Chapter 421: The Sword That Did Not Fall
Since the battle began, this was the first time Wang Po’s iron blade had the chance to reach Zhu Luo’s front.
It happened in that instant when Zhu Luo was suddenly ambushed, wounded by a sword strike, his phantom shattered, and the Moon in Water forced to return to its true form.
The iron blade stirred wind and rain, reaching its utmost speed and its utmost strength.
Wang Po paid no attention to what had happened before—neither the Rain-Born Bright Moon, nor the assassin’s repeated ambushes, nor Chen Changsheng’s ten thousand swords singing in unison. He simply swung his blade toward Zhu Luo before him.
Like chopping firewood, or more like settling accounts, he was utterly focused.
At this moment, it was perhaps his best chance to defeat Zhu Luo, possibly even the only chance before he stepped into the Divine Domain.
Zhu Luo raised his palm toward the sky, dark clouds obscuring the moon.
No one knew whether Wang Po’s full-powered strike or Zhu Luo’s hastily raised palm, weakened by his injuries, would prove stronger.
Even in the next moment, no one knew.
Because Wang Po’s blade did not fall.
The iron blade halted in midair before Zhu Luo.
Zhu Luo’s palm also stopped in the air.
The two did not meet.
The torrential rain gradually subsided, yet the street remained dim and silent.
The scene seemed frozen.
Even breathing could not be heard.
Zhu Luo stared at Wang Po, silent, his face suddenly turning deathly pale.
Countless powerful streams of energy burst from the edges of his palm and from within his robes, dispersing into the drizzling rain.
Those were the true essence he had forcibly restrained despite his severe injuries, meant to strike Wang Po’s iron blade. But he had not expected Wang Po to abandon his final opportunity, halting the blade in midair.
With a muffled hum, Zhu Luo’s true essence dissipated into empty space, its energy spent upon heaven and earth.
He could not fathom why Wang Po would withdraw his blade, because he himself was not the kind of man Wang Po was.
Wang Po withdrew his blade not because he had calculated the subsequent turn of events, nor because his battle instincts were so keen as to see through the moon-veiling clouds, but for a very simple reason.
Zhu Luo was wounded. He did not want to take advantage of a man in distress.
He cared nothing for the best opportunity. He believed that as long as he lived, he would one day step into the Divine Domain and then defeat Zhu Luo and other Divine Domain experts in open, honorable combat.
So Wang Po sheathed his blade.
And thus… Zhu Luo suffered severe injuries—even graver than those inflicted by Liu Qing and Chen Changsheng combined.
Blood seeped from the corners of his lips, flowed from his body, faster and faster.
Many things in this world happen without apparent reason.
But if you think carefully, there is always reason.
…
…
The light rain brushed gently, and the long street remained silent.
Neither those in the midst of the battle nor those watching from afar spoke.
Seeing Zhu Luo drenched in blood, it was hard for anyone to find words.
Hundreds of years had passed—who had ever seen a great figure like Eight Directions Wind and Rain fall to another’s hand?
Who had ever seen a peerless expert like Zhu Luo so disheveled, bearing such grievous wounds?
Zhu Luo lowered his head, his long hair, wet from rain, draped over his shoulders. He looked at the sword in his hand—only a hilt remained. The Moonlight Sword, forged from ten-thousand-refined steel and mithril, indescribably hard, had now become dust in the cracks of walls and ground.
He raised his head, gazing at Chen Changsheng through the drizzling rain, and said, “Heaven-Born Sword Heart?”
Hearing this, the onlookers, already stunned by the ten thousand swords’ chorus, were even more shaken.
Zhu Luo then turned to Wang Po before him and said, “Admirable.”
Across the entire continent, fewer than five people could earn a word of admiration from him. Yet he spoke it to Wang Po. Because of the formidable will Wang Po had displayed in battle today, his combat prowess far exceeding his age, and because of that final blade that did not fall—which was far more powerful than if it had.
Finally, Zhu Luo looked toward the other end of the rainy street, at the blood-soaked assassin standing before his horse.
In today’s Xunyang City, three men guarded Su Li, all heroes. If one were to measure the damage dealt to Zhu Luo, Chen Changsheng accounted for about two parts, Wang Po’s final un-falling blade for five, and the assassin named Liu Qing for three. For the entire battle, Wang Po was the foundation, Chen Changsheng the final unexpected hand, and Liu Qing the most crucial breaker of the deadlock.
Assassins deal in killing, not construction; in history, they always appear as those who break the stalemate. The onlookers at the far end of the rainy street followed Zhu Luo’s gaze to the assassin, recalling how both sudden shifts in this battle had originated from him. They were deeply shaken, wondering what was happening. Who was this assassin? What kind of person cultivated to the Star-Gathering Upper Realm yet still walked in the darkness playing the role of an assassin? And what assassin could calculate every detail of the battle, successfully shattering Zhu Luo’s control over Xunyang City?
Zhu Luo was too confident, or perhaps because Wang Po was too strong to hold back, he didn’t mind killing Wang Po in Xunyang City if the opportunity arose, thereby avoiding future problems. But he would not let Chen Changsheng die. This assassin had calculated this, so he launched a sudden ambush in the torrential rain, each sword stroke drawing blood, putting Chen Changsheng in constant peril.
The Zhu clan was a major house in Tianliang Commandery, with many members. Even if Zhu Luo didn’t fear the Li Mountain Sword Sect’s eventual revenge or the Southerners’ hostility, he had to consider his clan’s younger generation. Moreover, he had his reputation to think of. So he did not want to… kill Su Li with his own hands. Thus, he chose to use the Moon in Water to cross to the other side of the rainstorm and seize Chen Changsheng. Zhu Luo thought he had crafted the perfect situation with the simplest method, leaving the assassin an opportunity to kill Su Li. But he never realized that this opportunity was one the assassin had created for him.
This was not an opportunity for the assassin to kill Su Li—it was an opportunity to kill him!
Human hearts, love and hate, gain and loss, noble houses, reputation, divinity—everything had been calculated by the assassin!
Chen Changsheng stood before the assassin, naturally recalling the words Su Li had taught him on the road. If there truly existed a Sword of Wisdom in this world, then this must be the true Sword of Wisdom, right?
…
…
Zhu Luo’s cold voice rang out in the cold drizzle: “Liu Qing, how dare you lay a hand on me?”
A suppressed gasp escaped the crowd. Some who had been preparing to take advantage of the drizzle to continue their assault on Su Li unconsciously halted their steps. Few knew the name Liu Qing, but those who did understood what this very ordinary name represented—Liu Qing was the third-ranked terrifying killer on the world’s assassin list. After that unfathomable, sinister, and dreadful number one assassin of the world had vanished, Liu Qing could be said to be the most fearsome person on the continent.
So this assassin was the legendary Liu Qing!
No wonder he dared to even assassinate Zhu Luo!
Zhu Luo stared at Liu Qing and said, “Do you think no one in this world can dig up your secrets? Since you dare to reveal your background, don’t blame me for sending men to Li Mountain to dig three feet deep in the future!”
Liu Qing’s mask was already broken, with peeling skin and congealing blood hanging from it, making him look terrifying.
He looked at Zhu Luo and said, “I am not a man of Li Mountain. How could you find me there?”