Wandering Swordsman |

"Don't be so cold," the third man said with a smile, leaning closer. "We brothers are all famous young masters in Jiangzhou. If you follow us, you'll enjoy endless wealth and glory."

Seeing this, Shen Mo felt a surge of killing intent. He was about to step forward when he saw Murong Qing and Situ Meng attack simultaneously. The two moved swiftly, their longswords already drawn, their light flashing like cold stars, instantly forcing the three of them back.

"Take another step forward, and you'll die!" Murong Qing's voice was as cold as ice, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Situ Meng coldly replied, "Your lives are not worth mentioning."

Upon hearing this, two young men's expressions changed, and they immediately took a few steps back, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads. They had initially thought these two women were just pretty faces, but they hadn't expected them to possess such courage.

Only the young man, who claimed to be the son of the "Iron Fist Sect" leader, ignored their warnings, relying on his martial arts skills. He grinned wickedly and continued to approach, his eyes lewd: "Ladies, don't be so resistant. My brother and I genuinely want to be friends with you."

He thought to himself: These two women are beautiful, but they seem to be just ordinary women from the martial arts world. Even if they have some skills, they can't be that great. If I just take a few steps forward, they definitely won't dare to make a move.

Situ Meng stared at him coldly, her eyes devoid of any emotion. She knew that this man had no idea what true martial arts were; otherwise, he would have already sensed her powerful internal energy.

"Take one more step forward, and I'll leave your arm here forever." Situ Meng's voice was calm, yet it carried a chilling killing intent.

The young man scoffed, "You?"

Before he could finish speaking, he had already lunged forward, reaching out to grab Situ Meng's shoulder. Just as he was about to touch her, Situ Meng moved swiftly, her longsword flashing like a silver rainbow, leaving only a blur in its wake.

"Whoosh!"

A flash of cold light, and the young man's right arm was severed at the shoulder. Blood spurted out, staining the bluestone pavement red. He let out a piercing scream, staggered back, clutching his severed arm, his eyes filled with unbelievable terror.

The surrounding crowd erupted in uproar. They had initially assumed these three young men were noblemen from Jiangzhou, and no one dared to provoke them, but unexpectedly, a woman had severed their arm with a single sword strike.

The young man with the missing arm lay sprawled on the ground, his screams turning into sobs, his face as pale as paper, and large beads of sweat mixed with tears rolling down his face.

He stared intently at his empty right shoulder, as if he couldn't believe that this mutilated body actually belonged to him. "My hand... my hand!" he cried out hoarsely, his voice filled with collapse and despair—this was not only a physical disability, but also the complete shattering of a martial artist's dignity.

The other two youths were already terrified.

The round-faced boy's legs trembled, and a dark stain spread from his crotch; the prefect's son was ashen-faced, his lips trembling as if he wanted to call for help, but he could only let out a weak "hoarse" sound.

They once thought Jiangzhou City was their domain, and that their fathers' names could scare away all villains. But now they realized that in front of this woman with a sword, their so-called power was nothing but a thin paper lantern that could be punctured with a single poke.

The crowd erupted in a frenzy of discussion. "Oh no, this girl's in big trouble!"

The old man selling steamed buns hunched his shoulders and whispered, "The Iron Fist Sect leader is extremely protective of his own. Last year, a vendor accidentally bumped into his son, and the man had three ribs broken!"

"Isn't that right?" the tea stall owner replied, wiping away cold sweat. "I heard that the sect leader practices the 'Bone-Crushing Fist,' a single punch that can dent even bluestone!"

One woman even pulled her child back, yelling, "Hurry up! Hurry up! Don't get covered in blood if they start fighting!"

The crowd felt pity for the young sect leader, but even more so for Situ Meng—in their minds, offending the Iron Fist Sect was tantamount to digging one's own grave.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from the street corner.

A group of black-clad martial artists escorted a burly man with a bushy beard as they sped towards them. The leader of the group was none other than Lei Wanjun, the leader of the Iron Fist Sect.

Upon hearing from his servants that his son had been bullied, he immediately overturned the stone table and rushed out of the mountain gate. At that moment, his eyes were bloodshot, veins bulged on his forehead, and his gaze swept across the crowd like a hawk's, finally fixing on the figure curled up on the ground.

"Zheng'er!" Lei Wanjun roared in grief, dismounted, and rushed to his son's side.

He trembled as he tore open his clothes to examine the wound. Seeing that the cut was as smooth as a mirror, his heart sank – such swordsmanship was far beyond the reach of ordinary martial artists!

But he had no time to think about it at that moment. He quickly pressed several acupoints on his son's shoulders and Tianquan to stop the bleeding, and then took out some wound medicine from his pocket and pressed it hard on the wound.

The young sect leader was in so much pain that his whole body was convulsing, but he bit his father's arm tightly and dared not make a sound.

After working for a while and waiting for the bleeding to slow down, Lei Wanjun slowly got up. He looked around and finally locked his gaze on Situ Meng, who was standing with her sword in hand.

When he saw that stunningly beautiful face, his pupils suddenly contracted, as if he had been struck in the chest by an invisible hammer—this face!

Situ Meng, daughter of the martial arts alliance leader!

Back then, as an outer member of the Martial Arts Alliance, he could only look up at the figure on the high platform from afar, but he deeply imprinted that moon-white robe into his memory.

"Ms....Ms. Situ?" Lei Wanjun's voice was dry and trembling, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

He subconsciously glanced at Murong Qing, who held a sword on the other side. Although he didn't know her name, he saw that her features were exquisite yet her face was frosty, and her aura was imposing and unapproachable. He knew she must be someone of equal stature. Just as he was about to apologize, he caught a glimpse of a figure in black stepping forward.

Shen Mo gently grasped Situ Meng's wrist, drawing her slightly cool fingertips into his palm. "Meng'er, were you frightened?" he asked softly, his tone completely different from before.

Lei Wanjun's gaze followed the raised hand, and he finally saw the face of the person who had come up.

In an instant, he was struck dumb, as if his blood had been frozen into ice! That imposing and unyielding stance—it was none other than Shen Mo, the "Sword God" who had repelled the evil cultivators from overseas outside Nanjing!

"It's...it's all over..." Lei Wanjun's legs went weak, and he almost knelt on the ground. Cold sweat instantly soaked through three layers of clothing, and only one thought was frantically pounding in his mind: My son has caused a terrible disaster!

"Thump!"

Lei Wanjun suddenly slammed his knees to the ground, his forehead hitting the blood-stained bluestone slab. "Sword God, please forgive me! My son was blind and offended you, Madam. He deserves his punishment!" he howled hoarsely, each word splattered with blood. "Please, for his youth and ignorance..." Before he could finish speaking, he drew his sword from his waist and was about to slash at his own leg!

"Stop it," Shen Mo said calmly.

The sound wasn't loud, but it froze Lei Wanjun in place as if he had been granted a pardon.

He glanced over and saw Shen Mo carefully wiping the bloodstains from Situ Meng's sword blade with the corner of his sleeve, his movements as gentle as brushing away dewdrops from flower petals.

The legendary "Sword God," who was said to kill without blinking an eye, was now filled with tenderness: "Leave it to me next time, don't get your hands dirty."

The onlookers were completely stunned. Some rubbed their eyes to confirm, some pinched their thighs, and many more quietly shrank back—they finally understood that what they were witnessing today was not an ordinary feud between martial arts masters, but a deity descending to earth! The girl they thought was doomed was actually someone who could make the Iron Fist Sect leader kowtow and beg for mercy!

Lei Wanjun crawled two steps on his knees, dragged his son to Shen Mo's feet, and knelt down with him. Only then did the young sect leader see the fear streaming down his father's face, and following his gaze to the man in black, he trembled violently, his crotch soaked. "Sword...Sword God..." he stammered, his teeth chattering.