# 497
Chapter 497: Everything Under Control
Border of Lintang City.
Above the cloud layer, a massive azure shadow streaked across the sky. Its wings beat fiercely, whipping up gales, and in the blink of an eye it flickered forward several hundred meters.
On the creature’s back, Yiyu’s gaze swept the surroundings with vigilance, his face grave.
Aside from drifting clouds, the sky was empty.
Zhou Ping seemed to have given up the chase; even as they were about to cross the city’s edge, he still hadn’t shown himself…
Yet Yiyu didn’t relax in the slightest, because the sword-of-Damocles dread still made his body tremble.
Not seeing Zhou Ping only deepened his terror.
Ding——!!!
An invisible sound-wave rolled in from behind. A wisp of sword-qi instantly pierced space and slashed the Flame-Vein Earth Dragon’s left wing!
A white flash, and the dragon shrieked in agony. That single strand of sword-qi had severed two-thirds of its wing; the cut was mirror-smooth, blood spraying.
Losing balance, the dragon tilted, but wind held its body aloft; instead of plummeting it staggered onward.
Another soft chime.
A second wisp of sword-qi howled after.
Yiyu turned, complexion ugly, black tailcoat flapping. He stretched out a hand; brilliant, dream-like light blossomed from his palm, trying to wrap the sword-qi.
“Nightmare,” he muttered.
The psychedelic light swirled, and within it bizarre worlds seemed to be born, forcibly swallowing the sword-qi.
Yiyu staggered, face draining to white; blood trickled from mouth, nose, and ears…
Devouring a Sword-Saint’s qi with a real nightmare cost him dearly.
A Sword-Saint’s blade wasn’t so easily caught.
“Hmm?” Zhou Ping’s surprised voice drifted down. He watched the two fleeing figures. “Let’s see how many strikes you can take.”
Ding-ding-ding-ding!!!
Several sword-cryes ripped the sky; stray sword-intent shredded thick clouds to tatters, invisible killing intent blanketing the heavens.
Two of the qi actively slashed into the dream-light, smashing it apart.
Pfft—!
Yiyu spewed blood, his mind feeling churned to paste; consciousness blurred, legs unsteady.
Black blood seeped from all seven orifices.
Despair surfaced in his eyes.
Can’t escape…
At this rate, we can’t escape!
“Turn back—fight him!” His eyes flashed; he clenched his teeth.
The dragon beneath him stalled, instinctively resisting, but the soul-contract forced it to wheel about, roaring as it charged the sword-qi head-on!
“Rooooar!!”
It opened its maw; cyan gales condensed, then burst forth with the dragon-cry!
[Spirit Gale] bent the sword-qi slightly, yet failed to slow them; the blades struck its body, carving bone-deep gouges!
Sword-qi raged inside; agony overrode flight instinct, and the titanic frame began to plummet.
Its aura guttered.
Zhou Ping frowned. He stepped through space, appearing beneath the falling dragon.
Letting a beast that size crash into the city would cause carnage and panic—he couldn’t allow it.
“Then I’ll dice you till nothing remains…”
He gripped the Dragon-Elephant Sword, eyes narrowing. Gazing at the descending mountain-sized body, he raised the blade; a tide of sword-qi erupted.
One slash upward!
Countless fine blades, like sea-spray on rocks, enveloped the dragon; within the dense mist of qi, crimson spread at terrifying speed.
Every scale, every fang, every claw was shredded as if fed into a paper-mill.
The half-mountain-sized dragon dissipated mid-air.
Three seconds later—gone.
A haze of blood drifted on the breeze.
Zhou Ping looked around; under the empty sky Yiyu had vanished. His gaze hardened.
“He actually ran…”
……
Manor.
Shen Qingzhu walked the ground-floor corridor. Leaving the scene of the Twelfth Seat’s death, he set the radio on a windowsill, checked for eavesdroppers, and spoke:
“Can you hear me?”
Static…
The radio whirred again.
“Loud and clear.”
This time the deep male voice was gone, replaced by a girl’s.
By tuning the radio’s magnetic field, Jiang Er could mimic any voice.
“Can Lin Qiye and the others hear?”
“Mm, they’re right beside me.” A pause. “They send their regards, Agent Cool-guy.”
Shen Qingzhu’s lips twitched upward.
“Catch-up later. Found Third Seat?”
“Next to the underground altar—badly hurt. We’re en route.”
“Badly hurt…” Shen Qingzhu mused. “And Ninth Seat? You didn’t touch him?”
“He’s also heading to the altar; we deliberately avoided him.”
“Good. I’m closest to the entrance; I’ll go first. We’ll improvise.”
He set the radio aside and entered the passage.
After Zhou Ping’s single slash had split the altar, the underground space was a ruin of dust; visibility poor.
Shen Qingzhu descended, eyes scanning. Through the haze, the huge grey altar lay cleaved in two; at its foot stood a figure.
Third Seat.
Shen Qingzhu frowned.
The altar was scrap; why linger?
“Cough…” Pale, Third Seat coughed, then noticed movement on the stairs and turned.
Seeing Shen Qingzhu, he relaxed.
“How’s it topside?” he asked.
Shen Qingzhu hesitated. “Everything… is under control.”