A Blind Swordsman's Sword Coffin

Ye Feng spoke with resolve. His confidence came from the formidable strength he now possessed.

Lu Wuhen glanced at the man beside him and suddenly thought of something. His expression turned grave. “Brother Xiuzhong, whatever you do, don’t underestimate Ye Feng. He held out against the Sha Organization’s assassins for a very long time. His strength far exceeds that of an ordinary cultivator!”

Before Lu Wuhen could finish speaking, Lu Xiuzhong flashed onto the martial stage.

To Lu Xiuzhong, Ye Feng’s strength and cultivation level didn’t matter. He would make him pay with his life, an offering to the spirit of his dead brother, Lu Xingyuan.

No more than ten zhang separated them. Ye Feng’s golden hair hung loose over his shoulders. He brushed it back with a blood-soaked hand, unconcerned by the mess.

His gesture lent him a free-spirited air. His lips curved into a cold, unreadable smile.

Ye Feng’s sharp gaze concealed profound killing intent. Li Guanqi’s few words had been enough; he already knew what his two brothers had been through.

Lu Xiuzhong was no different. He gripped his longsword tightly. Though his killing intent threatened to overwhelm his reason, he remained wary of his opponent, just as Ye Feng did.

Anyone who could step up as the fourth fighter for the Daxia Sword Sect was no ordinary cultivator.

The setting sun sank in the west. A few rays of light pierced the heavy clouds, casting the two men’s shadows long across the stage.

The oppressive air and the low, resonant roll of the war drums weighed on everyone’s chest like a heavy stone.

The two men’s gazes clashed in midair, and a murderous air spread slowly. The atmosphere grew increasingly heavy.

Ever since the previous round, every duel had been do-or-die for the Daxia Sword Sect.

Meng Jiangchu slowly settled onto a throne conjured from the Five Ghost Flames, and Gu Yong sat at his side.

Meng Jiangchu was exchanging quiet words with Zhou Yunqing. Zhou Yunqing seemed to want to ask something, but Meng Jiangchu would not say. He only let his gaze drift toward Nangong Xuandu.

The moment Zhou Yunqing caught that look, he understood. “Brother Meng, you mean to say... this azure-robed sword cultivator is actually that person’s subordinate?!”

Meng Jiangchu glanced at him and calmly sent a voice transmission. “I didn’t say anything.”

Zhou Yunqing drew a deep breath, putting the pieces together. When he turned to the elder beside him, his address had shifted from “Fellow Daoist Gu” to “Elder Gu.”

“We should get to know each other better, Elder Gu.”

Gu Yong smiled and nodded, accepting the goodwill. He had dealt with the lords of the Six Territories before, one way or another, though he had never grown close to any of them. They had always wanted to bring the Heavenly Intelligence Pavilion into their fold, which was why he had been reluctant to show himself openly.

With these three Mahayana Realm cultivators backing the Daxia Sword Sect, the ancient clans faced no small amount of pressure.

The sharp-eyed spectators could tell that Nangong Xuandu favored the Daxia Sword Sect. Why else would he have extended the rest period at such a critical moment?

Nangong Xuandu’s lips curved faintly. studied Ye Feng for a long moment, then raised a hand and dispelled the barrier array, his voice booming out, “Fourth round! The Daxia Sword Sect’s Ye Feng against the Lu clan’s Lu Xiuzhong!”

The words had barely left his mouth when two enormous booms rang out.

Smoke and dust billowed across the platform. The ground beneath both men’s feet caved in by several feet.

Before anyone could react, the sharp, ringing clash of blades echoed in rapid succession.

A breath later, Lu Xiuzhong came hurtling backward out of the swirling dust.

Clang! Crash!

He dug his feet into the ground, but still slid back more than a hundred zhang before coming to a stop.

Lu Xiuzhong grimly stared ahead, his chest ablaze with searing pain.

Flash!

Ye Feng swept the Wrathful Slaughter Sword through the air, blasting away the dust. A hundred zhang from Lu Xiuzhong, he said coldly, “The Lu clan sent trash like you to fight?”

At those words, more than a few Lu clan cultivators felt their breath catch.

Lu Xiuzhong was the hope of the Lu clan’s entire older generation. He and Lu Xingyuan had even been known as the Twin Monks.

Back before Lu Wuhen was even born, no one had doubted him, and no other clan had ever questioned his might. Yet now... Lu Xiuzhong, who stood at the peak of the late Illusory Refinement Realm, had been pushed back in his very first exchange with Ye Feng.

The sight shook every ancient clan cultivator.

“Hiss... Am I seeing this right? He unleashed more than a hundred strikes in a single breath, blocked Graceful Tiger Lu’s overbearing assault, and even wounded him in return?!”

“What a terrifying young talent. The student surpasses the master, as they say. Still... the Lu clan’s Graceful Tiger is no pushover.”

Even the elderly Mahayana Realm woman aboard the Zhu clan’s cloud boat narrowed her eyes. The Lu clan’s Graceful Tiger was well known even to the Zhu clan. Among her own family’s younger generation, few could be confident of beating him. “Hmph. I never thought a sect as small as the Daxia Sword Sect could raise such a prodigious genius! Lu Hengtian, did you ever imagine the day might come when the Lu clan could lose?”

Lu Hengtian stood atop the Zhu clan’s cloud boat with his hands clasped behind his back, calmly looking at the stage below.

He chuckled coldly. “Those are merely probing moves. Who wins and who loses is still anyone’s guess. Drawing conclusions this early is perhaps a little premature.”

Leaning on her staff, the old woman smiled and said softly, “Then allow this old woman to witness the strength of the Lu clan’s Graceful Tiger.”

Over on the Daxia Sword Sect’s side, morale had hit its peak.

Lu Kangnian’s fists blurred into afterimages as he pounded the war drum before him, blow after blow.

The drumhead shuddered, loosing deep, resonant booms in an urgent, soaring rhythm, like a general charging into battle with nothing to stop him.

The Daxia Sword Sect might lose, but he, Lu Kangnian, could shoulder that cost. He firmly believed that even without its ancestors’ legacy, the sect could still stand at the very top.

On the stage, Lu Xiuzhong rose and laughed at himself ruefully.

A terrifying pressure erupted from him. In the space of a breath, his aura broke past the ceiling of the Illusory Refinement Realm and surged to the half-step Combined Body Realm.

Hum!

His pressure alone sent faint ripples across the array barrier, something none of the three earlier fighters had managed.

A ferocious sword intent erupted from Lu Xiuzhong, shooting straight into the heavens.

He looked at Ye Feng across the distance. As if speaking to himself, he said, “I’ve been in seclusion for so long that I haven’t killed anyone in ages. I’m a little rusty. Well, then... I’ll offer your head to my brother’s spirit!”

Boom!

The ground caved in, cracks webbing out across the stone.

Ye Feng cracked his neck, the sound echoing through the air. A wicked grin spread across his face as he leaned forward and sneered. “Kill me? You think you can?”