Ye Xiu raised a hand to cover his face, then called out to the bewildered youngster beside him, "If you value your life, run, and run fast."

The youngster wasn't foolish; he immediately bolted and retreated behind the slope of the hill.

The approaching figure gradually resolved itself into an old man, clearly nearing the twilight of his years. The only striking feature was a wooden sword strapped to his back, though its color and design were vastly different from Ye Xiu's Muzi Sword. As the old man drew near Ye Xiu, he suddenly turned his head and chuckled, "Young man, is that sword on the table yours?"

Ye Xiu remained silent, taking a sip of tea, then merely nodded.

"Heaven's will!" the elder sighed deeply, then turned his gaze back to the group of men. "Where is your master?"

The group was momentarily stumped, unsure how to answer. Finally, one, taking the lead, stammered out a weak roar, "Brothers, this man is a traitor to the Mohist school! We must cleanse the sect for Master." With that, they swarmed towards the old man in an assault.

"Overestimating yourselves. Your master sent you here to die." The elder glanced dismissively at the group, then vanished instantly into the thicket of men. Before he even drew his sword, he had sent the eight or nine attackers sprawling onto the ground.

Witnessing this, Ye Xiu nearly spat out the tea he was holding. Such speed and method of attack were entirely new to him. If Ying Bu's swordsmanship was explosive like fire, this old man's skill was ethereal, drifting like dust. That initial flash—what immense leg strength it must have required.

"Mo Yi, you have finally shown yourself! Hand over the Mozi Sword and the token, and surrender now!" Just then, countless sword lights flashed across the sky; it turned out the initial rabble was merely a feint to draw him out.

The main event was yet to come. Dozens of figures clad in black burst from the treeline, wielding swords and charging straight at the old man, accompanied by horizontal sword auras that even sliced deep gouges into the table where Ye Xiu sat.

Damn it, must it be so dramatic? Ye Xiu felt the killing intent around him grow so dense that he could no longer sit properly. He instinctively grasped his Muzi Sword and swung it left and right, blocking the onslaught of incoming sword energies.

Within the woods, the old man had drawn his wooden sword. While evading the lateral sword auras, he used tree branches for leverage, soaring upward to intercept the charge of the black-clad assailants. Wind and sand swept through the forest, and all the leaves descended with a rustling sound. The elder's swordsmanship was like myriad stars across autumn waters, cutting freely through the air. Many of the black-clad figures were already struck down onto the ground.

"Mo Yi, stop struggling. You know no one can break the Yintian Sword Formation." The voice from beyond the sky remained powerfully insistent.

"Mo Fei, show yourself now! Your scheme will not succeed." The old man continued to parry thrusts from all directions. He knew well what the Mohist Yintian Sword Formation was: an all-encompassing assault with no blind spots.

"The Yintian Sword Formation?" Ye Xiu mused. This formation was indeed formidable. He was still a hundred paces away from the old man, yet the scattered sword energies were already difficult to ward off. To be inside the formation would be far worse. But did a sword formation truly exist that had no blind spot in this world?

Ye Xiu parried and retreated until he found a relatively safe spot to observe from a distance. He realized that the square arrangement of trees had long been populated by black-clad figures holding swords. The entrance of the northern wind current happened to form the horizontal cross-section of this array.

There, masters skilled in the sword had arrayed themselves, clashing swords to generate powerful auras. On the opposite, leeward side, they had chosen a steep slope. The sword energies, traveling in a straight line, were reflected by the slope, scattering into chaos without structure, making them difficult for those inside the formation to defend against.

Yet, having been in the formation for a long time, the old man was still moving with ease, weaving gracefully through the melee, much to Ye Xiu's admiration.

"Ah!" A furious roar echoed from the sky above, and a dazzling streak of light plummeted from the high heavens, slicing directly past the elder.

The elder, who had been preoccupied with defending against sword energies from the front and back, never expected the cold light from above. In an instant, he stomped on the head of a black-clad figure, using it for leverage to execute a backward somersault. This dodge allowed him to evade the fatal sword aimed at his head, but his thigh was pierced by that very man.

"Ah! Mo Fei, you are despicable!" The elder's expression was one of agony, yet he could still weave back and forth, evading the other attacks.

The black-clad swordsman landed and immediately secured control of the entire ground attack zone. This forced the old man to contend with the others solely in the air, having to avoid attacks coming from every direction.

The core of this formation must be underground! Ye Xiu, having some grasp of formation theory, understood the principle: there were no attacks from below ground. If one possessed sufficient power to slip beneath the earth and assault those above, this formation could indeed be broken. But what kind of skill allowed one to burrow underground? However, if an ally could assist from outside the formation, then surely...

The elder fought on for a long time and was beginning to show signs of fatigue, his swordsmanship lacking some of the earlier fluidity.

The black-clad swordsman suddenly appeared directly beneath the branch where the old man stood and thrust upward, declaring, "Mo Yi, today is your day to die."

A shock jolted the elder's heart; he suddenly felt his balance lost, and he roared, "Your sword is poisoned! To use such a low, dirty trick as a member of the Mohist school!"

"Hahahaha! Success justifies the means, why waste breath on such talk." The black-clad swordsman had already ascended into the air, his silver blade about to strike the old man.

"What kind of hero bullies one old man with so many people?" At this moment, Ye Xiu raised his Muzi Sword and leaped forward, intercepting the black-clad swordsman's potentially lethal blow. He turned to the elder and asked, "Old man, can you help me jump onto the tallest tree?"

"Good! I'll send you up!" The elder understood Ye Xiu's intention. Mid-air, he kicked Ye Xiu's foot—the internal force applied was substantial enough to give Ye Xiu the sensation of having instantly mastered Qinggong (lightness skill).

"Hahaha." Ye Xiu laughed happily as he flew towards the group of sword-aura generators in the trees. Without a word, he used his Muzi Sword to neutralize their techniques one by one, then kicked several of them away, sending them tumbling down. In the process, however, he lost his own balance and began to plummet.

"Ah! Aaaah!" Ye Xiu shrieked, convinced he was about to smash his backside. But at the critical moment, the elder, having dealt with the remaining underlings, was waiting below the tree to catch him.