Ze Tian Ji

Chapter 398 Taking Out the Sword (I)

Translated by: Hypersheep325

Edited by: Michyrr

Wang Po's blade was very powerful. Only with a powerful and sharp blade could he use the compacted true essence of the upper level of Star Condensation to break through that seemingly weak, yet actually incomparably firm, space barrier. Similarly, only when his response was powerful and clever enough could he cut open the space, giving him the ability to surpass the abyss between the secular world and the divine and resist Zhu Luo's moonlight-imbued sword.

The clouds above Xunyang City were still low and dark, their edges still shining like silver. It was like night. The storms that ravaged the street suddenly disappeared and the streets became abnormally quiet. One could only faintly hear the sound of breathing. Those were sighs of shock that came from the distant surrounding spectators. This battle had already surpassed the scope of many people's imaginations, but they could still sense that Zhu Luo's sword truly had been blocked by Wang Po. Just how had he accomplished this feat?

This time, Su Li did not voice his acclamation, and his expression grew grave. It wasn't because this attack of Wang Po's was not brilliant enough. On the contrary, he felt that this blade was far too exquisite. It was almost like in this brief instant, in the time between these two attacks, Wang Po had used this battle with this supreme expert of the continent to understand some things and take another step on his path of the blade.

If this was true, then Wang Po's talent in cultivating the Dao could truly be said to astound the world. In addition, this sort of opportunity could only come up once in a thousand years. If Wang Po could live past this battle and completely digest the precious experience gained from it, perhaps he might be able to quickly break through into the peak of the Star Condensation realm, and even be able to see the threshold of the Saint realm.

But would Wang Po be able to survive? Especially after these two blade strikes had more than proved to Zhu Luo that Wang Po could threaten his position in the Storms of the Eight Directions in a few more decades? Su Li had no hope about this, so his expression was grave. He thought it was too pitiful.

The storm kicked up again and the rain fell like banging drums.

Zhu Luo's sword brought with it an endless storm. After the storm would come a rainbow, but behind the storm, in the even more distant sky of the north, there was a bright Moon. There was light and there was darkness, but the vast majority of the light and darkness were both sucked into those cracks in space on the long street, their might diminished greatly. This was why Wang Po's metal blade could still be raised up in this torrential downpour.

Yet in the end, the Eight Storms were no ordinary cultivating experts. They were the supreme experts of the continent, possessing unimaginable quantities of true essence, possessing an intelligence and battle experience that surpassed one's wild dreams, and possessing the most dazzling brilliance. Ultimately, it was impossible for Wang Po's blade to restrain that light. It was just like how the darks clouds above Xunyang City were incapable of obscuring the moon. In the end, the edges of the clouds became plated with a silver sheen. The rainy street was as dark as the night, and the hole in space cleaved out by the blade was an even darker black, causing hearts to beat faster in fear. Yet the edges of those pitch-black cracks in space, for some unknown reason, began to glow.

That light came from Zhu Luo's sword.

Accompanied by berserk winds and violent rain, the sword glow arrived before Wang Po's body. At the moment, Wang Po's blade needed to continue to cleave through the rainy street so as to maintain enough cracks in space. Only this way could he prevent Zhu Luo's sword shining with moonlight from breaking through and reaching his body, then proceeding directly to Chen Changsheng and Su Li behind him. As such, he could not pay any attention to those sword glows.

Those sword glows were not very bright, and could even be described as somewhat dim. Wang Po's Blade Domain that could be called perfect was actually no use in obstructing these sword glows. The sword glows descended, and with a swish, Wang Po's clothes were suddenly cut into pieces. Upon his body, which had undergone perfect Purification, appeared countless distinct sword slashes with blood slowly seeping out of them.

The sword glows continued to surmount his blade and ravage his body. Although they seemed very understated, in reality, they were absolutely unforgettable.

Every one of the sword glows would cut a wound upon his body and carried away a little blood with it.

Wang Po's face grew even more pale, without a hint of blood to be seen. In the gloomy street, the sight was exceptionally disturbing. His expression was still calm and resolute; only his two very special eyebrows drooped down even more, as if they were rather dejected. He seemed to be suffering even more than he usually was. Yes, at this time, his situation truly was very bitter.

Zhu Luo's sword glows had cut away at his body. This was like a death by a thousand cuts—just how painful would it be? This sort of pain was also in his spiritual world and in his heart. As a genius of the path of the blade, he was currently a great hero of the south, yet now in his hometown of Tianliang County, he had encountered Zhu Luo and could still only painfully and miserably endure this suffering. Even if his talent and will were greater, so what? In the end, it would not be able to change the gap in strength and cultivation between them. It was just like the bitter experience of the Wang clan all those years ago, that sort of situation that would cause despair. Just how could it not be bitter?

Only when he put away his blade, departed the rainy street, and chose to yield would he be able to escape this suffering.

Yet life has many sufferings that are impossible to yield to.

As a child, Wang Po had grown accustomed to bitter days and clearly understood this point. So he had no intention of yielding. His eyebrows dropping, his expression distressed, his head slightly lowered, he tightly gripped his dagger and stood in the pouring rain. He did this despite stream after stream of blood flowing down his body from those sword glows that overcame his blade intent, and despite the increasingly heavy downpour that washed the blood off his body.

The blade intent on the rainy street was still straight, as were the cracks cut through space. Therefore, the falling rain could not reach those places, and even Zhu Luo temporarily could not move forward. The vast majority of his sword intent could not reach Wang Po's side.

Wang Po stood very straight. But how long could he continue to stand? How long could he hold the blade in his hands?

The pouring rain was bitterly cold and the frantic winds gradually became even more blustery.

The abacus in the ruins of the inn stirred to life once more, its beads beginning to clack against each other, as if they were beating out a rhythm.

In a side street even further way, the musicians of the Liang Household had made their escape quite a while ago. All sorts of musical instruments littered the street. Now, great gusts of wind blew them every which way. A gong crashed against a wall, a stone toppled from the top of the wall, and then the stone beat upon the surface of a drum. A flute flew into the air, and the air poured into the holes of the flute and made a whimpering noise. There was also a zither, whose strings snapped one by one…

Strum strum strum strum.

It was a well-rushed and disorderly tune.

When the storm finally stopped, would the song finally finish?

Nobody would know.

At the rear of the rainy street, the crowd stood around in silence. Liang Wangsun stood at the very front, his expression indescribably calm. Liang Hongzhuang stood on the other side of the street, as if he didn't want to stand next to that distantly related princely cousin of his. For some reason, he looked through the storm at the distant figure of Wang Po. His expression was very strange, seemingly about to cry, and also seemingly about to laugh. In short, it was very complex.

No one knew what would happen next, or even could imagine what would happen next.

The dark clouds obscured the sky, turning day into night. The ordinary folk of Xunyang City tightly shut their doors and windows, perhaps concealing themselves under their beds or in jars. None of them dared to come out. At the moment, the streets were still filled with cultivators, and all these cultivators had come to kill Su Li. Under normal circumstances, if experts like Zhu Luo and Wang Po were to battle, these cultivators wouldn't dare to make the tiniest movement, out of fear that they would enrage one of them. Who could know what sort of price they and the sect or school behind them would have to pay? But today, many people no longer thought about these things. The moment they stepped into Xunyang City, they were already prepared to pay with their lives.

Liang Wangsun, Liang Hongzhuang, and even Xue He were not thinking of anything, but those other cultivators were thinking about quite a lot.

At the moment, Su Li was sitting on the back of that buckskin horse. In the storm-ridden sky, he seemed exceptionally striking to the eye. Everyone knew that Su Li was presently the equivalent of a cripple. Moreover, Lin Canghai had successfully managed to force out Su Li's final attack. And previously when Chen Changsheng had blocked Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun's attacks, just how much of a price had he paid? He should be very exhausted. As for Wang Po, he was currently being suppressed by Zhu Luo's sword and it was difficult for him to move. Then if they were to attack Su Li at this moment, who would save him? Who could still help Su Li block a spear?

Many people were thinking this way, so they began to do it. Using the storm to conceal their sounds, they walked out onto the street and towards the man sitting on the horse. As Liang Wangsun and Liang Hongzhuang watched the people standing beside them take their leave, they could feel the coldness and killing intent coming from their bodies. They remained silent, not stopping them or making any sort of sound.

The reins of the buckskin horse lay in a puddle on the ground. Maybe it was because of the type of horse, or maybe it was because of Su Li, but the strange sights brought about by Zhu Luo's sword and the waves of Qi from the terrifying battle did not startle this steed into charging off. Rather, it remained obediently where it was with its head down.

Chen Changsheng also had his head lowered, watching the ripples of the raindrops in silence.

The Dragoncry dagger and the sheath were finally connected. Since he had left Xining Village's old temple, this was the first time. Back then in Xining Village, Senior Yu Ren would only choose to combine them in this way when he went hunting for powerful monsters in the back mountain. The reason he had chosen to do this today was that the enemy he faced was simply too powerful, and also that he wanted to learn from Wang Po.

Suddenly, he raised his head and then turned around.

Those cultivators did not imagine that he had been keeping watch over his back.

Chen Changsheng and those cultivators stared off in silence.

Not far away, that raging and divine sword intent was growing ever stronger.

Chen Changsheng did not care about that side. That side had Wang Po.

Right now, he had to care about this side.

He had already thought about everything, so he was very calm.

The expression in his eyes was very serene. No matter how fiercely the rain fell on his face, it could not be disturbed.

One cultivator yelled out and his body suddenly split into three as he attacked Su Li.

Chen Changsheng's two hands tightened their grip on the dagger and slashed into the rain.

The dagger landed several zhang away. It was only one dagger, but it managed to simultaneously slash at three figures, three people.

This was not the Intellectual Sword, nor was it the Blazing Sword. This was a technique of the Mount Li Sword Style called the Three Lanes of the Plum Flower.

Three days ago, Su Li had inadvertently told him about it.

Screech!

Soon after came another sound.

Almost in unison, the sounds of three swords rang out in the rain. Those three figures simultaneously stopped in the middle of the air. Then two figures dissipated and the cultivator gave a groan. Holding his stomach, he collapsed into the street.

In Chen Changsheng’s hands, the Dragoncry dagger seemed to be alive.

After only a few rounds, those cultivators that were prepared to attack Su Li collapsed one after the other.

Just then, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Wang Po…also seemed about to collapse.

Instantly, he made a decision.

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