Chapter 207
Zhen He struck Xu An on the back of his neck with the sword sheath—at that moment, the famed spirit sword, Cangyun, trembled like a leaf in the wind.
“Run!” As the remnants of the demon cultivator lunged at them again.
Xu An formed hand seals, and several array patterns appeared beneath the feet of the surrounding disciples.
Before the disciples of the Sword Pavilion could react, they were teleported outside the demonic formation.
The shifting of the killing formation meant that even if he only changed the position of the array eye, he would still bear seventy percent of the force from the punch of the demon cultivator's remnant.
Zhen He raised his hand, and with a flick of his sleeve, he unleashed a wave of air that sent the most stubborn disciples flying out of the demonic array.
“Brother Duan!” Duan Feng looked at his younger sister, who clung to his sleeve with bloodied fingers, refusing to let go. For the first time, a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
He brushed his hand against her tear-streaked face, letting it slide down before forcefully pushing her out of the demonic array.
In the void, only a stern reprimand remained: “If anyone dares to look back today, you are unworthy to call me brother!”
As the last corner of his robe vanished at the edge of the demonic array, Zhen He collapsed to the ground, the Cangyun sword beside him shattered into two pieces.
Duan Feng’s ice crystal sword lay in shattered fragments, his body resembling a corpse pulled from a pool of blood, yet he sat upright.
Xu An looked at the empty center of the array and let out a soft laugh, his trembling fingers still gripping the array plate.
At this moment, the Three Talents Sword Formation was on the verge of collapse.
Outside the sword formation, there was not just one, but two remnants of demon cultivators.
Monk Huikong had intended to awaken a third demon cultivator wielding a blade, but for some reason, that remnant showed no reaction at all.
Fortunately, against the three direct disciples of the Sword Pavilion, the two Yuanying demon cultivator remnants were merely a distraction.
“Brother,” Xu An said with a bitter smile, holding the broken Lingxian sword, propping up his faltering body. “Sword cultivators are defined by their swords; when the sword breaks, the person breaks... our sword has shattered.”
“Xu An, you are mistaken,” Zhen He rose, coldly gazing at the two demon cultivator remnants hovering above them. “Do you two still remember what our ancestor said?”
Duan Feng let out a hoarse roar from his broken throat.
“If one day our swords break... then we shall use our bones as swords, our blood as blades, and our souls as fire!”
The three stood side by side.
Around them were the other disciples from various sects, terrified and trembling at the sight of the Yuanying demon cultivator remnants.
Behind them, the demonic formation slowly closed in.
Outside the gaps, the sorrowful eyes of the Sword Pavilion disciples watched.
“The legacy of the Sword Pavilion for ten thousand years has never relied on any single legendary sword,” Xu An declared loudly, “but on the sword bones that push forward even in death!”
“Today, I, Zhen He, the eldest disciple of Cangjian Peak, shall become one with the sword!”
“Today, I, Duan Feng, the eldest disciple of Wuqing Cliff, shall become one with the sword!”
“Today, I, Xu An, the eldest disciple of Lingyun Peak, shall become one with the sword!”
“Three swords unite!”
Xu An, Zhen He, and Duan Feng faced the two Yuanying demon cultivator remnants charging at them, their eyes burning with fearlessness and a will to embrace death.
The three voices harmonized, ringing like the sound of swords clashing.
“Sword formation!”
“Open—!”
…
Qin Luofeng was dead.
He did not die in the assault of the two Yuanying demon cultivator remnants.
He died under the divine power of Monk Huikong—the Great Sun Vajra Seal.
That massive palm, glowing with soft Buddhist light, was meant to strike the demon cultivator remnants but instead came crashing down on his chest.
Faced with the shocked and horrified gazes of the surrounding disciples, Monk Huikong merely clasped his hands together, a look of compassion and regret appearing on his handsome, feminine face.
“Amitabha, I intended to liberate the demon cultivator remnants, but alas, Daoist Qin chose to collide with it himself. I... am at fault.”
He raised his gaze to the scattered disciples.
These disciples were the elite of their respective sects, many of whom were single spiritual roots, special physiques, or possessed powerful dantians.
Indeed, any one of these prodigies could not be compared to him and Song Chiyue.
However, over a decade ago, he and Song Chiyue were not as gifted as some of these disciples.
Prodigies can be pieced together—just like he and Song Chiyue.
In truth, he was not Huikong, and Song Chiyue was not Song Chiyue.
To hide their identities, they had to bear the names of these two young disciples.
They had to play the roles of the talented disciples of the holy land, becoming the trendsetters sought after by various sects.
It was time to reap the rewards.
“To atone for my sins, I shall personally rescue you all!”
Monk Huikong acted decisively, his fingers adorned with a vast space of a Xumi ring, capable of storing living beings.
The disciples he had knocked unconscious or severely injured were tossed into that Xumi ring, while those deemed useless were left for the demon cultivator remnants to handle.
At the edge of the demonic formation, Song Chiyue looked at the three unconscious direct disciples of the Sword Pavilion and sneered, “Good, good, good. All three possess top-tier dantians and sword spiritual roots... Xu An has a spiritual origin body, Duan Feng has a red heart body, and Zhen He has a congenital sword body! No wonder there have been so few prodigies emerging in recent years; it turns out they’ve all been collected by the Sword Pavilion?”
“What a pity, Yue Qianchi is not among them.”
Monk Huikong frowned slightly as he observed the four demon cultivator remnants slaughtering among the crowd, scanning his surroundings.
“Strange! I distinctly remember there was a demon cultivator remnant that was a blade cultivator...
Where did it go?”
…
…
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Chapter 222: The Swift Blade
“Don’t worry about that demon cultivator remnant; it’s just an unstable puppet.”
Song Chiyue intended to use the flower vines to drag the unconscious disciples of various sects together, while the three direct disciples of the Sword Pavilion were placed separately.
Then, she took out spirit stones to begin arranging the formation. Seeing Monk Huikong still investigating the whereabouts of the blade cultivator remnant, she couldn’t help but snort coldly, “Hurry up and help set up the formation! The small secret realm is about to close. When the gate opens again, we need to transport all these materials out at once. If anything goes wrong, the Saintess and the Bodhisattva might not necessarily be you and me!”
Hearing this, Monk Huikong shivered, fear flashing in his eyes, and quickly set aside his obsession with the blade cultivator remnant to help Song Chiyue arrange the transfer formation.
“Will the escape of so many sect disciples expose us?” Huikong asked, placing a magical tool at the sub-array eye, glancing at Song Chiyue.
“The plan of the real person is intricately linked; the issues outside the secret realm can be pinned on the Zhenwu Holy Land. As for what happens inside the secret realm... do you think those fleeing sect disciples can see what’s happening within the great formation? The only things that know our secret now are corpses or materials. As long as we transport these materials out, they will appear as corpses to the outside world.”
Song Chiyue smiled, her eyes filled with disdain and indifference. “Besides, even if a few fish slip through the net and expose us, who would believe that the Yaochi Saintess and the Fenjing Bodhisattva are not good people? Who would believe that the two great holy lands are a den of devils? If worse comes to worst, we still have the Zhenwu Holy Land, right? As long as Zhang Yibai is dead, we can throw all the dirt on Zhenwu Holy Land.”
“I hope the two real people can truly handle Zhang Yibai.” Huikong’s expression grew serious.
He had witnessed Zhang Yibai draw his sword; that day, the three great holy lands were besieged by the demon race. Zhang Yibai single-handedly wielded two swords, cutting through the demon army from the south to the north, with no demon able to withstand a single blow from him. He forced the demons to flee in panic to the southern wasteland, where they hid, and only then did Zhang Yibai finally settle down. It was that battle that established Zhang Yibai’s reputation as the number one sword cultivator in the world.
Zhang Yibai was the oldest among the three real people, nearing the end of his lifespan.
But the closer one was to death, the more terrifying their cultivation became.
“Alright, the formation is set.” Song Chiyue put away the flower vines and stood up, clapping her hands. In the formation behind her, the unconscious sect geniuses gradually became invisible—some of these ‘selected’ materials were sealed in a subspace, while others were in Huikong’s Xumi ring.
Song Chiyue surveyed the battlefield littered with corpses and the still-stable great formation, saying lightly, “Once the formation opens, we’ll pretend to be severely injured. The demon cultivator remnants can continue to pursue some talented disciples. We’ll be resting to recover from our injuries; no one will suspect us, only thinking we’ve exhausted all our strength.”
Monk Huikong immediately found a place to lie down, punching his chest and spitting out blood, “Cough, cough, I’m ready.”
Song Chiyue also found a broken wall to lean against, her hidden hand gently stroking the array plate.
Boom—!
The ground shook, and the demonic energy within the great formation began to gradually converge towards the core of the formation.
“What a clever scheme, truly a clever scheme!”
A cold voice echoed behind the two.
The speaker was half-hidden in the demonic energy behind the bronze door, his right hand resting on the hilt of his blade, yet to be drawn, yet the air within a ten-zhang radius became stagnant under its pressure.
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