Chapter 79 — Seven

Lin Jinghong paled in shock, but before he could react, a piercing agony stabbed through his chest, a force of utter sharpness driving straight in and in an instant piercing through every protecting art of his true essence.

"Ah!"

Lin Jinghong gave a hoarse cry, and his whole body was flung flying, blood spraying from his mouth. He could not even keep hold of the Slaying Dragon Sword; the blade tumbled through the air, and at last with a swish plunged point-first into the ground—right before that sweeping old man.

The emerald light swirled and slowly dimmed.

Lin Jinghong had ever been stubborn by nature. Looking down at his chest, he saw a mass of mangled flesh and blood, yet the true wound was no bigger than a fingertip. But now a keen force surged straight into his body, rampaging like a fine needle that nothing could blunt, and the meridians within him were wracked with unbearable pain. He tried to rise and face the enemy again, but his legs gave way beneath him—he could not stand!

He gasped for breath in great gulps, while the false Shangguan Lue and the others laughed heartily, smug beyond measure.

"Little fellow, how's that? I used but half my power and beat you to this state. Will you not hurry and submit!"

The muscles of Lin Jinghong's face twitched; plainly the pain within him was extreme, but the calamity pressing upon him filled him with still greater dread. At the thought of the Ancestral Hall behind him, he knew not from where the strength came, but he struggled and slowly crawled to his feet.

The demon cultists did not stop him, only stood to one side watching the sport like monkeys at a show.

That piercing pain seemed about to surge up into his skull. Before he was steady on his feet, another wave of dizziness took him. Turning his head, he gasped hoarsely for breath and staggered toward the Slaying Dragon Sword before the sweeping old man, panting out, "Old sir, it's dangerous here—you must, must, must go quickly—"

The old man looked like one of the Canglan Sect's ordinary sweepers of the Ancestral Hall, his face gaunt and withered, the wrinkles carved as if by a knife. Strange to say, throughout Lin Jinghong's fierce battle with the demon cultists, he had stood quietly watching all along, neither fleeing nor speaking.

Now he glanced at the chest of the approaching Lin Jinghong and suddenly said, faint and flat, "The Sundering Cone! You must be Zhou Yin, assassin of the Longevity Hall of the demon cult."

The four demon cultists' laughter caught. The false Shangguan Lue's expression turned cold. "I never thought there would be an expert here. Correct—I am Zhou Yin. And who might you be, sir?"

The withered old man did not answer him, but went on of himself: "The Sundering Cone is a rare treasure of the demon cult, its power immense. But in the hands of a man of your base character it has sunk to a tool for striking from the shadows—truly a disgrace to this wondrous thing!"

Zhou Yin was furious, but for the moment he could not make out this mysterious old man's identity; and seeing that though the man looked tottering, his tone was frighteningly grand, he could not help but feel uneasy. "Who in the world are you, sir?"

The old man sighed. "Who am I? Heh heh, even I have forgotten who I am." As he spoke his face was sorrowful, his voice full of bleak desolation. Then he turned his head toward Lin Jinghong, who stood dazed to one side, and said, "Child."

Lin Jinghong started and hastily said, "Yes—senior, senior."

The old man looked him up and down a few times, and seemed to show a faint smile. "Under whose tutelage are you?"

Lin Jinghong knew not why, but before this old man he suddenly felt an indescribable awe. He said in a low voice, "This disciple is of the household of Daoist Cangyan of Dragon Peak—"

Halfway through he suddenly recalled that Daoist Cangyan had now betrayed Qingyun, and a nameless bitterness surged up in his heart. A pang seized him, and he could not go on.

The old man nodded and said softly, "Cangsong, is it! His eye for a disciple is keen enough, heh heh."

Even as he spoke, he reached out a trembling hand and grasped the Slaying Dragon Sword where it stood thrust into the earth before him.

Watching his slow movements, Lin Jinghong suddenly tensed, as if some expectation stirred within him too, and he found himself holding his breath.

Those two withered, aged palms—how many frosts and winds they must have weathered—as they once more touched the hard, cold hilt, and then closed tight upon it!

From within the Ancestral Hall there suddenly came a faint, mournful sound of bells and cauldrons.

"Clang—"

Of a sudden, the Slaying Dragon Sword, dim but a moment before, blazed up with emerald radiance, a light so full it was like the proud sun of the sky, blinding and not to be looked upon! The old man slowly drew the sword forth, and with each inch it seemed to tremble with agitation, a dragon's chant unceasing, that soul-shaking sound rolling out and soaring straight to the nine heavens.

The old man straightened himself and slowly laid the sword, now ablaze with emerald light, before him, stroking it gently with his hand. That hand, weathered by the years and calloused, moved as tenderly as if caressing a beloved woman.

The Slaying Dragon Sword keened, and even Lin Jinghong and the demon cultists, far off as they were, felt the sword's sudden, almost living agitation.

Lin Jinghong stared blankly at the Slaying Dragon Sword he could scarcely recognize, radiating incomparable, brilliant glory in the old man's hand. And that withered old man, now that he gripped this divine blade, seemed himself transformed; an invisible majesty poured out from him, as if he were the sword-god of ancient legend.

"Child, watch closely. The Slaying Dragon Sword is not used as you were using it!" the old man said faintly amid the surging, billowing emerald light.

The words had scarce fallen when the emerald radiance burst forth in an instant, and the whole open ground was in that moment cloaked in green, sky and earth alike. Amid a keen whistling, the Slaying Dragon Sword flew from the old man's hand, darting out like a flash of lightning.

The demon cultists, seeing the old man's overawing presence, had long been on their guard; now with a shout they drove their treasures up to attack together—only Zhou Yin stood at the very back, brows tightly knit, and did not move.

The three almost used the same method as before against Lin Jinghong: the halberd attacking head-on, the flying sword rising up, the white bone sword poised to strike by stealth. But the old man paid the yellow flying sword and the white bone sword no heed at all; the Slaying Dragon Sword became a pillar of light like a mountain, sweeping on with the force of seas and mountains. The demon cultist who wielded the halberd paled in fright and hastily raised his halberd to parry—but with a single crisp sound the Slaying Dragon Sword, as if slicing ice and cutting snow, sheared the halberd clean in two and, without the slightest pause, came cleaving down upon his head.

"Ssst—"

Before Lin Jinghong's gaping eyes, and in the horror-stricken gaze of all, that demon cultist was split clean in two from head to foot, blood raining down. And scarce pausing, amid that sky full of gore, the emerald radiance—now almost demonic—reversed and swept toward the other two.

The flying sword and white bone sword that had been attacking the old man were now stricken with terror; how dared they attack further? At once they shot back, urgently recalling their treasures. But the Slaying Dragon Sword's keen radiance filled the heavens and arrived in a blink, crashing into them before the eyes of all.

There was scarce even a cry of alarm; the green light swallowed the two of them, and in an instant the sound of shattering burst forth—what befell those two within, none could tell.

Cold sweat poured down Lin Jinghong; his reason was all but overwhelmed!