Wandering Swordsman |

A flicker of fear crossed her eyes, which then transformed into an eerie red light: "Such methods are beyond the capabilities of ordinary masters. I suspect... it's Guiguzi!"

The moment the name "Guiguzi" was uttered, the hall fell into a deathly silence.

Even Oda's golden pupils suddenly contracted.

He slowly rose to his feet, his body enveloped in surging black energy.

"Guiguzi..." he murmured, his voice seeming to come from the depths of the netherworld.

He slammed his palm down!

"boom--!"

The entire long black iron table shattered with a crash, splinters of wood flew everywhere, and maps scattered in all directions.

The places marked by the cinnabar circle—Nanjing, Qingcheng, Shaolin, Wudang, and others—were all blurred by the force of the palm strike.

"Pass on the order!" Oda's voice boomed like thunder. "Send a message by carrier pigeon immediately to the eastern coast! Report this to the other two leaders!"

......

Thousands of miles away, on the East China Sea.

The raging waves, as black as ink, crashed against the dark reefs, their spray bursting like snowflakes, then whipped into a thick, icy mist by the howling wind. The sky hung low, dark clouds churning, as if even the heavens themselves were oppressed by this menacing aura, unable to breathe.

A colossal ship, pitch black and resembling a ghost ship, broke through the waves. It had no flags, but a bronze skull stood at its bow, its eyes inlaid with blood jade, gleaming with an eerie light, as if it were alive.

A man stood at the bow of the ship. He was thin, with a face as pale as paper, and long, narrow eyes with an eerie silver-gray tinge in his pupils.

He held a folding fan in his hand, the fan surface painted with a blood moon, the moonlight flowing around as if drops of blood were slowly sliding down.

This person was none other than Toyotomi, the leader of the "Kamikaze Battalion".

He stood with his hands behind his back, his robes fluttering in the wind, his aura as cold as frost. The sea breeze brushed against his face, and no one dared to approach him more than three feet away, as if even the forces of nature feared his evil arts.

Suddenly, a dark shadow streaked down from the sky like a meteor falling into the sea—it was the messenger pigeon of the Righteous Alliance.

Toyotomi raised his hand, and the black dove froze in mid-air, as if held up by an invisible hand, and slowly fell into his palm.

With a flick of his finger, he opened the copper tube, took out the secret letter, and his silver pupils suddenly contracted as he glanced at it.

"I didn't expect Guiguzi to show up so quickly."

He murmured softly, then laughed loudly, his voice like the cry of an owl, shaking the sea and causing the waves to surge. The waves even froze for a moment during the laughter!

"Hahaha! The Central Plains martial arts world's trump card has finally been revealed!" He snapped his fan shut and pointed sharply towards the eastern coast. "All troops, listen up—land at Fengcheng in three days!"

......

Meanwhile, at the mouth of the Yangtze River.

Huating County is no longer the water town of Jiangnan it once was.

Hundreds of corpses hung from the city walls, all impaled on the shoulders with iron hooks, dangling upside down from the towers, swaying in the wind like human-shaped wind chimes. Blood flowed through the cracks in the bricks, flowing into the moat, turning the water red and foul-smelling, and killing all fish and shrimp.

There were no civilians in the city, only squads of Japanese samurai dressed in jet-black armor, their armor engraved with hideous demon faces, their iron boots, their steps synchronized, like mechanical puppets.

The main hall of the county government office has been converted into military tents.

There were no lights in the hall, only a huge bronze cauldron, with a ghostly green flame burning inside, the firelight illuminating the figure on the main seat—Tokugawa.

He sat upright on a tiger-skin throne, his figure as imposing as a mountain. He wore a scarlet battle robe over a black-scaled soft armor, and a live venomous snake coiled around his shoulder, its eyes a ghostly green, hissing and flicking its tongue. His face was stern, with a scar on his left cheek that ran from his brow bone to the corner of his lip, as if it had been slashed open by a sharp sword and forcibly stitched back together.

He was toying with a black dove in his hand; it was a secret letter from Diancang Mountain.

After reading the letter, he neither laughed nor got angry. He simply closed his eyes slowly, and after a long while, he whispered, "Guiguzi... has finally shown himself."

The voice was deep and muffled, like thunder from the ground, yet it caused the dozens of overseas martial artists in the tent to lower their heads and not dare to breathe.

The lieutenant stepped forward and asked in a low voice, "Chief, what's the next step?"

Tokugawa slowly opened his eyes, which were devoid of light, yet seemed to hold an abyss.

"No." He shook his head, his voice eerily calm. "Guiguzi has already appeared. He has notified all other units to halt their advance on the Martial Alliance and to establish a base in place. They will wait for His Majesty the Divine Emperor to arrive before launching a final assault together with the 'Divine Wind Camp'."

He slowly rose and walked to the sand table in the hall. On the sand table, the terrain of the Central Plains was vividly depicted, with the nine factions, eight great families, and four academies all marked with different flags.

He lightly tapped the sand table with his fingertips, the sound like a viper flicking its tongue:

"Pass on my orders: dispatch envoys to the nine sects and one gang, the eight great families, and the four great academies..."

......

The world of martial arts is brewing, and a storm is brewing.

In the Central Plains, three forces surged like a black tide—Oda was stationed in the southwest, Toyotomi crossed the East China Sea, and Tokugawa guarded the Yangtze River. All three practiced evil arts of the East, and their strengths were roughly equal. They did not belong to any one other, but they all served the orders of the Divine Emperor.

......

The morning mist, like a veil, gently shrouded the city of Nanjing.

As the first rays of light pierced through, the entire city was bathed in a hazy glow of pale gold and milky white.

Looking at the Martial Alliance from afar, its eaves soar into the sky like a hawk about to take flight, its golden tiles reflecting the morning glow, shimmering and colorful, as if a heavenly palace has descended to earth.

The vermilion gate was wide open, the copper rings hung silently, and the door studs were like stars. Guards stood in two rows on both sides, dressed in black robes and carrying swords, with solemn expressions.

The sound of horses' hooves grew louder as they approached, crisp and clear like pearls falling onto a plate, shattering the dewdrops that had condensed on the bluestone slabs, splashing up tiny, sparkling fragments like scattered stars.

Three riders entered the city.

Shen Mo stood in the center, his black robes dusty and travel-worn, his brows showing signs of weariness from a long journey. Yet his back remained as straight as a pine tree, his gaze calm as an ancient well, as if the arduous journey had not diminished his sharpness. He held the reins slightly tight, his knuckles white from holding them for so long, yet his grip was as firm as a rock.

Li Fanglin rode his horse to the left, his face cold and frosty, his gaze like a blade sweeping across the streets and alleys, not missing a single shadow or window. He remained vigilant, his knuckles twitching slightly, as if a murderous intent lurked, waiting to be unleashed. He was silent, yet like a half-drawn, cold blade, he deterred anyone from approaching.

On the right horse, Situ Meng wore a plain linen dress, her hair simply tied up with a jade hairpin. She wore no makeup, her face was slightly haggard, and her lips were pale, but her eyes were as bright as stars, reflecting the morning light, like the first ray of dawn after the night.

After entering the Martial Alliance, the three headed straight for the Martial Alliance's main hall.

Inside the hall, wisps of incense smoke curled, the sandalwood fragrance clinging to the beams and pillars. The high-ranking members of the Martial Arts Alliance were seated, their gazes fixed on the scene, holding their breath in concentration.

Situ Dengfeng stood atop the high platform, clad in a black robe with gold patterns. Normally as imposing as a mountain, he trembled slightly upon seeing the three figures. His eyes, which had witnessed countless storms in the martial world, were fixed intently on his daughter, as if trying to etch every inch of her features into his heart.

"Meng'er..."

A soft call, like the wind passing through a pine forest, carried an indescribable tenderness.

Situ Meng looked up at her father's weathered face, etched with the lines of time, and her heart ached as if a thousand-pound weight were pressing on her chest. She hurried forward, her skirt swaying slightly, and stood before Situ Dengfeng, kneeling slightly, her voice choked with emotion: "Father... I'm sorry to have worried you."

Situ Dengfeng lifted her up, gripping her arms tightly with his hands like iron clamps, his knuckles white from the force. He looked her up and down, from her hair to her fingertips, making sure she was unharmed before letting out a heavy sigh, his chest heaving as if a tremendous burden had been lifted. "It's good that you're back safe and sound! It's good that you're back safe and sound..."

He turned around abruptly, his gaze sharp as lightning, sweeping over Shen Mo.

Shen Mo clasped his hands in a fist and said in a deep voice, "Alliance Leader, Miss Situ has been brought back safely, and the matter of the haunting in Qingcheng has also been investigated."