I Have the Martial Arts Heavenly Eye in the Storm Riders

Inside the next room.

Duan Wu, who had been resting with his eyes closed, slowly opened them, his gaze slightly sharp.

He remained silent for a moment, then nodded slightly—clearly having received the message.

In the dark night of the far north, the two brothers silently finalized everything.

It is several miles outside Wentian Town.

A solitary peak rises abruptly from the ground, piercing the clouds.

The north wind howled at the summit, swirling up thousands of snowflakes and burying the entire mountain peak in a white, chaotic mist.

In this extremely cold and harsh place, a figure sits cross-legged on the edge of a cliff.

The nameless man wore a plain white robe, his long hair dancing wildly in the wind and snow.

His expression, however, remained calm and serene, without the slightest ripple.

He slightly parted his lips, and with each breath, the surrounding天地元气 (heaven and earth energy) within dozens of feet seemed to be summoned, frantically gathering and forming a visible vortex of nothingness around his body.

Vital energy enters the body, cleansing every part of the body.

As the energy flowed, a faint sword resonance emanated from within, shaking the falling snowflakes into extremely fine ice dust.

At that very moment—

The unnamed ear twitched slightly.

His eyes remained closed, but the energy flowing around his body slightly solidified.

A soft, rhythmic crunching sound suddenly rang out from the ankle-deep snow behind us.

Two figures walked slowly through the heavy snow.

The leader was dressed in a deep red long dress, covered with a heavy fox fur coat, and wearing a windproof straw hat.

The thin veil swayed in the wind and snow, making her face appear and disappear, adding to her cold and lonely demeanor.

A short-haired girl followed beside him, gripping a long sword tightly, her steps making no sound.

Only those eyes, amidst the wind and snow, revealed an inescapable sorrow.

The two figures stopped about ten feet away from the nameless figure.

In the wind and snow, Wuming remained seated cross-legged, holding his breath, without turning around.

Only a deep, calm voice pierced through the howling north wind:

"Who comes here? In the dead of night, amidst wind and snow, why have you deliberately climbed this solitary peak, a thousand feet high?"

The woman under the straw hat did not answer.

She extended her slender, icy right hand—a long sword, exuding a chilling resentment, slowly emerged from behind the thin veil.

A chilling light, as if weeping, flowed along the spine of the sword.

Wuming finally opened his eyes and slowly turned around.

He stared at the weapon that exuded an astonishing chill even in the darkness, his gaze falling on the unfamiliar sword intent, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Such a cold sword."

He sighed softly, a hint of barely perceptible confusion in his voice.

"Although this sword intent is extreme and resolute, it faintly bears the shadow of the orthodox lineage of my Sword Sect... But the overwhelming resentment contained within it is something I have never seen before in my life."

"What is your connection with my Sword Sect?"

A mocking sneer came from under the straw hat.

The hand gripping the sword trembled slightly from the excessive force.

"origin?"

Her voice was like a knife, every word cutting to the bone:

"You, this lofty 'martial arts legend,' naturally wouldn't remember those insignificant old stories."

The voice suddenly rose in pitch—

"Nameless! Do you still remember the name 'Lian Feiyan'?"

The nameless man's body, which was as steady as a rock, suddenly trembled.

In his calm, deep eyes, a complex and indescribable sense of reminiscence finally surfaced.

"Feiyan...Junior Sister?"

He murmured softly, a hint of urgency in his voice:

"After she left the Sword Sect in a huff back then, I never heard from her again... Where is she now? Is she alright?"

"shut up!"

The woman in the red dress roared fiercely, her killing intent surging—

The chilling sword intent raged wildly atop the solitary peak:

"You heartless and ungrateful wretch, you have no right to mention my master's name!"

Wuming's brow twitched, and he subconsciously took half a step forward:

"Unfaithful? Junior Sister Feiyan and I... I never—"

"Never what? Never noticed?"

Lian Wuhen's voice suddenly sharpened, interrupting him; each word sounded like it contained shards of glass.

"Back then, you only had eyes for that woman—did you ever notice the loving watchfulness my master was providing from behind?"

The short-haired girl beside him gripped the sword hilt tightly in her anxiety, her lips moving a few times, but she ultimately dared not utter a sound.

Her master was in a bad mood, and as a disciple, she had no right to interrupt.

Lian Wuhen's eyes were already red, but his voice was chillingly cold:

"She watched you fall in love with someone else, and angrily left the clan! In the loneliness of seclusion, her burning love turned to ice, and she hated you for decades!"

Wuming opened his mouth, as if to say something—but ultimately couldn't utter a word.

Because he could clearly see Lian Feiyan's shadow in those crimson eyes.

That obsession, steeped in hatred for half his life, was so real that he couldn't refute it.

"Today, I, Lian Wuhen, will use this Regretful Heart Sword to slay you, you heartless and unfaithful man, in her stead!"

Wuming was struck dumb, and stood frozen in place.

His usually deep and peaceful gaze revealed an unprecedented look of astonishment and bewilderment.

In his long and pure memories of swordsmanship, it was merely a trivial farewell between fellow disciples.

He never imagined—

Behind the departing figure, a cluster of ashes of hatred, powerful enough to transcend decades, was forged.

Even more unexpectedly—

Those ordinary years of cultivation can turn into such a heartbreaking debt of murderous intent.

"How is she now?"

"You have no right to know about Master's current situation!"

Lian Wuhen roared, the thin veil under his bamboo hat fluttering wildly in the wind.

The Regretful Sword hummed in the wind and snow, emitting an extremely piercing and eerie light:

"Since you were able to turn away so decisively back then—why bother with this disgusting show of concern now?"

"The suffering your master endured is something you could never repay, even if you spent the rest of your life!"

Lian Wuhen pointed his longsword diagonally, and the chilling sword intent around him condensed into tangible ice spikes, shattering the flying snow within several feet.

"Enough talk, let's get started!"

"Today, I, Lian Wuhen, will personally defeat you, this arrogant 'martial arts legend,' on behalf of my master!"

"Let this sword of regret also drink the blood of your heart, you heartless wretch!"

The wind and snow raged fiercely, and the killing intent was overwhelming.

Wuming stared at that resolute, blood-red afterimage, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

But in the end, he simply lowered his hands slowly.

Those hands that once held the power to command countless swords now held no strength whatsoever, allowing the fierce wind to tug at her white robe.

"Foolish child."

He shook his head slightly, his voice sounding even more desolate in the cold wind.

"What I owe your master is a tragic love affair in the mortal world, not a life-or-death battle."

"Although you have inherited her sword intent, you are not part of the game. Killing me will not relieve her inner turmoil."

"I will not retaliate against this sword strike."

"How dare you insult my master?!"

Lian Wuhen's originally cold eyes instantly turned bloodshot.

She had lived in seclusion with her master since childhood, and was used to seeing her master howl sadly at the portrait and hearing his whispered hatred that was like a poison that gnawed at the bones.

Seeing Wuming sitting there, seemingly resigned to his fate—

The resentment that had been simmering in his heart like a deep, dark current finally exploded.

"You want to be a saint? I'll make you a vengeful ghost!"

"Go to hell!!"

The red dress, like fire, bursts forth in an instant against the snowy backdrop!

The Regretful Sword swept across the void, drawing a chilling, eerie light, carrying a resentment powerful enough to cleave space itself, aiming straight for the Nameless One's chest—

The sword energy crisscrossed, shattering the snowflakes flying all over the sky and creating a transparent vacuum sword mark more than ten feet long!

however--

Nameless, motionless, unmoving.

He didn't even activate a fraction of his righteous spirit, which was enough to make him stand out in the martial arts world.

puff--

The harsh sound of tearing cloth.

The sword of regret moved with unstoppable force, piercing through the white robe in an instant.

The cold, sharp edge penetrated through the clothes, stopping abruptly less than an inch from the skin.

It's not that I lack skill.

Instead, it was the swordsman who, at the last moment, struggled violently and forcefully broke the momentum of his all-out attack.

The air felt heavy, almost frozen, at that moment.

The nameless man remained expressionless, staring intently at the cold blade that was almost pressed against his chest.

That bone-chilling coldness, in his eyes, was like the long-lost touch of an old friend.

Why didn't you fight back!?

Lian Wuhen gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles twisted and white from the extreme force.

His eyes, which had been as cold as ice, turned completely bloodshot, and his voice became as hoarse as a lone wolf weeping blood.

"I'm here to kill you!! I'm here to collect a debt for my master!!"

"You, the renowned legend of the martial arts world—why are you standing here like an animal waiting to be slaughtered, not even lifting a finger?!"

"Attack!! Unleash your Myriad Swords Return to Origin technique!! Showcase your Heavenly Sword realm!!!"

The hysterical roar echoed wildly across the desolate peak, only to be instantly torn apart by the howling wind and snow.

Lian Wuhen's mentality has completely collapsed.

She gambled away half a lifetime of misery and self-pity in pursuit of a battle that would make her famous throughout the world.

But her opponent didn't even glance at her sword.

This kind of ignored, "charitable" forgiveness is far more painful than killing her.

After a long while, the roar gradually faded into silence amidst the wind and snow.

Lian Wuhen's chest heaved violently, and the Regretful Heart Sword hummed incessantly in her hand—

The sword's edge, however, could not advance even half an inch further.

The madness in his bloodshot eyes slowly faded.

Instead, there was a desolate wasteland, like ashes.

"Kenshin... in the end, he is no match for you."

She gave a bitter smile, then abruptly stepped back and sheathed her sword.

It wasn't that she was exhausted—but rather that, faced with this overwhelming righteousness, she finally realized that her sword heart was trembling.

That obsession, nurtured by hatred, appears so narrow and so vulnerable in the face of this open and magnanimous heart.

"My master spent half his life teaching me to hate you—yet he couldn't cultivate a sword heart that could rival yours."

Lian Wuhen sheathed his longsword.

Clang—

The dull thud of metal clashing against metal was particularly jarring on the solitary peak.

She looked at Wuming, her eyes no longer burning with the previous intensity, only a deathly stillness that seemed to have seen through cause and effect.

"Let's make a note of this debt for now."

"Once I have rediscovered my true sword spirit, I will then seek guidance from the legends of the martial arts world."

After saying that, he didn't look back.

The red dress, like a smear of blood, vanished instantly into the heavy snowstorm.

The short-haired girl glanced at Wuming with concern, then followed closely behind.

Two figures vanished swiftly into the chaotic snow, leaving behind only a trail of footprints of varying depths, which were instantly covered by the fresh snow.

An unnamed, solitary peak.

The cold wind rushed into his torn white robe, but he was completely unaware.

He slowly opened his eyes, gazing at the vast white world, a bitter smile curving his lips.

This hurdle—I've passed it.

But how can the grievances from old grievances be settled by an unfinished test?