Daily life of a teacher in the martial arts department

Indeed, this is true; even when Kui engages in battle, he rarely uses lethal force unless his opponent is truly courting death.

The Sword Saint exhaled a breath of stale air, clutched his heart, and stood up unsteadily.

He was unable to answer Kui.

He looked up... and the sky and earth were a deep crimson.

However, what was red was not the sky and the earth, but the blood flowing from his head, which had soaked into his eyes.

His mind was foggy and hazy... The Sword Saint had never felt so clearly that he was about to die.

It was like an irreversible destiny, an inevitable ending, just like a drunk driver going 180 km/h and suddenly a ghost appears out of nowhere at an intersection... At that moment, time suddenly slowed down, the person was sobered up by the fright, but also felt even more desperate.

Because he knew he couldn't change anything; no matter how hard he tried to brake, the car wouldn't stop.

"Still want to fight...? Of course."

"It's still going...it's not over yet."

The Sword Saint knew in his heart that too many people wanted to stop him.

One's own disciples and retainers.

The royal family of Cherry Blossom Country.

The people were invited by his own granddaughter.

The girl, Hiramura Tanzakura, whom her own son adopted.

They all wanted to stop him because they all thought he would die... but he knew it too well.

But even in death... he wanted to know what kind of realm the so-called "Investiture of the Gods" was, and how one could truly reach that realm.

He has been pursuing this state for a long time.

His first dojo teacher, someone who could hardly be called a master, once told him this.

"Mingjue, you must understand that from the moment you stepped into the world of martial arts, you have only one goal... and that is to become the strongest."

"Only the strongest, the absolute strongest. Everything else is meaningless. There's no such thing as early fame or late success; it's all empty talk. All you can pursue are these two words... and that is, the strongest."

The Sword Saint slowly...slowly, assumed his stance.

He couldn't speak. As soon as he opened his mouth, blood would rush up before he could speak. If he spat out this blood, he would have no fighting ability at all.

So he was just putting on a show.

He has one knife... and he has another knife.

"Want to fight again..." Kui lowered his gaze slightly and said softly, "Then let's go."

He slowly walked towards the Sword Saint, perhaps because he believed that the Sword Saint was no longer able to take the initiative in his current state.

The Sword Saint had already closed his eyes.

He heard the whistling wind beside his ears, the heavy, steady footsteps of Kui, and the hushed discussions of the martial artists around him.

These sounds gradually disappeared: first the sound of the wind, then the sound of footsteps, and then the sounds of the surrounding martial artists... It seemed as if all the sounds in the world had vanished.

In the stillness of the night, he heard soft humming.

He reached out towards the sound and grasped a knife.

It was the ferryman... The sound he had just heard was the ferryman's soft chanting.

This sword accompanied him through many years, from the time he was twenty until sixty years old.

This sword has saved many people, but now, it must save itself.

With his strength, if he had chosen a different method of cultivation and lived a life of luxury, living to 150 years old wouldn't have been difficult... but now he's going to die at 80.

The Sword Saint did not regret it. He was unwilling to live a life where every minute and every second was calculated, a so-called "self-disciplined" life, which made him feel like a dead man.

He is now incredibly close to death, and strangely enough... he has never felt more alive than he does now.

Alive.

Is living just about surviving?

The Sword Saint closed his eyes and raised his head; even with his eyes closed, he could feel the sun.

He wanted to become the sun, so that even if others closed their eyes, his light and heat would penetrate through everything.

Returning to the original, most primal glory of martial artists, like a fighting god...

To name an era after oneself.

Living is a choice, but dying is an attitude.

The Sword Saint... grasped the ferryman.

Suddenly, Himura Tanzaku opened her eyes wide, her scarlet pupils fixed intently on the Sword Saint.

Ying Qin Guan seemed to sense something and suddenly looked up... His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted Yu Xietian to give him a real knife, but in the end he held back and did not say it.

Kui paused slightly... his pupils contracted, as if he had sensed something.

But Kui is Kui after all... He still took a step forward and approached the half-dead old man.

The world of the Sword Saint was pitch black, with only the sun in the sky emitting its sole and final light and heat.

Kui took another step.

The swordsman suddenly drew his sword.

A sudden stab... it came so suddenly, yet so naturally.

"The Divine Sword Emperor? Martial Arts Through the Ages."

There were no special effects, and even the amount of internal energy used to enhance it was pitifully small... This slash was unleashed.

The sword was positioned very poorly, landing on Kui's shoulder blade, a difficult spot to strike.

However... the Sword Saint's strike went right in!

It severed the shoulder blades, severed the ribs, unstoppable, advancing ever deeper!

A chilling, eerie sound rang out—the sound of the blade striking the skull.

This strike... was simply like a god reborn.

Deeper and deeper, the last protective layer of the heart, the ribs, are nearing their limit, and the sound of bones cracking echoes continuously.

Perhaps in just one more second, this slash would have actually cut through.

But the next moment, a strange sound rang out...

That was the sound of a sword breaking!

Ultimately, the ferryman couldn't withstand the pressure and was broken. A large section remained inside Kui's body, leaving only the hilt in the Sword Saint's hand. The Sword Saint was still exerting force, but he was holding only the hilt, using his strength in empty air.

Even though this famous sword from a hundred years ago has been regularly maintained and repaired, and has undergone two reforgings, it is still a sword from a hundred years ago.

The swordsman thought the sword would save him, but unexpectedly... he was the one who saved the sword.

"Ha...hahaha...hahahahaha..."

He couldn't help but burst into laughter, because he found it incredibly funny. This was battle! You never knew what would happen next, you never knew whether the ending or the unexpected would come first, or both at the same time...

After the laughter subsided, the expression on his face gradually returned to calm.

Having lived eighty years, I am skilled in all kinds of martial arts, including swords, bows, and halberds. I wonder how I compare to Ye Jiaofang, who has mastered all the martial arts styles...

I hate the short cherry blossom season, I hate my youthful ignorance, I hate the wasted years of middle age, I hate my declining health, I hate the waning of my skills, I hate the trivial matters of family and country, I hate that heroes of the world do not gather together, I hate that I cannot fight against all the heroes of the past and present, I hate that the ancients did not see my madness...

As the wind howled, the hilt of the ferryman's sword slipped from the sword saint's hand and fell to the ground.

Ying Qin Guan said softly:

He died from exhaustion.

Chapter Forty-Three: Treading the waves of the mortal world with both feet, bearing the sorrows of the past and present on one's shoulders.

June 6th, evening.

The Yorozuya group was on their way back to the hotel.

The three of them didn't say much. Yu Xietian had a rich expression, and it seemed that he had some unspeakable amazement in his heart. Shen Xin was silent, and it was unknown what he was thinking. Ying Qin Guan was as usual, staring with a pair of dead fish eyes, and his listless appearance reminded people of a salted fish.

"I'm saying..."

Suddenly, Shenxin raised the small blackboard.

"For you martial artists, is being strong, or even the strongest, really that important?"

It was already late, and there were no lights around. Fortunately, with their combined strength, they were able to make out the words on the Divine Heart Blackboard with a slight surge of their inner energy.

“I have a lot to say about this issue.” Yu Xietian paused slightly, looked at Ying Qin Guan with a calm expression, and said, “But thinking about it, you should still have the right to speak… Why don’t we hear your thoughts?”

"The strongest..." Ying Qin Guan was silent for a moment, then, as if recalling something, said, "I have quite a lot to say about that. A dying beggar once told me something like this..."

"Pure fighters are the most useless people in the world."

Ying Qin Guan made a startling statement, this sweeping generalization included all martial artists throughout history, including himself!

Yu Xietian and Shen Xin's expressions changed slightly. Although they knew there must be more to this statement, it was still too frightening.

"Back then, I was just like you, completely unable to understand that statement, wondering why martial artists were useless." Ying Qin Guan's voice was calm, his face expressionless.

"That beggar told me that martial artists are indeed completely useless. They aren't alchemists, unable to bring about various technologies that change lives and eras. They aren't magicians either, unable to summon rain for parched fields or blast through a mountain blocking a road with magic. Compared to them, martial artists are utterly useless. However, the meaning of a martial artist's existence lies in..."

Looking out from Ying Qin Pass, it was as if he saw his own ancient... or perhaps not so ancient, but memories that seemed like a lifetime ago in comparison.

"Martial artists can protect useful people."

Shen Xin's pupils contracted slightly, while Yu Xietian remained silent.

Martial artists...are useless, but they can protect those who are useful.

The two looked at Ying Qin Guan, but because it was dark, they could not see Ying Qin Guan's face clearly, and could only hear his voice.

"That beggar told me quite a lot, but I only remembered part of it. Now, with a slight modification, it can answer your question."

Ying Qin Guan gave a not-so-funny smile as he forced a smile and said, "Of course, since you asked that, I'll only say the good things..."

Then he said: