Kwaggagak!

As the sword qi rising from the Empty Blade Grip deflected the formless slash, a deep trench was carved into the ground beside the Sword Ghost.

Bursting out from the swirling dust, the man with the gloomy expression swung his arm.

In the empty air, his ashen qi wavered in the form of a sword.

As that force grew sharper, I responded in kind, surging my own sword qi to meet it.

Kaang!

Though my sword was blocked in midair by nothing, the sound that rang out was unmistakably steel against steel.

Then came the shockwave from the clash of qi, scattering the dust cloud instantly.

Was it because the Sword Ghost’s realm was still unstable? The qi that should have been unwavering trembled, and slowly began to be shaved away by my sword qi.

But that was all.

No matter how much of his qi I cut down, the sword in his grip—his fingers extended like a blade—remained untouched.

I had hoped that, unlike in my past life, my sword could now reach places it once could not, and cut through things it could not before.

That will, embodied in willpower, allowed my slash to cut space and sever the formless.

The Sword Ghost’s Empty Blade Grip was likely the same.

He was the one who wished to become a sword. Unless he died, or his spirit broke, that sword would never shatter.

I knew it in my head—willpower is the strength that forces the impossible into reality.

All warriors of the Flowering Stage could perform miracles without heaven’s help, and the same was true for both myself and the Sword Ghost.

But knowing something and understanding it are two different things.

Surprisingly, the Sword Ghost seemed to feel the same. As I opened my mouth, so did he.

“Sword Demon. You’re not wielding the sword, you’re wielding your realm.”

“Sword Ghost. You’re not wielding the sword, you’re being wielded by it.”

We glared at each other in silence. As the strength in our blades intensified, both of us swung widely, knocking the other back and creating distance.

It was partly reflexive, and partly by design.

Normally, creating distance like this would mean resetting our stance and clashing again—

But for me, this range was still well within striking distance.

“Hrrk!”

Another formless slash sliced through the air, this time aimed straight at the Sword Ghost’s neck, and rather than adjust his posture, he swung first.

Kwaaang!

Driven back by the impact, the Sword Ghost slid backward. His posture was unsteady, but to him, that meant little.

Though his stance twisted and he seemed to suffer minor internal injury, his sword remained unwavering.

That was what made the Sword Ghost terrifying. Unlike me, who sought out and exploited openings, he could continue to swing no matter how exposed he was.

That’s why, even after many duels in my past life, we could never reach a conclusion.

Our martial philosophies, and even our levels at the edge of Sub-Perfection, had always opposed one another.

But this time was different.

In truth, I wanted to settle what we left unfinished. I wanted to prove my sword was right—but now wasn’t the time.

A glance nearby showed a battle far beyond ours.

Twin spears blazing with crimson qi pierced the air like red dragons, fists carrying world-shattering power struck with enough force to shake the heavens, and countless sword auras rained down like a storm.

And the Heavenly Demon, watching it all with a listless expression, simply reached out a hand.

Sometimes using orthodox techniques, sometimes using strange qi techniques, or even mimicking his opponent’s martial arts as he had done with the Black Lotus Leader, he deflected every fatal blow that came his way.

His reactions changed fluidly with each moment—not like someone cornered, but like someone toying out of boredom.

True to his word that he hadn’t come to fight, he minimized his own attacks and focused on receiving his opponents’ moves.

Which also meant that if I failed to reach him… he would indeed kill everyone here.

Could the Heavenly Demon truly kill all three of them if he tried?

Even for a monster like him, it wouldn’t be easy at this stage. But it wasn’t impossible.

Even if he sustained wounds, he would make good on his word.

I couldn’t allow that.

“Huu.”

I inhaled, watching the Sword Ghost charge at me, indifferent to the fatigue and injuries accumulating in my body.

He was right in front of me now, lunging forward with his Empty Blade Grip. The flickering ashen qi pierced the air—

And I exhaled.

Breath.

Breathing is the foundation of all martial arts. Through breath, one distinguishes self from other.

Through breath, one absorbs the natural energy of the world, making it one’s own, and connects movements fluidly.

My task was simple—disrupt his breath while maintaining mine.

But if his breathing couldn’t be disrupted—

Then I would just have to get rough.

The moment I resolved myself, my breath changed.

The turbulent current of the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art grew more violent. I felt like I was about to lose control of the internal energy held tight through willpower.

The energy racing through my blood vessels surged so fast it felt like it would spill out.

I gave myself over to it, and swung my sword toward the flickering ashen qi before me.

Kwaaang!

A thunderous explosion distorted the Sword Ghost’s brow for the first time.

“Fool. You’re courting deviation from qi—internal fire—just from being impatient?”

“Not yet.”

He wasn’t wrong. My energy was beginning to spiral out of control. Though it grew stronger, my senses dulled, and my body felt weightless.

But it was fine.

Before regression, I had experienced internal deviation in the burning ruins of the Ironblood Hall, and again before the towering pavilions of the Heavenly Poison Sect in this life.

If I’d experienced it twice, then not putting it to use now would be the real mistake.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

In time with my wildly pounding heart, the energy of the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art tore through my meridians.

It was fine. This martial art was designed to be like this from the start.

Even if I had reached the Flowering Stage, even if I’d freed myself from the obsession of slaughter, its roots had not changed.

“It seems you can still control it—for now. But without perfection, you’ll lose everything. Sword Ghost, surely you know that.”

“You only find out by trying.”

Grinning, I readjusted my grip on the sword.

I used the grip I’d employed in the North Sea against the Qing-White Flood Dragon—optimized purely for unleashing overwhelming force.

It was fine. Even if my senses were slipping out of control, my sword qi still resembled that moonlight I saw that night.

Stronger than before, brighter than ever, I swung it again.

My sole thought engraved in my mind: cut down the opponent.

Once more, the Sword Ghost thrust his Empty Blade Grip at me, seeking to meet my strike head-on.

Kwaaang!

Fragments of sword qi burst forth. The thunderous roar rattled my ears, and the Sword Ghost’s figure visibly wavered.

But his sword did not.

His body, protected by defensive qi, dispersed the impact as much as possible.

He even slipped into the gap exposed by my wide motion. But—

Ssskuk.

“What the…?!”

A slash extended from the Sword Ghost’s Empty Blade Grip grazed his own neck.

It barely broke the skin—just a trickle of blood—but he stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

As if wondering how a strike he was sure he had blocked had reached him.

But this was only the beginning.

I poured even the internal energy fueling my defensive qi into my sword.

The now almost doubled sword qi surged again.

Kaang! Kakak! Kwadeudeuk!

Clashes of steel resounded without pause. Though the Sword Ghost’s posture wavered, his sword remained steady, defending against every attack and occasionally countering.

Our tangled sword paths hadn’t changed—but the outcome slowly had.

Strikes that should have been blocked were now followed by slashes a beat later.

It wasn’t that I had pierced the unbreakable sword.

Rather, I had applied a concept I gained after seeing the Immovable Wisdom King Steps at Shaolin.

Embedding sword intent into sword wind.

If I could imbue power into wind, why not into the extended slash itself?

Even if he blocked my sword, he couldn’t block the slash that followed.

Tiny cuts began appearing on his face and torso.

Of course, it was my first time trying this. With my raging energy, I couldn’t aim precisely at vital points.

The stray slashes that followed our collisions devastated the area.

Walls toppled at slanted angles, and claw-like sword marks gouged the ground.

A faint trace of shock and disbelief finally surfaced on the Sword Ghost’s usually expressionless face.

His sword, which neither broke nor wavered, always pursued the ideal sword path he envisioned.

Even now, he was doing the same.

But no matter how perfectly he blocked my attacks—he couldn’t stop the sword that came afterward.

Only slightly wiser now, he had begun noticing the follow-up slashes and avoided them.

If this continued, I’d tire first. But I wasn’t the only one learning.

“Three cheok, six cun.”

“That’s the length of your sword. Quite a standard length.”

“Heh.”

As I muttered, the Sword Ghost flinched—and I kicked off the ground.

Now that I knew the length of his sword, even if I couldn’t see it, or even if the ashen qi wavered oddly—I no longer feared it.

No matter how sharp, no matter how sturdy—a sword means nothing if it cannot reach the target.

The Sword Ghost slashed. I twisted my upper body and let it pass, dodging instead of blocking.

As always, his form was textbook-perfect. He gave no opening and forced me to defend.

But I made the slight overextension myself.

I may be similar, but I am not the same.

I am still in control of myself. I simply now understand—what matters is the unbroken flow.

I let my sword erupt as I hurled it from one angle to the next.

At times, I released bursts of qi from my elbow following the principles of Lightning Step, and at others, created minute time lags using Ghost Shadow Step, further obscuring my strikes.

What mattered most—was the continuous, unending flow of attacks.

The Sword Ghost’s sword still did not waver.

With his bizarre method of moving the sword first and letting his body follow, he dismantled all of my strikes step by step.

My extended slashes sometimes bounced off his blade, sometimes missed, and continued destroying the wrecked surroundings.

A small storm of swords.

And the Sword Ghost, weathering it with just a single sword—was, without a doubt, a formidable swordsman.

But that was all.

I now condensed the overinflated sword qi into a single point.

Qi is refined internal energy, condensed beyond its limits by willpower.

Which meant—with even stronger willpower, it could be compressed further.

The Heavenly Demon was right nearby. And though he had granted me a brief grace period, he still intended to kill those dear to me.

Just the desire to cut was not enough. I had to press into it the will to protect.

This—this was why I wielded a sword.

My wild storm of strikes began to shrink.

The sword qi surrounding my blade visibly thinned.

But the thinner it became, the brighter it shone, and the sharper the strikes became.

And the moment that thin layer of qi fully enveloped my blade—

The deep black of the black iron vanished. All that remained was a sword resembling moonlight.

This time, I didn’t dodge.

I clashed head-on with the Sword Ghost’s blade.

Ssskuk—

And I cut down the sword that was never supposed to break.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep