The Saint of the Blade Dao was also known as the ‘Blade Intent’ in this world.
Murong Lin had fused his own ‘Blade Intent’ in this single strike, launching it with brutal force against Wan Roc King.
Dodging was impossible.
A seemingly unremarkable blade light, devoid of ostentatious embellishnts, pierced through Wan Roc King’s neck.
His head was severed and catapulted through the air, his expression a mix of astonishnt and disbelief frozen in death.
The employnt of the ‘Blade Intent’, even in its nascent form, proved more than sufficient to shock Wan Roc King.
This occurrence was sothing only recounted in ancient records; never had he anticipated anyone capable of achieving such mastery.
Murong Lin slowly sheathed his blade, exhaling deeply.
Then, his gaze drifted across the battlefield. Scores of first and second-rate experts laboured in unison to combat the Blood Bat Locusts. Witnessing the event that just unfolded, a prevailing sense of hopelessness overtook them, plunging them into a pit of despair.
“It’s all over for us! Old Bo is dead! Even Old Bo is dead! We stand no chance!”
“If even Wan Roc King couldn’t evade this demon’s blade, how can we possibly defeat him?”
“He’s looking this way! That demon is watching us! Run!”
“But we can’t run! Everyone, attack! We must vanquish that demon!”
Desperation took hold, prompting so to act on their hopelessness; a few opted to end their own lives then and there, impaling their necks with their own weapons.
Murong Lin surged forward, weapon in hand, only to suddenly halt mid-stride. The wicked grin on his face froze as his legs stilled.
Swiftly sidestepping, he narrowly evaded an explosion that erupted where he’d stood monts ago. A sword light descended from the sky, revealing the arrival of reinforcents.
All eyes turned to its source, only to see a wave of support headed their way quickly.
Their leader was ng Xing Hun!
ng Xing Hun’s gaze was keen as it locked onto Murong Lin with the occasional cot flying past within his eyes.
The recent attack had originated from him.
Within his grasp was a human head—the one responsible for controlling the Blood Bat Locusts’ rampage in Yun Nan.
Murong Lin’s attention fixated on the severed head, then, he scrutinized ng Xing Hun’s eyes.
With the demise of the nine individuals he’d manipulated using the Blood Bat Locusts, only one individual remained who could control them—himself.
ng Xing Hun bellowed in fury, “Murong Lin! Are you responsible for the deaths of Ye Xiang and Xiao Die?”
He pointed an accusing finger at Murong Lin, his appearance in disarray, with wild, untad hair and his potent sword aura surging from his form.
His eyes held a mixture of rage and grief as they bore into Murong Lin.
Murong Lin rely tilted his head, a cynical chuckle escaping his lips, “If I were to deny it, would you believe ?”
He raised his knife, launching two strikes in quick succession.
“Sky Net style!”
“Catastrophe style!”
However, ng Xin Hun expertly parried the twin blades with the sword in his grip.
The cots in ng Xing Hun’s eyes blazed even brighter as he glared fiercely at Murong Lin.
While his two attacks failed to reach ng Xing Hun, they continued on toward the people behind him.
“Ping!” The ground shattered as countless people were injured, and even a large number of Blood Bat Locusts perished. But all eyes remained fixed on ng Xing Hun.
Old Bo and Wan Roc King were both dead, leaving ng Xing Hun as their sole hope.
‘Cot Butterfly Sword’ ng Xing Hun – that was the na they pinned their hopes on. They wanted to see if he could defeat this demon.
The corners of Murong Lin’s lips curled up slightly as he remarked, “You’ve seen my third blade before.”
ng Xing Hun responded calmly, “I have.”
“Then you must know how terrifying it is.”
“Yes.”
“And yet, you still dare to stand against here?”
“I only know that retreat is not an option.”
ng Xing Hun slowly drew his sword before him, and the cots deep within his eyes blazed even brighter with each passing mont.
Murong Lin didn’t utter another word. Instead, he imdiately unleashed his third blade.
‘Dark Sky Style’.
In an instant, just like before, an entire sea of darkness swallowed ng Xing Hun.
All five of his senses were robbed from him, and he felt utterly cut off from the world.
In this darkness, he couldn’t even sense the passage of ti.
But ng Xing Hun wasn’t afraid.
His gaze remained resolute and unyielding.
The cots in his eyes slowly emanated outward, causing even Murong Lin to falter and stand still.
These cots appeared to originate from the depths of ng Xing Hun’s eyes, but in reality, they emanated from his sword technique.
A single cot streaked past, illuminating the entire dark world.
In an instant, the warm and affectionate light exploded forth, only to vanish just as swiftly.
It was like a cot, an entity that appeared fleetingly before disappearing into the darkness.
What remained, however, was a sky filled with romance and profundity.
Were cots beautiful?
Of course, they were. These streaks of light brought boundless joy and anticipation to humanity.
Just like butterflies.
Both were extrely beautiful existences, destined to exist only for a brief mont.
Butterflies had short lifespans, and they, too, could only grace the world with their presence for a fleeting period, akin to the cots that streaked across the sky.
But why did they exist?
What was the purpose of their fleeting lives?
For such a short existence, what aning did they hold?
To whom were they offering their existence?
Only ng Xing Hun knew the answer.
Flowers were beautiful, yet their existence gained aning when soone appreciated their beauty.
Cots were epheral, yet in the few seconds of their existence, thousands, if not tens of thousands of people would witness their magnificent display.
This was the aning of their existence.
And it was the aning of every human life.
And so, he swung his sword, shattering the cage of darkness in an instant.
But the sword’s brilliance didn’t diminish there; it continued to surge forward with pinpoint precision toward Murong Lin.
In that mont, it was as though the entire radiance of those cots had converged upon Murong Lin.
Cots were fleeting, but so were human lives.
When would the endless cycle of spring flowers and autumn moons find its conclusion? How much of the past do we truly comprehend?
The starry sky doesn’t question the fleeting nature of light; it simply shines brightly in the present night.
ng Xing Hun poured all his strength into this single strike, his eyes reflecting the profundity of the dark night.
The sword light struck Murong Lin, propelling him through the air, and a smile played upon his lips – a smile seemingly filled with joy.
As he soared, his body twisted and tumbled, crashing forcefully into the ground and sending up clouds of dust.
Expressions of joy imdiately blossod among the onlookers, and so couldn’t contain their disbelief, exclaiming, “The demon has been defeated!”
But Murong Lin wasn’t ready to let them revel in their victory just yet.
He struggled to rise from the ground, his gaze locked onto ng Xing Hun.
They were both in similar states—ng Xing Hun had depleted his energy, and Murong Lin had suffered severe wounds.
ng Xing Hun spoke first, “I’ve overco your third blade.”
Murong Lin replied indifferently, “If you weren’t the protagonist, I would have killed you long ago.”
“I was only hoping for a pleasant surprise from you, just like Han Tang. But it turns out you both are quite decent!” Murong Lin grinned, his teeth stained with blood.
“Hah! You demon, you can still banter when you’re on the brink of death?”
“I just don’t want you to die in ignorance. Apart from that, thanks for showing the cot technique!” Murong Lin slowly raised his blade once more.
ng Xing Hun’s anxiety beca even more palpable as he raised his blade in response.
“Your third blade won’t work against .”
He attempted to undermine Murong Lin’s confidence.
“That’s exactly why I’m thanking you. Your cot technique has provided with the chance to forge my fourth blade.” Murong Lin said deliberately, his body straightening as his eyes radiated with arrogance.
ng Xing Hun’s expression shifted, his face draining of colour. What followed was a sentence that struck despair into his heart:
“The fourth blade, Everlasting style!”
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