Wandering Swordsman |

She reached out and gently grasped Shen Mo's wrist, her grip firm: "Senior Situ appointed you not because of your battle today, but because of your unwavering commitment. If you decline, is it because you fear you cannot bear the responsibility? Or... are you afraid the Central Plains martial arts world will not trust you?"

Shen Mo was taken aback and looked at the two women—Tu Meng's eyes held a gentle trust, like spring water nourishing all things, silent yet profound; Murong Qing's eyes held a burning determination, like a raging fire burning the sky, blazing and unending.

Murong Qing looked him straight in the eye and said, "No matter what decision you make, Meng'er and I will always support you."

A helpless yet warm smile appeared on his lips. Then, he turned to face the entire arena, his voice steady and resonant, echoing through the heavens: "Even if I do not assume the position of Alliance Leader—" he enunciated each word clearly, his gaze sharp as a sword, "if the Central Plains are in peril, as a member of the Central Plains martial arts world, I will never stand idly by! If external enemies invade, I will meet them with my sword; if internal traitors cause chaos, I will slay them with my blade; if the Way collapses, I will stand as a pillar; if righteousness is extinguished, I will use my blood as a lamp!"

These words were like thunder, shaking heaven and earth!

The crowd, their blood boiling, shouted in unison, "We are willing to follow Young Hero Shen and defend the righteous path of the Central Plains martial arts world!"

......

What Shen Mo didn't know was—

On this very day, his deeds spread like wildfire throughout the martial world: Shen Mo, with his sword, repelled the God Emperor, retrieved the Martial God's treasure, and protected the Central Plains martial world!

From then on, people in the martial arts world bestowed upon him a new title with the highest respect—Sword God!

From then on, in the whispers of the martial world and in the dreams of children, there was always a figure in black, wielding the Green Ox Sword, guarding the martial arts world of the Central Plains!

......

Not long after, the aftershocks of the battle beneath Nanjing, like thunder rolling across mountains and rivers, tearing through clouds and shattering morning dew, finally reached the heart of the southwest—the Cangshan Righteous Alliance.

Inside the council chamber, the air was heavy and oppressive, a suffocating mix of the sweet, metallic scent of the Crimson Nightmare Flower and the stench of aged blood rust.

"The Divine Emperor... has been defeated!" An elder of the Righteous Alliance read the secret letter with trembling hands, his voice like tearing silk, almost incoherent. "The Toyotomi leader was beheaded on the spot, and the Oda leader and others... directly withdrew from the Central Plains with the Divine Emperor. All the Japanese warriors were evacuated from the East Sea overnight!"

"Snapped!"

The hall was deathly silent; even the wind chimes had stopped chirping.

Situ Changkong sat upright in the main seat, his face as cold and stern as if carved by a knife. He slowly raised his head, his face as frosty as ice, but his eyes were churning with an unbelievable storm of emotions—not fear, but the excruciating pain of a collapsing faith.

"...Defeated?" he muttered to himself, his voice dry and cracked like withered leaves scraping against stone, each word laced with a harshness. "A god-emperor even stronger than Oda Nobunaga...and he actually lost?"

He suddenly stood up, his movement so forceful that his sleeves flipped over the celadon teacup on the table—with a crisp "clang!"—the tea spilled like blood, soaking the two characters "Nanjing" on the map, as if the Central Plains were washing away shame with blood.

"Did the letter say... who you lost to?" His voice suddenly rose, his fingertips digging deeply into his palms, his nails almost embedding into his flesh.

The elder's throat bobbed, his voice trembling slightly: "The letter says... he is a supernova who appeared out of nowhere in the Central Plains martial arts world, known as—'Sword God'."

"Sword God?" Situ Changkong sneered, his lips twisted like a knife. "Ha... A 'god' has actually emerged in the Central Plains? Ridiculous! Who is it? Which sect leader has broken through to a higher level of martial arts? Or did Guiguzi appear and defeat the God Emperor?"

His gaze was like that of a hawk, fixed intently on the elder.

The elder lowered his head, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible: "...It's Shen Mo."

"What?!"

Situ Changkong was struck dumb, his body swaying as he staggered back half a step, crashing into the armrest of the iron chair with a dull thud. His eyes widened, his pupils contracting violently, as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world.

"Impossible!" he roared hoarsely, his voice tearing through the air. "Absolutely impossible!"

He slammed his fist on the table, sending splinters flying. "He's barely twenty! Even with some extraordinary encounters, there's absolutely no way he could defeat the Divine Emperor! The Divine Emperor is a martial arts prodigy from Japan, having already reached the 'Return to Simplicity' realm at such a young age. His inner strength is as deep as an abyss, and his moves are unpredictable—even Guiguzi couldn't be his match! Shen Mo? What makes him think he can?!"

Just then, a crimson figure slowly emerged from the shadows.

Wei Honglian, dressed in a long, blood-red lotus gown, was alluring and fiery, but now her face was devoid of any seductive smile, only filled with shock and disbelief. Her voice trembled slightly, carrying a hint of fear that she herself was unaware of:

"Shen Mo... how is that possible?" she murmured. "I've seen him fight with my own eyes. Although he was fast and skillful, he was still within the realm of 'human'... But the God Emperor... the God Emperor has already reached the 'Return to Simplicity' realm, inheriting the power of successive God Emperors. How could he possibly be defeated by a mere Shen Mo?"

Upon hearing this, Situ Changkong felt as if his blood had frozen in an instant, only to boil and surge again in the next moment, causing him excruciating pain in his internal organs.

He staggered a step, grabbed the cold seat for support, his fingertips turned white from the force, and his knuckles made a faint cracking sound.

Countless images flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern—that day outside the Black Wind Gang, Shen Mo turned and left, his figure so fast that not even a shadow remained, only a wisp of wind brushing against the withered grass; he secretly plotted within the Martial Alliance, setting a trap to frame Shen Mo as a spy for the Demonic Sect, but it was thwarted on the spot; even when Oda led the Three-Handed Sword Demon and others to Nanjing, he was still fantasizing: as long as the Divine Emperor conquered the Central Plains, no matter how talented Shen Mo was, he would have no chance to turn the tide…

But now—the words "Sword God" struck him like a thunderbolt, shattering all his plans, pride, and ambition into dust!

"Could it be..." His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper, each word like blood squeezed from the depths of his throat, "He's been hiding his strength all along? From beginning to end... he's been looking down on us?"

This thought, like a venomous snake, gnawed at his reason.

He suddenly realized that—his self-criticism of martial arts, his arduous cultivation of the "Divine Martial Return to Truth Technique," his association with evil cultivators overseas, and his betrayal of the Central Plains martial arts world—all of this, in Shen Mo's eyes, was perhaps nothing more than a laughable one-man show!

"How laughable! Even if I mastered the 'Divine Martial Return to Truth Technique' now..." he muttered to himself, the light in his eyes gradually fading, "there's absolutely no way I could defeat him."

After Situ Changkong faced reality, his heart sank to the bottom.

Just as despair overwhelmed him like a tidal wave, Wei Honglian slowly stepped forward, her crimson eyes blazing like flames, yet unusually revealing a hint of tenderness. She gently grasped his icy wrist, her voice as soft as a whisper under the moonlight:

"Brother Changkong... come back to Japan with me." Her gaze was firm, with an unyielding resolve. "Let bygones be bygones regarding the affairs of the Central Plains martial arts world. You have done your best and have a clear conscience. With me, Honglian, by your side in Japan, you can confidently forge your own path again."

Situ Changkong slowly raised his head, his eyes empty like a dry well, but after a moment, a stubborn light flashed across them.

"If I were to go to Japan to end this miserable life..." His voice was low, but each word was clear, "Aside from the matter of Shen Mo, there is still one thing I haven't finished."

The Crimson Lotus Demon was taken aback, her crimson eyes flashing slightly: "What is it?"

"Qilin Village." He uttered the three words as if carved in stone.

Honglian frowned slightly, then relaxed. She didn't ask why, but a bewitching yet gentle smile appeared on her lips: "Alright. I'll help you settle this matter."

This grudge was something Situ Changkong had never forgotten, nor had he ever mentioned, keeping it buried deep in his heart. Now, with the tide turned against him and his ambitions shattered, he was finally going to live for himself—not for power, not for fame, but only for the blood debt that had not yet been avenged.