The entire five-hundred-zhang expanse, whether housing beings as strong as the Black Tortoise realm or as weak as ants and insects, was utterly arrested!
It was not that space-time had frozen, but rather a colossal pressure had been brought to bear upon everyone present.
Zong Shou himself was unfamiliar with this mundane-style Kingly Secret Martial Art, and employing a sword in place of a fist made his movements even more awkward.
The sword intent had utterly run rampant; it pressed down not only on the escaping Black Tortoise Sect members and the Resurrection Spirit Masters, but also on his own allies.
Of all those present, only Hu Qianqiu and a sparse two dozen martial arts experts who had reached beyond the Seven Vein realm could still move. Yet, even they felt as though their limbs were bound, as if sinking into a mire, their actions severely hampered.
In the mid-air, True Man Wu Ye and Li Hu Jichang were virtually suspended, their forms almost static.
Although Zong Shou could not control this sword strike of his, nearly half of its oppressive force was directed squarely at the two of them.
It forced them to exert their utmost strength just to prevent their lightning-fast escape speed from recovering.
Before their eyes, illusions multiplied, as if genuine mountains and seas were crushing down upon their bodies, multiplying the pressure tenfold.
True Man Wu Ye’s eyes flared crimson. How could he possibly die here? He was a direct disciple of the third generation of the Dao Ming Sect, a man destined to contend for the eighth stage of the Spirit Master realm—the Corporeal Transformation stage—with limitless prospects! How could he perish in this Qiantian Mountain City, killed by a mere boy?
He must return to his sect; he must petition the sect for action. If this Zong Shou could not be recruited, then they must find a way to swiftly execute him!
In his entire life, he had never witnessed such astonishing, peerless young talent! Should this person be allowed to mature, he would be an absolute catastrophe for the future of the Dao Ming Sect. In just ten years, this Zong Shou would surpass Zong Weiran and become the sect's greatest enemy the likes of which they had never seen!
The Flying Leaf Swords behind him immediately burst forth, scattering in all directions, weaving layers upon layers of sword shadows. Like a raging tornado, they began to shear the surrounding space.
Sword aura shot out, violent winds whipped up, and his form finally began to accelerate. Just as relief bloomed on Wu Ye’s face, feeling as though he were about to ascend to heaven and escape, Zong Shou uttered another low murmur.
“A thousand autumns of hegemony forged in a hundred battles!”
A dragon-like streak of sword light abruptly soared upward. It seemed as if the entire thousand-mile landscape had merged into Zong Shou’s sword.
The magnificent sword radiance soared furiously for several hundred zhang more, cleaving down towards the sky above.
True Man Wu Ye’s face immediately contorted. Roaring madly, he hastily mobilized nearly all of his soul power, causing the forty-eight swords to instantly merge into one singular thrust that met the sword light. But the sound that followed was merely a ‘boom’ as it exploded!
The forty-eight Willow Leaf Swords shattered instantly, flying off in disarray. The first five swords to take the brunt were subsequently fragmented, dissolving into shards of metal.
The sword energy lost none of its sharpness and continued its trajectory. Following this was another dull thud, and a burst of red mist expanded.
True Man Wu Ye’s entire body seemed utterly incapable of resistance, completely pulverized by the sword qi.
The edge was not sharp, but the momentum was as mighty as a mountain. Thus, he was shattered, not cleanly severed!
A rain of blood sprinkled down, drop by drop, landing upon the sacrificial altar.
Even a few drops splashed onto Zong Shou’s face. He bared his teeth and grinned; at least one was dealt with, feeling slightly relieved.
He was already dripping with sweat and quite strained. Nevertheless, he shifted his gaze toward Li Hu Jichang. Though traversing the air, his speed could not compare to true Celestial Rank Martial Sovereigns.
However, the speed of his flight was in no way inferior to Wu Ye, who could fly using artifacts. Even after unleashing the ‘Mountain River Stasis’ technique, Jichang had still managed to flee over three hundred zhang away, almost a full li.
His eyes flickered, and the Nine Lin Sword in Zong Shou’s hand trembled again, producing waves of afterimages.
The remaining partial punches—there were four forms in total—this was the third punch! And the third sword: “Better to hold a cup in drunken revelry!”
Again, sword shadows flared into existence. As this sword thrust out, it seemed to manifest thousands of swords, a thousand layers of sword curtain.
Zong Shou’s figure also seemed to sway on the altar, staggering as if drunk.
Li Hu Jichang suddenly gritted his teeth and hastily pulled a talisman from his sleeve, tossing it behind him. Instantly, it coalesced into a shield shape, gathering the Geng energy of heaven and earth, solid and incomparably dense, shining silver-white. It expanded dozens of zhang wide, enveloping and protecting Li Hu Jichang.
On the altar below, Zong Ling immediately frowned, showing a flash of surprise.
“It’s the Geng Spirit Cloud Shield Talisman!”
He muttered, realizing no wonder Jichang had previously boasted he could hold off Hu Qianqiu and the others for another two hundred breaths—it was an eighth-rank talisman inscribed by a Corporeal Transformation stage Spirit Master!
Zong Shou did not spare it a glance, his mind entirely immersed in the sword form. The thousands of sword rays he unleashed were far from mere illusions.
The one who created this set of boxing techniques was truly a genius beyond compare. Utilizing this drunken, swaying posture, he channeled true qi and profound energy, harnessing the power of heaven and earth, and the momentum of the Empire. The speed of the sword strikes was several times faster than before!
Whether he could shatter the Geng Metal shield, or whether he could kill Jichang, Zong Shou gave no heed; he only knew he had to give his utmost effort! Even if he failed to break through, he would feel no regret.
His divine soul entered a state of immense joy. It was the thrill of meeting one's match. Although this boxing technique was merely an incomplete remnant, its underlying philosophy was something Zong Shou had never encountered, even in later eras where countless martial arts secrets were widely disseminated through various channels.
One sword, two swords! Four swords! Seven swords! Nine swords!
Two breaths later, as the ninth sword struck, the silver-white spirit shield was finally shattered completely. Then, another sword pierced through, like a startled swan skimming the wilderness, rushing forward again like a cascading white ribbon.
Jichang had already given his all, finally breaking free from the constraint of Zong Shou’s sword intent. However, as the Geng Spirit Cloud Shield broke and the tenth sword light struck immediately afterward, utter terror gripped him.
Without hesitation, he let out a furious roar, suddenly sweeping his halberd back, wildly slashing out with his whole body! When the halberd’s momentum and the sword light clashed, a sharp metallic clang echoed across the thousand-zhang clouds, and vast quantities of mist and violently agitated energy were swept outward.
Jichang also coughed up blood, both his arms nearly half paralyzed, unable to muster any further strength.
The very next instant, the eleventh sword struck. Jichang’s internal true qi was nearly exhausted, but at this moment, all his life potential erupted. With another low roar, his figure moved again, flickering erratically as he flew into the distance, deliberately changing his trajectory.
Yet, only a moment later, despair filled Jichang’s face. He saw that the sword was equally unpredictable, having reverted to the thousand strands of sword light from before, crazily enveloping him.
He had no way to evade; his movements were delayed by only a fraction of a second before he felt an immense, boundless force slam into his body.
“Boom!”
Another resounding crash, and flesh and blood scattered, drifting down toward the earth on the gentle breeze.
Meanwhile, the remaining Martial Sovereigns and Resurrection Spirit Masters from the Black Tortoise Sect had all been completely purged by Hu Qianqiu and his allies within those brief ten breaths. The entire sacrificial altar once again descended into a deep, cold silence!
Xue Moyan dead! True Man Wu Ye dead! Li Hu Jichang dead! The three supreme experts beneath the Celestial Rank, figures whose mere footfalls could shake the mortal realm in the western part of the East Lin Cloud Continent, had perished one after another in the blink of an eye!
And the person whom everyone had expected least to survive stood unharmed on the platform, not a single scratch upon him.
Even the most imaginative minds felt a sense of dizzying unreality.
The image of the youth on the platform was utterly overturned in everyone’s eyes.
Though his frame remained slender, the tyrannical power unleashed during his sword strikes was enough to make everyone present tremble and bow low.
His face was delicate and youthful, indistinguishable from any ordinary young man. Yet, the methods he used to subdue Zong Yuan, the thunderous actions of yesterday, and even the bloody slaughter—all left an indelible, unforgettable impression.
“This is what they call hiding one’s strength to ambush the enemy—so cunning! This level of talent is practically cheating. What a pity for Xue Moyan and Wu Ye…”
Chai Yuan sighed inwardly, gazing toward the center of the celestial platform ten zhang away. He narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling that the light emanating from Zong Shou at this moment was blindingly intense.
He secretly congratulated himself that he had ultimately refused to align with the Xue clan and had stepped out of that quagmire. Though he hadn't chosen the absolutely correct side, at least he hadn't walked the wrong path.
But his lord, he had truly hidden his depths profoundly.
With such prodigious talent, how could the Heir Apparent endure the scorn and disdain of others, remaining dormant until today, only to astound the world with a single stroke!
He glanced again at the man on the ground, his knees shattered by grievous injury, and Chai Yuan disdainfully shifted his gaze away.
Initially, he had supported Zong Yang only to maintain the foundation of Qiantian Mountain. This was because, although Zong Yang was of the direct line, he had little connection to the former Patriarch’s faction and, in fact, shared conflicts of interest with them.
In his heart, however, he had always acknowledged Zong Shi as the most talented individual of the Zong clan in this generation, the one most qualified to inherit the Demon King’s throne.
But compared now, as Hu Qianqiu had predicted, Zong Yang was merely insignificant dross!
The Heir Apparent was the unreachable cloud in the heavens! And Zong Shi, no matter how dazzling he had seemed before, was nothing more than mud on the ground, waiting to be trampled underfoot!
Zong Shou retracted his sword, feeling that the profound energy in his body and the spiritual energy in his Sea of Consciousness had been completely drained.
The Hundred Battles Sword was supposed to be the most domineering of the four sword forms. Releasing hundreds of strikes merely corresponded to mass combat, which, given his current cultivation, he could not fully utilize.
And this ‘Drunken Sword’ was equally formidable—the fastest, most unpredictable of the techniques. The consumption it required also vastly exceeded his limits of endurance.
It took a long time before Zong Shou managed to recover even a little. Even so, his face retained an unnaturally flushed crimson hue.
His mind seemed to gain some insight as he connected it with the mantra of the fourth boxing form. Suddenly, he understood the emotional state of the person who had created this set of techniques.
Judging by its core cultivation method, it clearly derived from and expanded upon the Unstable Spirit Emperor Fist. Could its master truly have been Zong Weiran? Was this boxing set not an incomplete remnant, but rather a technique that had never been finished at all?
After pondering for a moment, Zong Shou could not be certain. He shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it further.
Then, abruptly turning back, he offered a faint smile to the old sacrificial priest, Zong Ling: “My apologies for interrupting the solemn rites. I wonder if sacrificing the head of Zong Shi to the heavens will earn their forgiveness!” (To be continued)