Chapter 400: Drawing the Sword (Part 1)
Wang Po’s blade strike was exceptionally powerful—powerful in its sharpness, as his condensed true essence at the Peak Star Convergence Stage could breach the seemingly fragile yet actually most robust spatial barriers. It was also powerful in its ingenious response, for only by cutting through space could he transcend the abyss between the mortal and the sacred, resisting Zhu Luo’s moonlit sword strike.
The clouds above Xunyang City remained low and gloomy, their edges still bright as silver, as if night had fallen. The wind and rain that filled the streets suddenly vanished, leaving an eerie stillness, broken only by faint sounds of gasping. These were the shocked sighs of the distant onlookers. This battle had already surpassed many people’s comprehension, but they could sense that Zhu Luo’s sword seemed truly blocked by Wang Po. How had he done it?
Su Li did not cheer this time. His expression grew solemn, not because Wang Po’s blade strike was unremarkable, but rather because he found it too exquisite. It seemed that in the blink of an eye, between two strikes, Wang Po had grasped something through this battle with the continent’s strongest, advancing yet another step on the path of the blade!
If this were true, Wang Po’s talent in cultivation could truly be called astonishing, and such an opportunity was a once-in-a-millennium chance. If he could survive this battle and fully digest the precious experience gained, he might break through to the peak of the Star Convergence Stage in a very short time, and might even glimpse the threshold of the Saintly Stage.
But could Wang Po still survive? Especially after these two strikes had fully proven that he could threaten Zhu Luo’s position among the Eight Directions Wind and Rain decades later? Su Li held no hope for this, so his expression grew even more somber. He found it a great pity.
The wind and rain rose again, and the falling rain sounded like drums.
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Zhu Luo’s sword brought endless wind and rain, and after the wind and rain came a rainbow. Behind the wind and rain, in the more distant northern sky, hung a bright moon, with both light and darkness. Most of that light and darkness were devoured by the spatial cracks along the long street, their power greatly diminished. This was why Wang Po’s iron blade could still be raised in the heavy rain.
Yet the Eight Directions Wind and Rain were no ordinary cultivation masters. They were the continent’s strongest, possessing unimaginable reserves of true essence, unattainable wisdom and combat experience, and the most dazzling brilliance. Wang Po’s iron blade could not ultimately conceal that light. Just as the dark clouds over Xunyang City could not hide the moon, the edges of the clouds were eventually gilded with a silver trim. The rainy street was as dark as night, and the spatial cracks cut by the iron blade were so pitch-black they made one’s heart tremble, yet the edges of those black cracks had somehow begun to glow.
That glow came from Zhu Luo’s sword.
Sword light, accompanied by fierce wind and torrential rain, arrived before Wang Po. At this moment, his iron blade had to keep cutting through the rainy street, maintaining enough spatial cracks to prevent Zhu Luo’s Moon-Reflecting Sword from breaking through to his front, until he reached Chen Changsheng and Su Li behind him. He had no way to deal with that sword light.
The sword light was not particularly bright; it even seemed somewhat dim, yet Wang Po’s nearly perfect blade domain could not obstruct it at all. As the sword light fell, a sizzling sound was heard. Wang Po’s clothes suddenly tore apart, and several clear sword marks appeared on his perfectly tempered body surface, from which blood slowly seeped.
The sword light continuously bypassed his iron blade, striking his body. It seemed casual, but in truth, it was etched into his bones.
Each ray of sword light cut a wound on his body, drawing forth a stream of blood.
Wang Po’s face grew even paler, devoid of any color, strikingly dramatic in the dim rainy street. His expression remained calm and resolute, but his uniquely drooping eyebrows sagged even more, giving him a dejected look, more bitter and sorrowful than usual. Yes, his situation at this moment was truly bitter.
Zhu Luo’s sword light sliced through his body, nearly like a slow death by a thousand cuts—how could this not be painful? This pain also existed in the spiritual world, in his heart. As a long-renowned blade genius, now a great hero of the Southern Sky, yet encountering Zhu Luo in his hometown of Tianliang Commandery, he could only endure such bitter suffering. No matter how strong his talent and will, they could not change the gap in strength and cultivation level. Just like the Wang family’s encounter in Tianliang Commandery many years ago, it was so despairing—how could it not be bitter?
Unless he sheathed his iron blade, left the rainy street, and chose to retreat, he could escape these hardships.
But in life, there are many hardships that cannot be avoided.
Wang Po had grown up enduring hardship and understood this very well. So he had no intention of retreating. With drooping eyebrows and a bitter expression, he lowered his head slightly, gripping his blade tightly, standing in the storm, letting the sword light that bypassed his blade intent leave wound after wound on his body, letting the blood be washed clean by the increasingly heavy rain.
The blade intent on the rainy street remained as straight as ever, the spatial cracks it cut as straight as ever. Thus, the storm fell into them and vanished, and even Zhu Luo could not advance for the time being, most of his sword intent unable to reach this side.
Wang Po stood very straight as well. But how much longer could he stand? How much longer could he hold his iron blade?
The storm was bitter and cold, the wind gradually intensifying.
The abacus beads on the abacus amidst the ruins of the inn were moved again, making crisp snapping sounds, as if keeping a rhythm.
On a side street farther away, the musicians of the Liang Prince’s Mansion had long since fled, leaving instruments scattered everywhere. The wind blew them about wildly—a gong crashed into a wall, stones fell from the wall onto a drum, a flute flew into the air, air rushed into its holes producing a sobbing sound, and a zither’s strings snapped one by one…
Zheng, zheng, zheng, zheng.
What a hurried, chaotic tune.
When would the wind and rain stop? When would the tune end?
No one knew.
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…
Behind the rainy street, the crowd stood in dead silence. Liang Zhen stood at the front, his expression inexplicably calm. Liang Hongzhuang stood on the other side of the street, as if unwilling to stand with the prince’s distant cousin. Yet for some reason, as he watched Wang Po in the wind and rain, his expression was strange, as if he wanted to cry or laugh—in any case, very complex.
No one knew what would happen next; no one even thought of what was about to occur.
The dark clouds covered the sky, turning day into night. The common folk of Xunyang City had their doors and windows tightly shut, hiding under beds or in vats, not daring to come out. Those still on the streets were all cultivators, and these cultivators had come to kill Su Li. Under normal circumstances, when masters like Zhu Luo and Wang Po were fighting, they would never dare make any rash moves, lest they provoke the other party and face unknown consequences for themselves and their sects. But today, many ignored this. When they stepped into Xunyang City, they had already prepared to pay with their lives.
Liang Wangsun, Liang Hongzhuang, and Xue He thought nothing of it, but those others thought a great deal.
Su Li was now riding that yellow horse, very conspicuous in the wind and rain. Everyone knew he was practically a cripple now, and earlier, Lin Canghai had successfully forced out his final sword strike. As for Chen Changsheng, how much had he expended earlier to resist Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun’s attacks? He should be very tired now. And Wang Po was currently suppressed by Zhu Luo’s sword, barely able to move. So, if someone attacked Su Li now, who could save him? Who could still take a hit for Su Li?
Many thought this way, and so they began to act. Using the sound of the wind and rain as cover, they emerged from the alleys and walked toward the man on horseback on the rainy street. Liang Zhen and Liang Hongzhuang watched those passing by them, sensing the coldness and killing intent on them, but remained silent, neither stopping them nor making any sound.
The yellow horse’s reins hung down into the rainwater on the ground. Whether due to the horse’s breed or Su Li’s influence, the anomalies brought by Zhu Luo’s sword and the terrifying fluctuations of combat energy a dozen zhang away did not startle the steed into fleeing; it simply kept its head low obediently.
Chen Changsheng also lowered his head, watching the ripples in the rainwater, silent.
The Dragon’s Roar short sword was finally connected to its scabbard, the first time since leaving the old temple in Xining Town. Back in Xining Town, Senior Brother Yuren had only chosen this assembly method when going to the back mountain to hunt powerful demonic beasts. Today, he did so because he knew the enemies he faced were too powerful, and also to learn from Wang Po.
Suddenly, he raised his head and turned around.
Those cultivators had not expected that he had been watching the rear all along.
Chen Changsheng met their gazes, silent.
Not far away, that violent and sacred sword intent was growing stronger.
Chen Changsheng ignored that side; that was Wang Po’s concern.
Now, he only needed to handle this side.
He had figured everything out, so he was very calm.
His gaze was calm, and no matter how violently the rain struck his face, it could not disturb him.
A cultivator let out a fierce shout, his form suddenly splitting into three, charging at Su Li.
Chen Changsheng gripped his sword with both hands and slashed down into the rainy air.
The sword fell several zhang away, yet with one strike, it simultaneously cut at the three figures in the rainy air—three people.
This was not the Wisdom Sword nor the Burning Sword; it was a move from the Li Mountain Sword Style called “Three Plum Blossoms.”
It was something Su Li had casually mentioned to him three days ago.
With a *swish* sound!
Then another sound followed.
As if simultaneously, three sword sounds rang out in the heavy rain. The three figures all halted in the rainy air. Then two figures dissipated, and the cultivator groaned, clutching his chest as he fell onto the rainy street!
The Dragon’s Roar sword in his hand seemed to come alive.
In just a few exchanges, those cultivators who had planned to ambush Su Li fell one after another.
Just then, in his peripheral vision, he saw that Wang Po… seemed about to fall as well.
In an instant, he made a decision.
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(Zhu Luo draws his sword, Chen Changsheng draws his sword, the audience draws their swords. Next, who else will draw their sword?)