Chapter Fifty-Five: The Power of the Sword Formation

In a bustling city, surrounded by mountains, a winding path stretched northward. The population was considerable; some played broken chess beneath withered trees, others sat bare-chested, drinking wine and gnawing on meat.

“Waiter, bring more wine!” A burly man with a rough face called out. Suddenly, above them, a yellow door appeared in the sky, from which two figures plummeted swiftly.

That same burly man, wiping sweat from his brow and sticking out his tongue, looked skyward. When he spotted the door, his expression changed dramatically. “Damn it, has the City of Twilight, which opens only once every thousand years, appeared?!”

His voice was coarse and resonant, unmistakable. Everyone gazed up, mouths agape in astonishment.

At that moment, several cultivators flew in from the city’s perimeter, heading directly for the floating door. As the two fell from it, the yellow portal vanished.

“Heavens! Immortals have descended! Quick, everyone, go see—just outside Lantern City!” Instantly, the city was in uproar, with many soaring through the air toward the outskirts.

The fierce-looking man grinned crookedly and flew out of the tavern on his sword.

The two who had fallen were Xu Xing and Zi Yan. Zi Yan was unconscious in Xu Xing’s arms.

Xu Xing opened his eyes, realizing they were plummeting toward the ground. His spiritual energy was spent; he could not command his sword to fly. He shouted desperately, “Sword, save me!”

A dim yellow glow burst from the sword on Xu Xing’s back, and suddenly he felt his descent slow, his feet steady. Relief washed over him—this was the sword that Kong Mo had just gifted him, now unexpectedly proving its worth.

As he landed with Zi Yan, streaks of light shot across the sky like meteors. Zi Yan’s formidable spiritual energy had ravaged Xu Xing’s body; he endured the pain and retrieved a set of clothes from his spatial bag, dressing quickly.

Nine streams of light descended, encircling Xu Xing as he dressed. Each person radiated hostility.

“Not friendly, indeed,” Xu Xing muttered, hastily straightening his attire and addressing them.

From their aura, he knew these were no ordinary folk; their strength surpassed his. He glanced at their blue robes, each bearing the character “Zhuo” stitched on their chest.

“Bold villain! How dare you defile a maiden beneath broad daylight! Today, you shall die!” The man facing Xu Xing bellowed.

“Such a lovely girl, ruined by a brute—unforgivable!” Xu Xing was baffled, sensing a misunderstanding. As he prepared to explain, the nine rushed at him.

“Will none of you hear my explanation?” Xu Xing drew his swords, one short, one long. The short sword pulsed with vitality, the long with dragon’s cries.

“Wait!” With both swords joined, a green dragon erupted from the blades, sweeping its tail and repelling the nine attackers in an instant.

The nine staggered back, coughing blood onto the earth, their expressions darkening to grim resolve.

“If we must fight, let’s not do so here—lest she be harmed,” Xu Xing said, sheathing his swords and pointing to Zi Yan lying on the ground. After consuming Deadwood Grass and Kong Mo’s spiritual energy, her skin glowed faintly red and green.

As he spoke, a blush crept over Xu Xing’s face; he shyly kissed Zi Yan’s forehead, uncertain if he would survive the coming battle.

He cast one last glance at her, satisfied, then quickly left.

Xu Xing ran ahead, the nine cultivators giving chase on their swords, arriving at a vast plain a few miles from Zi Yan.

He drew his swords again, facing the nine, and said calmly, “Since you refuse to listen, let us settle this.”

If reason fails, only the sword can reveal the truth.

With no spiritual energy to restore him, Xu Xing could not fly. He tried to rouse the Deadwood block and sword spirit to replenish himself, but they ignored him.

He attempted to summon the Root Tree, but failed. Despair crept in.

The nine formed a great array, linking their spiritual energy like a spider’s web. A formation quickly took shape.

“What is this? A formation?” Xu Xing marveled. He’d never seen such techniques in Sea City; in this unfamiliar place, his opponents conjured formations with ease.

From the web-like sword array, cold blades emerged, raining down at terrifying speed.

Seeing danger, Xu Xing turned and fled—he could not face them head-on.

Unexpectedly, the cold swords pursued him relentlessly, tracking his every move. No matter how far he ran, the blades followed.

Swords crashed down like meteors. Xu Xing combined his blades, but the green dragon did not appear this time.

He focused on the incoming sword, clashing his own against it; the cold blade dissolved into mist.

But as he dealt with the first, the next sight stunned him.

The sword array spanned thirty yards, radiating majestic golden light, spinning faster and faster. Beneath it, more cold swords formed from spiritual energy.

From afar, it seemed as though rain poured down where Xu Xing stood; up close, it was a storm of crimson-gold swords.

Countless cold blades flew at him. Xu Xing fought desperately, using the horizontal blade strike he once used against the dwarf man, clearing a swath of sword-rain.

Yet the rain covered every inch, saturated with overwhelming sword intent.

Initially, Xu Xing barely held his own, but soon he was overwhelmed. The disparity in cultivation was too great; he had no spiritual energy, relying only on his sword techniques.

His movements slowed, the sword rain sliced into him.

His body, already battered, was shredded further by the storm.

Everywhere he felt cuts, as if his flesh was being peeled away, exposing even his pale bones.

“No, I cannot fall here. This sword rain is indeed fierce; every strike burns me like lava, but I tell you, it’s not enough—far from enough! Let your sword rain baptize me, cleanse my marrow, let me be reborn!” Xu Xing roared, unconsciously employing his secret Divine Origin technique.

Time around him froze. Since his breakthrough, he could use this ability for half an hour, but now it proved useless.

He stopped using the Divine Origin technique for two reasons:

First, to find a gap in the sword rain during the time freeze, but the density left no openings.

Second, to summon the sword spirit or feel the short sword Kong Mo had given him.

Neither succeeded.

The swords rained down, piercing Xu Xing’s body; flesh was stripped from his hands and legs.

Blood poured unceasingly, soaking the dry earth, carving a river of crimson that flowed upstream.

His vision darkened. Xu Xing’s eyes closed, and he collapsed, the sword rain continuing to pierce him.

Gradually, the storm ceased.

Exhausted, Xu Xing lay still.

He had fought countless battles lately, always at the brink of death.

From afar, a woman riding a cloud of peach blossoms seemed to approach.

In that moment, the earth itself appeared to burn.

The cultivators watched as the woman floated by like green smoke, suspicion rising among them.

“What’s happening? Judging by this, is the man below not our target?”

“She seems intent on protecting the weak one below—her intentions are not benign.”

“No, it looks like she fought the boy below. Could we have judged him wrongly? She’s powerful!”

“She’s so beautiful—let’s capture her, let the brothers have their fun. She’s just another mighty being.”

“Agreed!”

“To be safe, bring out the Three-Mirror Platform and test if there’s anything suspicious about them.”