Wandering Swordsman |

Oda remained silent, only slowly placing his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

The next moment—

"Clang!"

Longsword drawn!

Situ Dengfeng's figure soared like a dragon, his sword aura surged like a river flowing backward, and his move "Nine Mountains Collapse Clouds" aimed straight for Oda's throat! Wherever the sword energy passed, it plowed three deep trenches into the ground!

Oda, however, moved aside like a ghost, his sword flashing like the flapping of a night crow's wings. The two swords clashed, sparks flew, and the sound was like tearing silk!

The two figures flashed past each other, as fast as afterimages. Situ Dengfeng's swordsmanship was wide and powerful, unparalleled in its ferocity, each strike seemingly carrying the force of a mountain; Oda's swordsmanship was unpredictable and ruthless, like a venomous snake coiling around the body, targeting vital points such as joints, meridians, and eyes.

After thirty moves, Situ Dengfeng had gained the upper hand, his sword strikes like a surging tide, forcing Oda to retreat repeatedly.

"Our leader is mighty!"

"Kill him!"

Just moments before, deafening cheers erupted from within the martial arts alliance's ranks, a surging tide of sound suggesting victory was already in sight. The disciples waved their arms and shouted, their eyes burning with fervent hope—the alliance leader's sword would surely vanquish evil and restore order!

But at that moment, Oda's eyes suddenly flashed with golden light, like a lone wolf in the wilderness eyeing its prey at night, and his figure suddenly blurred.

In an instant, seven phantom images of Oda appeared on the field!

Each one stood with a sword in hand, their robes fluttering, their movements unpredictable, making it difficult to distinguish the real from the fake.

The sword light poured down like a torrential rain, piercing from all directions. The cold light wove a net of death, locking Situ Dengfeng firmly in the center!

Situ Dengfeng felt a chill run down his spine, and his sword strike faltered slightly—these seven illusory figures felt so real that he couldn't find the slightest flaw.

In that very moment when his mind wavered—

His true form emerged from behind him, like a ghost returning from hell!

Oda's longsword, like a venomous snake spitting its tongue, silently pierced straight into his vital point in the back!

Situ Dengfeng suddenly sensed something, twisted his body sharply, and swept his sword back, attempting to save himself with "Wind Brushing Willow," but he was ultimately a beat too late—

"laugh--!"

The sword pierced three inches into the flesh, and blood gushed out like a spring, blooming into a dazzling red lotus on the snow!

He staggered forward, collapsing heavily to one knee, sending snow flying. His long sword was deeply embedded in the ground, supporting his still-standing body. His half-white hair fell down, unable to conceal the blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained as blazing as torches, as fiery as flames, as unquenchable as stars.

"father--!!!"

On the city wall, Situ Meng let out a heart-wrenching cry, like a sharp blade piercing the sky. Without hesitation, she drew her sword and leaped off the wall, her white robes fluttering like a lone goose in the snow, her eyes fixed only on her father's blood-stained back.

Oda sneered, flicking away the blood droplets with the tip of his sword, his voice as cold as iron:

"Martial Arts Alliance Leader, is this all you've achieved?"

"It seems the information that you suffered hidden injuries during the great battle with the Demonic Sect, damaging your meridians and reducing your strength to only half of its peak... is true."

These words were like a knife, piercing not only Situ Dengfeng's body, but also the last vestige of pride in the entire martial arts alliance.

A deafening burst of wild laughter erupted from the overseas side!

Laughter, like a tidal wave, like thunder, like the wailing of ten thousand ghosts, resounded throughout the entire city of Nanjing. They raised their swords high, roaring "The Central Plains are dead!" and "Long live the Divine Emperor!" The sound waves almost lifted the walls of Nanjing.

Meanwhile, the martial arts alliance was shrouded in silence.

The deafening cheers just moments ago evaporated like morning dew meeting the sun; replaced by a suffocating silence. Some stood frozen, their pupils unfocused, as if their souls had been pierced by that sword; others gripped their sword hilts tightly, their knuckles turning white—even the alliance leader had been defeated… Did we still have hope?

Morale plummeted like a kite with a broken string, crashing to the bottom of the valley, with even the wind unwilling to give it a ride.

Just as despair filled the air, a figure in pure white appeared like a startled swan, swiftly descending into the arena.

It's Situ Meng.

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying out loud.

She knelt beside her father, her trembling hand quickly reaching for the wound on his back. The moment her fingertips touched the warm blood, her heart ached. Fighting back her grief, she whispered, "Father, hold on... I'll take you home!"

Before she finished speaking, she had already used her lightness skill, one hand around her father's waist, the other on his shoulder, her toes barely touching the ground, her figure as graceful as a willow catkin swaying in the wind, and in a few leaps she reached the city wall. She was careful with every step, afraid that the bumps would aggravate her father's injuries, but tears in her eyes could no longer be held back, dripping onto Situ Dengfeng's blood-stained clothes.

On the city wall, the martial arts alliance's doctor had already prepared wound medicine and silver needles. Upon seeing her come up, he immediately went to greet her.

Situ Meng held his hand tightly, her voice choked with emotion but firm: "Father, you rest... leave the rest to us."

......

Below the city walls, Jianzhen stood with his hands behind his back, his white-gold robe fluttering in the wind and snow. He gazed at the figures of the father and daughter atop the city wall, a cold smile curving his lips. Then, he spoke in a loud voice, his tone like a resounding bell echoing through the valleys:

"Even the martial arts alliance leader himself was defeated in a single battle. In the vast Central Plains, with its nine sects, one gang, eight great families, and millions of martial artists—is there anyone who dares to accept a second round?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd on the city wall, his eyes filled with mockery:

"If no one accepts the challenge, it means we have conceded defeat. From this day forward, the Martial Alliance belongs to the Divine Emperor, and the Central Plains martial world will be under my control, Jianzhen! Gentlemen—will you fight or surrender?"

These words were like a knife, once again carving into the already battered dignity of the Martial Alliance.

The disciples in the formation looked at each other, none daring to answer. Even the alliance leader had been defeated; who would dare to step forward? And who could possibly win?

Despair pervaded like a thick fog, freezing even the wind and silencing the snow. The flags of the Nine Factions and One Gang hung low in the cold wind, as if even they were ashamed to raise them again.

Just as all was about to fall silent and people's hearts were about to crumble—

A slender figure leaped down from the city wall!

Her clothes fluttered like crane wings soaring through the air, and her toes lightly touched the ground, leaving no trace, as if she were stepping on clouds rather than earth.

The newcomer landed silently, raising a light dust, his white robe as white as snow; he was none other than Mr. Wang, the director of the Elite Academy.

He stood in the center of the arena, his figure slender yet as immovable as a solitary pine tree on a cliff. His gaze, calm as an ancient well, slowly swept across the entire hall; his voice, though not loud, was sharp and resonant, piercing straight to the heart.

"The second round, it's my turn."

Before the words were finished, a sneer suddenly rang out from the overseas evil cultivators' formation.

"Old man, who are you?" Tokugawa strode out, clad in heavy black scale armor, with a long sword at his waist that looked like a menacing ghost's fang.

His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken, and his pupils gleamed with an eerie green, like a night demon rising from a grave. He sized up Mr. Wang, a wide grin revealing gleaming white teeth:

"I do not kill nameless nobodies. If you do not wish to die, step back and let the leaders of the nine sects of the Central Plains martial arts world come out to fight!"

"Could it be... that you can't even muster a decent expert? You've sent an old man out to die!"

The sarcasm was like a poisonous needle, piercing the last vestiges of dignity in the Central Plains.

Mr. Wang simply chuckled.

The next moment—

His aura suddenly flared outwards!

There was no earth-shattering noise, no strange phenomenon of swirling dust and wind, only an invisible force spreading out like a tide.