be passed onward too.

Most likely... to the Sword Maid.

Baili Sword had fought for this tiny opening.

While the surrounding soldiers had not yet closed again... he quickly finished writing his blood testament across the blade.

Then he threw the sword toward the Sword Saint.

The sword screamed through the air.

When it reached him, the Sword Saint raised one finger and stopped it.

Baili Sword threw back his head and laughed.

As a person... he really was not especially admirable.

He feared death.

He possessed little sense of country or righteous principle.

When it came to being a man, he genuinely failed.

Forget giving others the feeling of spring wind brushing the face.

The more one understood him... the smaller he seemed.

But whatever else could be said... he had once stood on the same platform as them.

He was a swordsman.

And faced with this final request from another swordsman... the Sword Saint would agree to pass this blade on.

Baili Sword did not ask for it to be given to his sister.

Nor did he ask for it to be returned to the Baili Clan, even though that clan had always preserved swords inside its Sword Tomb for fated descendants.

He understood even more clearly... he no longer possessed the right to make demands.

If the sword could simply continue onward... if it could find another person to hold it... he would already be satisfied.

The Sword Saint took the sword and placed it behind himself.

Then closed his eyes and gave the faintest nod.

Immediately afterward... eight long spears stabbed in from different directions.

They pinned and trapped Baili Sword's torso.

He had already sent away his sword.

In truth... he no longer possessed the ability to keep fighting.

But... when the spears lifted him and soldiers around them prepared to cast ropes over his body... he shook his head.

The young master of the Baili Clan had lived an extraordinarily smooth life.

For one dazed instant... he seemed to see himself as a child again.

The family elders had discovered his talent for the sword.

Their faces filled with astonishment.

Then delight.

Inside the Baili Clan's Sword Tomb, he had refused to inherit any sword once carried by his ancestors.

Instead, he chose a different blade that did not belong to the Baili Clan at all.

He had said... he would become the greatest swordsman in the history of the clan.

So there was naturally no need to inherit the sword intent of any ancestor.

He had been arrogant enough... to look down even on his own forebears.

Years ago, wearing white and riding a small boat into Shangjing, he had sought dragon qi so he could break through once more on the Sword Dao.

But watching the storm his own arrival stirred through the entire city... he had still felt pleased deep inside.

This life... had indeed been lived with brilliance.

Only... the final image inside his mind... was from those years beneath Shangjing.

What if... that day... he and his sister had not turned around and left?

What if... he had been willing to pay any price and kill that man surnamed Zheng?

Would everything... have changed?

No.

It would not.

Because he still feared death.

That flaw... could not be changed.

When the ropes were about to fall over his body...

Baili Sword gathered the final thread of sword qi at his fingertip.

He did not sweep it toward the soldiers beneath him.

Instead... he drove it directly into his own chest.

In an instant... every meridian broke.

The young master of the Baili Clan feared death.

He did.

But when matters reached this point... when the Yan were about to capture him alive... he still possessed the courage to end his own life.

It was not heroism.

He simply understood... that being captured alive would be worse than death.

So... he died.

His body was locked down with restraints.

A crowd of powerful armored soldiers pinned it firmly.

Only after someone inspected him and confirmed his death did the people around him release a collective breath.

Even then... the soldiers holding his body down did not dare loosen their grip.

"Count! Baili Sword has been executed!"

Chen Yang nodded when he heard the report.

Failing to capture him alive was a pity.

But Chen Yang had gained so much and gained so enormously on this expedition into Qian that one tiny imperfection like this counted for almost nothing.

Elsewhere... after Baili Sword committed suicide... the sword the Sword Saint had just accepted behind him began trembling softly.

A famous sword had spirit.

And its spirit was weeping.

Even Longyuan began to tremble in response.

Not for the man.

Not for his life.

But for that unique thread of sword qi which had once appeared upon the summit of the world.

Count Yishan Chen Yang personally approached the Sword Saint.

Very politely, he asked:

"Lord Sword Saint, Baili Sword's corpse..."

Chen Yang's meaning was simple.

By convention... the head should be removed.

Baili Sword himself possessed enormous symbolic value.

His head was worth sending back to Yanjing and offering before the Imperial Ancestral Temple as a trophy for the Emperor to display.

Naturally... if Prince Pingxi had any particular interest in collecting it... that would work too.

But destroying the corpse of a dead peak swordsman in front of the Sword Saint made Chen Yang somewhat uneasy.

So he had come to ask first.

Heaven was high and Earth was vast.

But in Count Yishan's eyes...

Prince Pingxi stood higher than the Emperor in Yanjing.

And he understood even more clearly the weight this Sword Saint carried beside Prince Pingxi.

It had to be said... the Count Yishan who had once used the stupidest method imaginable to oppose the imperial envoy in Sushan Camp had, after everything that happened since, finally learned how to deal with people.

The Sword Saint understood what he meant.

"Do as you please."

"This..."

For a moment, Chen Yang could not tell whether the Sword Saint meant those words sincerely or was speaking in anger.

The Sword Saint raised Baili Sword's blade.

His fingertip lightly flicked the metal.

Using his own sword intent, he forcibly suppressed the restless sword spirit agitated by Baili Sword's death.

Then said:

"I've already collected his remains for him."

"Good. I understand."

The Sword Saint stood beside the river holding two swords.

He let the wind blow across him for a while.

Then turned his head back.

Just in time to see Yan soldiers removing Baili Sword's head.

Swordsmen of the jianghu.

Armies of the court.

The Sword Saint frowned faintly.

Not because he was angry.

Instead... in this moment... he suddenly wanted to go home.

Back to his own little courtyard.

Feed the chickens.

Then, suddenly... the swordsman remembered something.

He slapped himself on the forehead.

"What the hell am I thinking about?

"I nearly forgot.

"That bastard Zheng... still hasn't been received!"

[End of Chapter 872]