Chapter 325: The Leaping Second Sword
This sword strike could hardly be called a sword technique. Its momentum was extremely unstable, and his sword heart was even worse—because the moment he drew his sword, Chen Changsheng sensed something amiss, and confusion struck him.
What kind of change could shake the composure of someone so steady and mature? — At the instant he swung his sword, he suddenly realized that this short sword, which had accompanied him for so long, no longer belonged to him. It began to act on its own! The short sword cut through the wind and rain, slashing toward Nanke beyond the storm. It appeared to be a sword strike he executed, but in truth, it had nothing to do with him. In his original plan, facing Nanke’s full-force attack, he intended to use the most powerful strike from the National Teaching’s True Sword, but then…
The short sword did not obey his will to execute that sword technique. Instead, it thrust straight forward like this.
This thrust was extremely reckless and careless. If there had been any spectators to this battle, watching Chen Changsheng unleash such a sword strike, they would have absolutely believed he was throwing his life away.
What was going on? There was a force inside his body—no, not a force, nor a breath, but a feeling difficult to describe in words. It made him grip the short sword and thrust straight into the wind and rain ahead. His movements followed that feeling completely, chasing after it, and the entire motion was utterly natural.
This straight thrust into the biting wind and cold rain was not straight at all. The path of the sword tip twisted and turned, looking like the random lines a child who had just learned to write would leave on paper. It showed no discernible technique, nor did it conceal any deeper meaning. Yet that feeling reached straight into the depths of his heart, allowing him to experience it with unparalleled clarity.
Like the momentum of the sword, that feeling was the excitement of leaving an abyss, the ecstasy of seeing the blue sky, a jubilant cheer, a ceaseless leap.
For some unknown reason, inexplicably, this short sword trembled with excitement all over.
How could such a sword possibly pierce this biting wind and cold rain, meet Nanke’s full-force attack head-on, and defeat this terrifyingly powerful Demon Princess?
Yet, in an instant, the short sword thrust forward crookedly, effortlessly cutting through the wind and rain before him, and then reached Nanke’s eyes.
On the stone platform before the mausoleum’s main gate, a very soft *chi* sound rang out, as if something had been pierced.
Then came a resonant *hum*, like a giant bell struck by a massive log carried by countless strongmen.
A violent tremor erupted, and the air surged in all directions, kicking up countless clouds of dust and remnants of rain and snow.
Amid the dust and snow, Nanke’s furious howl rang out! Like in the battle atop Muyu Peak, her howl was still clear, but compared to that night, her cry now was no longer so steady, powerful, and confident. Instead, it was filled with pain, confusion, and shock.
With a surge of powerful energy, the dust and snow on the stone platform were instantly shaken off, leaving it clear.
Nanke darted backward, her feet landing on the boundary line between the stone platform and the spirit path with a dull *pa* sound. Several cracks appeared in the bluestone there.
A half-foot-long green feather, with an enchanting and beautiful aura, slowly drifted down onto the stone platform.
Nanke’s small face was pale. Her gaze at Chen Changsheng was filled with flames of anger and a trace of subtle bewilderment. After a moment, she withdrew her gaze and looked at a spot on her dark green left wing. A sword wound was there, slowly oozing blood, and the faint light from the distant sky shone through it.
Silence fell over the mausoleum’s main gate.
Perhaps because of the pain in her clear howl, Xu Yourong also woke up. Seeing this scene before her, she was momentarily stunned into silence.
Nanke looked at Chen Changsheng again, her gaze falling on the short sword in his right hand, her pupils contracting slightly. She didn’t understand—why was this short sword so sharp? What sword technique was this? Why had the sword intent become so strong?
Chen Changsheng was also looking at the sword in his hand, a look of confusion on his face. He had lived with this short sword, a gift from his senior brother, day and night for over a year. But why did this sword now feel somewhat unfamiliar to him? He knew this short sword possessed a sharpness no less than the divine weapons on the Hundred Weapons List, but why could it wield such powerful sword intent?
Yes, he now confirmed that the intense feeling from earlier was sword intent. The short sword followed that feeling, chased after it, appearing crooked and ugly, yet in truth, it was incredibly natural, like walking through clouds or floating wine in a stream. This feeling was undoubtedly sword intent, and could only be sword intent.
But this sword intent… did not belong to him. Because at his current level, even if he could achieve a clear sword heart, his cultivation was still insufficient to nurture such powerful sword intent. Where did this sword intent come from? If it wasn’t the sword intent inherent in the short sword itself, then when had it entered his body?
His fingers gripping the hilt were turning white. With confusion and shock, he thought: Could this sword intent be the one the yellow paper umbrella had been searching for? The one that had guided him across the vast grasslands to Zhou’s Mausoleum? Hadn’t this sword intent disappeared? When did it come? And why did it come?
He knew more about this sword intent, so he thought more deeply. Nanke didn’t need to think as much, so she recovered faster than him. The shock and anger in her eyes completely dissipated, replaced by her earlier indifference and dullness. Without hesitation, she attacked him again. She vaguely guessed something and intended to prove her conjecture through battle.
As for whether she would get hurt, that had never been something she cared about.
The cold rain fell again. Her ten-zhang-long wings stirred up a hurricane on the stone platform. The wind rose again, turning the raindrops into gravel that struck Chen Changsheng’s face and body.
A sparrow’s cry.
A clang.
Nanke appeared before him again, her right hand gripping the Southern Cross Star Sword, slashing toward his brow.
This was her first time drawing her sword. In other words, in her eyes, Chen Changsheng had finally become an opponent on par with Xu Yourong.
If it were normal times, or the days before, or even moments earlier, Chen Changsheng would have struggled to block this strike. Though his sword heart was clear and his sword intent seamless, his sword intent was far weaker than the terrifying sword intent Nanke infused into the Southern Cross Star Sword. But at this moment, he didn’t even think before swinging his sword.
In fact, he didn’t need to think at all.
That feeling arose in his heart again, and the sword in his hand swung out entirely on its own, following that feeling.
It seemed effortless, yet it was profoundly mysterious.
A thunderous boom echoed before the mausoleum’s main gate. Several deep cracks appeared on the bluestone ground.
Nanke’s Southern Cross Star Sword was blocked by the short sword in his hand.
Her Southern Cross Star Sword technique hadn’t even had time to unleash its full power before it was broken by the short sword.
A sword light burst from the tip of the short sword, extending about three zhang, as if it would illuminate the entire mausoleum.
The green wings curled back abruptly, shielding Nanke. With a pained grunt, she darted backward again, her feet landing at the edge of the stone platform, where another crack formed in the bluestone.
But that wasn’t enough. The razor-sharp sword light pierced through her wings, heading straight for her brow.
With a flutter of wings in the rain, Nanke leaped and landed on the spirit path.
But that still wasn’t enough.
She leaped again, retreating into the rainy sky behind.
Still not enough.
She had to retreat further, again and again.
A rapid series of bluestone cracking sounds followed.
Her feet, like plows, dragged two clear grooves through the hard bluestone of the spirit path until she retreated hundreds of zhang away before finally stopping!
Silence fell.
The dark clouds in the sky poured cold rain without cease, shrouding the entire Zhou’s Mausoleum. Both the stone platform and the spirit path were soaked.
The sound of the falling rain seemed to vanish.
A trickle of blood slowly flowed from the corner of Nanke’s mouth, then was quickly washed away by the increasingly heavy cold rain.
Chen Changsheng looked at the short sword in his hand, feeling the immense sword intent, unsure what to think.
In truth, that sword intent wasn’t in the yellow paper umbrella, nor in the short sword—it was within his body.
Because that sword intent was meant to help him.
He raised his head, walked to the boundary line between the stone platform and the spirit path, and looked at Nanke in the rain a hundred zhang away, saying, “Now, it seems I can defeat you.”
Rainwater streamed down Nanke’s pale face, dripping from her wet black hair, making her look somewhat pitiful. Yet her expression remained as cold and proud as ever, looking down from above, showing no sign that she had just lost two exchanges without any chance to fight back. Her voice was equally cold: “This isn’t your sword intent at all!”
Chen Changsheng was silent for a moment, then asked, “So?”
Nanke said expressionlessly, “Even if I lose, I lose to this sword intent. What does that have to do with you?”
Yes, this sword intent could not belong to Chen Changsheng. Whether it was Nanke, who fought him, the two powerful Demon generals watching from below the spirit path, the old man playing the zither, or Xu Yourong, who had just opened her eyes and seen this scene—they all knew this very clearly.
That sword intent was too sharp, completely at odds with the path Chen Changsheng cultivated. The key point was that it was too strong—strong enough to compensate for the gap in true essence quantity. Such strength could only be honed over time. To nurture such sword intent required at least several centuries of pursuit on the path of the sword. He was only fifteen years old. No matter how much of a genius he was in swordsmanship, he couldn’t achieve this!
No one could, not even the Demon race.
Even if Zhou Dufu were reborn, he couldn’t do it either.
“Yes, this isn’t my sword intent.” Chen Changsheng looked at the endless grasslands beyond the beast tide, like a black ocean below the mausoleum, then turned back to Nanke and said, “But this sword intent came to me, willing to be used by me. That proves I have the qualification to use it. So it… is my sword intent.”
Nanke asked, “This sword intent… where did it come from?”
Chen Changsheng looked into her eyes and said honestly, “You should have guessed.”
Around the mausoleum, above and below the spirit path, silence fell—because of the shock.
Though, as Chen Changsheng said, Nanke had already guessed the truth, she still couldn’t believe it and was unwilling to accept it.
The rain poured down, cold and biting. Her voice was somewhat dry: “The Sword Pool?”
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(Leaping refers to the sword intent, and also to Nanke hopping on the spirit path. Today’s second chapter is done, but I can’t leap with joy. I still have to keep writing… The third chapter will definitely be very, very, very, very late. Fortunately, it’s the weekend, so everyone doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow. 5555, thinking that I have to go to work tomorrow, I suddenly feel so sad…)