Chapter Sixty-Six: A Sword Divides Eleven

“Aaah...!”
The agonized screams of Qian Hongfu and the others pierced the air, but that overwhelming sword seemed deaf to their cries of misery, surging forward with unstoppable force, its sword intent aimed at the four of them.

In the end, it was Qin Yi’s sword that struck the earth-yellow rune conjured by Zhang Chen. At their collision, the world seemed to burst open, dazzling as a brilliant blossom of fireworks.

Everyone gazed at that splendid bloom with furrowed brows.

Only when the radiance of that magnificent firework began to fade did the scene gradually become clear. As expected, the five were all unharmed.

Moments ago, Qian Jiaqing had intervened to block Qin Yi’s sword.

Qin Yi stepped onto Dabai’s stirrup and mounted the horse, his tone sharp as he faced the five blocking his way: “A good dog does not block the road.”

After deflecting Qin Yi’s strike, Qian Jiaqing dusted off his sleeve and, utterly shameless, chuckled, “Brother Qin, your swordsmanship is exceptional. Just watching makes my own hands itch. I can’t resist asking you for a bout.”

Qin Yi frowned at this, his hand resting on the hilt of Flying Snow, but he said nothing.

Zhang Chen sneered, “Don’t you have any shame? How old are you, and you’re still trying to spar with us juniors? If you’re so eager to test your skills, why don’t you go find my Uncle Chen instead?”

Qian Jiaqing’s face darkened at these words, but his voice remained as calm as still water: “That was my intention exactly.”

Zhang Chen was left speechless, rolling his eyes repeatedly to express his exasperation.

“This boy’s match—I will answer for him,” Old Jiang suddenly interjected with interest.

Hearing this, Jiang Fengnian turned to Old Jiang and protested, “Senior, is this proper?”

Old Jiang replied with calm seriousness, “I know my own limits.”

---

With a resonant clang, Qin Yi smiled, drew Flying Snow from his waist, and stepped lightly atop Dabai’s snowy back, the sword tip pointed at Qian Jiaqing. “Since Old Jiang has spoken, I’d like to give it a try.” He knew well the gulf between himself and a cultivator at the Golden Core level, yet he was eager to see just how wide that gap truly was. As long as Old Jiang was watching over him, he had nothing to fear.

Old Jiang, still unsatisfied, fanned the flames: “Boy, if you lose too badly…”

Qin Yi ignored him. Harnessing his strength, he employed the Taiyi Starshift, vanishing like a wisp of smoke and reappearing near Qian Jiaqing, launching attack after attack with all the sword forms he knew.

With a metallic ring, Qin Yi’s sword thrust struck the red radiance enveloping Qian Jiaqing’s body, producing a series of echoes, but the tip of Flying Snow could not pierce even an inch. Qian Jiaqing blocked the attack, a mocking grin on his lips, and raised a massive red fist, roaring with laughter, “With this kind of strength, you think you can hurt me? Die!”

A deep thud echoed as Qian Jiaqing’s fist, larger even than a sandbag, smashed down. Qin Yi found himself unable to withstand the blow, hastily retreating, but the force of the wind sent him tumbling across the ground in a sorry state. His robes were tattered and torn, and his skin was streaked with blood where dust and stones had scraped him raw.

He sprang to his feet, paying no heed to his wounds, and charged at Qian Jiaqing once more—this time with the Holy Severing Sword.

Another metallic clash as the Holy Severing Sword struck, but as expected, Qian Jiaqing parried it with ease, countering with another of those enormous red fists.

Seeing that sandbag-sized fist crashing toward him, Qin Yi knew he could not block it head-on. He frantically gathered his strength. In the next instant, a surge of azure light exploded from his body, a beam shooting skyward, and above his head appeared three ethereal figures, their features mirroring his own. Borrowing their power, Qin Yi at last managed to withstand the blow.

Zhang Chen, having seen Qin Yi use the One Qi Forms Three Purities before, was unsurprised.

Jiang Fengnian’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he watched the azure beam shooting skyward from Qin Yi’s body.

Old Jiang was slightly taken aback, then watched on with keen interest.

---

Qin Yi blocked Qian Jiaqing’s massive fist. In the next instant, he quickly gathered his breath, and the three azure phantoms above his head, like souls returning to their source, merged back into his body. Azure energy surged all around him. He pointed Flying Snow at Qian Jiaqing, who was still reeling from his last attack, channeled all that overwhelming energy into his sword, and struck.

A scream ripped through the air, and before the astonished eyes of all present, a severed arm fell to the ground. Qian Jiaqing, wracked with pain that nearly sent him rolling on the ground, crouched and forced himself to remain upright. Bloodshot eyes wild as a beast’s, he glared at Qin Yi. Ignoring the agony of his severed right arm and the blood pouring from the stump, he erupted in a blaze of red light and charged at Qin Yi, roaring with rage, “Boy, give me your life!”

Qin Yi staggered—not from fear, but because the One Qi Forms Three Purities had left him spent. Yet he gritted his teeth, preparing to fight on.

But just as he steeled himself for another desperate attack, the clear chime of a sword leaving its scabbard rang out, accompanied by a woman’s furious shout: “Old Jiang, don’t go too far!”

A heavy thud followed. Qin Yi recognized the voice—familiar even in anger—and the powerful presence that came with it, a smile finally crept onto his lips before he collapsed to the ground.

In the next moment, a torrent of sword energy surged from the silent carriage, transforming into a crimson moon that swept toward Qian Jiaqing, who was charging like a wild beast at Qin Yi. Qian Jiaqing, shocked by the sight of the red moon, regained a sliver of sanity and tried to retreat, but too late—the crimson arc sliced across his waist. His eyes widened, speechless in his final moment. The four from the Qian family behind him were also felled, severed at the waist before they could even scream.

With ten consecutive heavy thuds, the bodies hit the ground—a melody as haunting as a pipa’s mournful strings.

Where there had once been five living men, there now lay ten incomplete corpses upon the earth.

No, to be precise, eleven—for there was also that severed arm.