Chapter 91 — The Oriole
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 5 of 7
In the night, Yuyang Zi was seen sweeping across the field alone, invincible, charging left and slaying right amid the crowd to cover the Longevity Hall disciples' retreat. Wherever he went, before the black-and-white radiance of the Yin-Yang Mirror, the righteous disciples fell back on every side—truly a figure of awe-inspiring might.
And in the distance, several dim figures standing in the darkness were watching the course of battle with fixed attention, their eyes above all riveted on Yuyang Zi as he unleashed his terrible power.
With Yuyang Zi's onslaught, the Longevity Hall disciples' pressure eased at once, and in the twinkling of an eye most had withdrawn, leaving a field strewn with corpses—a sight that wrung Yuyang Zi's heart with fresh pain.
But just then Xiao Yichen and the others on the righteous side had caught up, now joined by Song Dayi, Zeng Shuyan and Wen Pei of the Canglan Sect, Fajing of the Brahma Sound Temple, and Yan Fei of the Burning Cloud Valley—eight in all. Their treasures came forth together, and they enclosed Yuyang Zi and attacked from every side.
With a shrill cry, Yuyang Zi's blood was up, every savage trait in his nature surfacing at once, and not a trace of fear showed on his face. The Yin-Yang Mirror whirled and danced, warding left and right, drawing and redirecting attacks, and he battled those eight from the ground to midair and from midair back to the ground.
But the righteous side had the numbers and the strength, and every one of them was of no mean cultivation. However great Yuyang Zi's divine powers, in the end he was one against many, and the momentum of the Yin-Yang Mirror was gradually pressed down.
The eight righteous cultivators darted and leaped through the air, their coordination growing ever more seamless. Ugly as it might look, eight besieging one, a single thought set their minds at ease—"This is the great demon chief of the wicked Demonic Cult"—and every move they made was a killing stroke, aimed at the vital points.
Yet Yuyang Zi's cultivation, tempered over several hundred years, was no ordinary thing. Amid the flash of blades and the gleam of swords, though he was gradually losing the power to strike back and the pressure around him mounted, let Xiao Yichen and the others attack however wildly, they could not breach the black-and-white mystic radiance of his Yin-Yang Mirror.
Moreover, as he moved, he subtly drew the whole melee with him, drifting toward one side—had not Xiao Yichen been so quick-witted, suddenly recalling that a fellow disciple had just perished there and crying out at the top of his voice: "Careful—the swamp!"
Only then was everyone warned, and moments later they discovered that Yuyang Zi had indeed, all unnoticed, led them to the edge of the bottomless pits. One careless step and a man would sink—it was truly perilous beyond words.
That Yuyang Zi could keep such composure and such judgment, such depth of experience, amid the chaos of battle—this was plainly beyond the reach of these youngsters.
Yet for all his experience and towering cultivation, facing this band of young masters—high in cultivation, fine in talent, peerless in treasure, and among them men of such steady judgment—he could do nothing.
The eight, with Xiao Yichen at their head, struck as one, and in an instant countless strange lights and uncanny rays came raining upon the Yin-Yang Treasure Mirror in Yuyang Zi's hand. His whole body shook; he felt the crushing pressure come on like mountains and seas, wave upon wave. His foes could rest a little after each strike, but he could only parry without pause, with no chance to recover his strength. After a dozen or more such parries he could hold out no longer and could only fall back, drawing gradually away from the bottomless pits.
Once he was clear of the pits, the righteous cultivators set their hearts at ease and pressed the assault on Yuyang Zi all the more freely.