Chapter 204 — The Broken Sword

And in the distance, facing that radiant figure hurtling toward him, the mysterious man seemed furious indeed. The blood-red in his eyes deepened, and all at once he thrust both hands out before him, instantly congealing a wall of black shadow that met that blazing crimson light head-on and held it fast.

But with both sides fighting at full power, the boundary where crimson light met black shadow seemed to turn white-hot, giving off a strange hissing shriek without cease. Seen from afar, the scenery all around seemed to be vaporizing, waves of searing heat rolling and billowing, drifting slowly upward into the sky.

And at this moment, the forms of those two mysterious figures were already impossible to make out clearly.

On such a calm night, in such a desolate mortuary, there should be men of such profound cultivation, locked here in a duel to the death!

Suddenly, from the deepest heart of that light burst a tremendous report, like a thunderclap crashing down from the heavens. In an instant a mighty gale struck them full in the face, sand and dust rolling on every side, every object blasted outward—even the bodies of Zhou Yixuan and his two companions were sent tumbling helplessly away through the air.

And within that thunderclap there seemed to be a voice roaring aloud, like the thunder itself:

"Will you not turn back!"

The answer to that voice was a cold laugh, laden with endless contempt and arrogance.

The light and shadow wavered, then slowly dimmed and dispersed, and a great pit suddenly appeared amid the sand and dust. In the pit stood two men facing each other. One was someone Zhou Yixuan and the others had never seen—short and stout, his face full of rage, gripping a crimson immortal sword that radiated a stern majesty; only, whether from injury or not, there were already traces of blood at the corners of his mouth. The other, by his dress and bearing, was none other than the mysterious man they had just fought—but the layer of black qi that had shrouded him was now dispersed, perhaps because the duel with this stout man had been too fierce for him to maintain it.

Seen from afar, this mysterious man wore the Daoist robes of the Canglan Sect, yet his features were mild and unremarkable, with a long beard of five strands; at first glance he gave the impression of a master who had attained the Way, lofty and extraordinary. Only now his eyes glinted with cold light, red gleams flickering within them, which lent him a touch of the uncanny.

The stout man glanced toward where Zhou Yixuan and the others lay, and seeing that their lives did not seem to be in immediate danger, he looked a little relieved. Then his expression turned grave, and fixing his eyes on the Daoist, after a long while he laughed coldly and said in a chilling voice, "Did you think that with this 'Heart-Piercing Lock' art alone you could trap me?"

Red gleams flickered in the Daoist's eyes, and the murderous aura about him was so intense it seemed almost tangible, stretching and swelling without cease. "I had forgotten," he said in a dark, sinister voice, "that this art was created by the patriarch of your own lineage. But used against you, it cannot be a pleasant sensation!"

"Bah!" the fat man shouted. "You have fallen into the demonic path, and still you dare spout such nonsense. The Heart-Piercing Lock was long ago forbidden by express decree of the patriarchs of every generation. Now you ignore the ancestral teachings—have you any regard left for the patriarchs of Canglan Sect?"

The Daoist laughed coldly and said, "That day you fought a great battle with me, and the destruction of the ancestral shrine was not my doing alone. Have you any regard for the patriarchs of Canglan Sect?"

The fat man was stopped short, but only grew angrier; for a moment he could not think what to say, and could only glare fiercely at the Daoist. The Daoist studied him for a few moments, then suddenly laughed coldly. "I see you had best not put on a brave front. Your cultivation runs deeper than I thought, deep enough that you could force your way through the Heart-Piercing Lock's restraint—but to save those three, you spent your cultivation to break it by force. Now your blood and qi are surging back, your whole network of meridians in turmoil. At most you have six tenths of your usual cultivation left. Heh heh."

He gave a cold, sinister laugh and said, "In the days when you were at full strength, you were still no match for me—I captured you and sealed you in that ruined coffin. And now you dare stand against me?"

But the fat man showed not the slightest fear or thought of retreat. "In those years," he said sternly, "you and Senior Brother Wan were peerless in grace and power, sweeping away demons and monsters. I followed the two of you, and I would have died for you without a moment's regret. But you are no longer the man you were, while what I do now is precisely what you and Senior Brother Wan once did, facing death a thousand times without turning back."

He gave a long, shrill cry, his face bearing a trace of fortitude, and something too of deep grief. "Take my sword!" he shouted.

Before the words had died away, his figure was like lightning, merging in an instant into the blazing crimson light, like a giant dragon soaring into the sky, lunging forward. The red gleams in the Daoist's eyes flared, yet his pupils contracted slightly; the crimson pillar of light was so mighty it seemed to cleave the heavens and split the earth, all but impossible to withstand. There remained only the one road: to perish together.

Yet he suddenly laughed coldly, and with a sweep of his right hand a cold gleam sprang up—not a dazzling radiance, but it blocked the crimson pillar's path right before him.

And the moment that cold gleam touched the crimson pillar, it blazed with sudden brilliance. Seemingly edgeless and dull, it nonetheless cut its way in by main force, light flaring and wavering in dazzling flashes.

The fat man suddenly roared, then cried out in pain. At once the crimson light recoiled, bursting apart with a thunderous crash, and the fat man was sent flying, staggering, unable even to keep his feet when he struck the ground, reeling backward again and again—and all the way back, blood was already spewing from his mouth. Clearly his wounds were grave; even the breast of his robe was soaked red with a great stain of blood.

As for the Daoist, the cold gleam flashed once and was gone, and looking closely, he held in his hand a plain, unremarkable ancient sword, archaic in form and stranger still in substance, seeming stone yet not stone. Strangest of all, the blade was broken—the front two chi of it had snapped off.

Blood flowed from the fat man's mouth as he glared fiercely at the Daoist and cried in a hoarse voice, "You—you dare bring the Immortal-Slaying Sword down from Canglan Mountain?"

The Daoist threw back his head and laughed wildly, his manner utterly unbridled. And in the distance, the more Zhou Yixuan and the other two heard, the more alarmed they grew—until at last their minds went utterly blank with shock!

The Ancient Immortal-Slaying Sword!

That broken sword in the Daoist's hand—could it truly be the Immortal-Slaying Sword, the foremost blade of the immortal schools, famed throughout the world?

Then what manner of men were these two, whose cultivation was so terrifyingly deep?