Chapter 592: A Sword Coming from the West, Flying Immortal Outside the Heaven!

It was not that other worlds like "Wind and Cloud" lacked technique, but rather, at the moment the Sword Saint comprehended the Twenty-Third Sword upon the Tri-Division Field, what was primarily highlighted was a spirit—a legacy of an unyielding spirit with which a martial artist faces heaven, earth, and destiny.

The brilliance of this spiritual will all but eclipsed everything else.

On the other hand, the Twenty-Third Sword at this stage was neither invincible nor unbreakable; its flaws would only begin to surface and gradually be mended in "Wind and Cloud 3."

But the present was different; here was no power so overwhelmingly tyrannical that it made the heart tremble, yet one could see more clearly these swordsmen, limited by their own mortal strength, similarly pursuing the ultimate peak of the Sword Dao.

The echelons of power possessed higher and lower tiers, but certain pursuits reached the same destination through different paths, unbound by the insufficiency of one's martial might.

It was a path where technique verged upon the Dao—a perfect sword technique was itself the Sword Dao, distinct and vivid at a single glance, unhidden by the blinding and chaotic glare of raw power.

Following the slow progression of the film, their footsteps entered this ancient and bustling kingdom, arriving at the grand and magnificent imperial palace, the Forbidden City.

Passing through the Gate of Supreme Harmony, the grand hall was covered in golden glazed tiles, appearing under the moonlight like a world crafted entirely of gold.

"Look, isn't the decisive battle about to begin!" Dong Qingli stood beneath the imperial palace in a flurry of excitement, right in the midst of the spectating crowd.

"Senior Sister, so this is the imperial palace?" Mu Qing held Yue Bai’s hand, peering left and right, while beside them, Jiang Xiaoyue, leading a large white deer, also looked around with curiosity amidst the noisy crowd under the high, bright moon.

"They are here! They are here!" Nalan Hongwu, Zong Wu, and a host of other martial artists stood beneath the grand hall at this moment, looking up toward the eaves of the roof.

"Is that Ximen Chuixue?"

Beneath the moonlight, a white-robed figure indeed appeared, drifting gracefully as if riding upon the wind.

Only by truly beholding such a person could one genuinely feel the meaning behind the words: "There is a kind of man who has already approached the realm of the gods."

Just as he had said: "My sword is not meant for show."

"When you pierce a sword into their throats and watch the flower of blood blossom beneath your blade, if you can perceive the splendid brilliance of that single instant, you will know that no other beauty in this world can compare to it."

His swordplay was a swordplay meant for killing.

Such a swordplay, perhaps, truly could tolerate no impurities, such as human emotion, mixed within it.

The ridges of the roof were crowded with people both front and back, including the audience members who had come from the three shops of Yuanyang City, Jiuhua City, and Half-City.

Practically every single one of them stretched their necks to look upward.

The moon had reached the center of the sky, and upon the roof that resembled golden-glazed tiles, both men stood entirely in white robes as pure as snow, untainted by a speck of dust.

"He looks so powerful..." Jiang Xiaoyue's eyes were wide, and turning her head, she saw that the surrounding onlookers were all watching with wide, unblinking eyes as well.

"Are these martial artists really this badass..." Xun Yuan unconsciously blurted out a piece of internet slang.

At this moment, upon the grand hall, Ximen Chuixue remained expressionless, lifting the sword in his hand: "This sword is a lethal weapon of the world, three feet seven inches in length, weighing seven catties thirteen ounces."

Ye Gucheng said: "A fine sword!"

Ye Gucheng also lifted the sword in his hand, saying: "This sword is forged from the finest cold iron of overseas, sharp enough to cut a hair blown against it, three feet three inches in length, weighing six catties four ounces."

Though the swords of both men were raised, they were not yet drawn—the act of drawing the blade was also an indispensable part of swordplay, and it seemed they wished to compete and determine superiority in any area where comparison was possible.

To distinguish whether both sides were truly sincere to the sword.

"Holy crap!" Mo Xian and the other cultivator girls from the Nanhua Faction were also watching at this time, unconsciously covering their mouths in a startled cry; having spent so much time online, they had now learned to use internet slang.

"It can actually be like this... so handsome!" Song Qingfeng wished desperately that he was the one standing up there right now; how could a decisive battle be this cool?!

"How about we try it out ourselves after we finish watching..." Beside him, Lin Shao casually considered whether he should give it a try himself once the viewing was over.

Tang Yu: "I'll go try it out too after we finish watching..."

With one enigmatic incident after another, the truth behind the continuous disruptions to the decisive battle between the two men finally surfaced, shifting from a plot of assassination and treason to gradually flesh out a magnificent and meticulous character.

The Lord of White Cloud City, Ye Gucheng, seemed like a deity high above.

This was a proud and terrifying man; his sword technique, the Flying Immortal Beyond the Heavens, was as flawless and pure as the blue sky and white clouds.

His mind was also as unfathomable as a deep abyss or a vast sea.

He was that patch of white cloud in the azure sky overseas, and he was also that smudge of dark cloud looming over the entire imperial palace, threatening to crush the city.

The audience gradually sensed that this world possessed a different kind of grandeur.

If this had been back when Fang Qi first opened the shop, and they had watched it then, the swordsmanship of this moment might have seemed neither spectacular nor intense.

Because before their blades even clashed, they had already begun to shift continuously; the movements of the men were slow, but the changes of the sword tips were swift, and before a strike was even unleashed, it had already altered in accordance with their minds.

Such a battle was not spectacular, lacking the dazzling, sweeping sword qi, remaining plain and unadorned.

It was precisely because Nalan Hongwu possessed deep attainments in this path that he could understand the terror of this realm—no matter how you evaded, what you were about to face was the most perfect, pinnacle strike that could be achieved by spirit, qi, intent, speed, power, positioning, and even heaven and earth itself.

That was a near-perfect control; where the heart arrived, the sword moved, even giving people the illusion that no reaction time was required.

What was even more terrifying was that no matter how their swords, their positions, or their enemy's positions shifted, Nalan Hongwu could be certain that their strike in the next instant would still be flawless.

Perhaps in the past, they had never imagined that such a method of confrontation could exist.

Now, all that everyone saw was the swaying of the sword tips and the movement of the men; the swords remained undrawn.

But Nalan Hongwu truly understood; he could discern that even a single sway might carry within it countless psychological contests between the two sides.

This was a terrifying capacity for calculation.

And with their near-perfect control, the moment they discovered even the slightest shred of an opportunity, they would instantly transform this variation, which existed only in the abstract, into a tangible, perfect strike!

Because it was not obscured by extravagant displays of power, it could be seen with absolute clarity.

If this were replaced by a truly profound level of cultivation, Nalan Hongwu could hardly imagine what kind of existence in this world could escape with its life from beneath such a sword.

And finally, they witnessed the two men unleash their swords.

At this moment, the starlight and moonlight grew even fainter, and all the radiance between heaven and earth seemed concentrated upon the two blades.

They struck but a single blow.

And at this moment, wave after wave of startled cries echoed throughout the entire shop.

They saw that Ye Gucheng's sword was like a gust of wind from beyond the white clouds.

Yet upon Ximen Chuixue's sword, there seemed to be an invisible thread attached—his wife, his home, his emotions were that invisible thread.

A microscopic difference of a hair's breadth appeared between the two sides.

Nalan Hongwu, Zong Wu, and even the host of cultivators, including Guo Tingyun.

At this moment, all of them had their mouths wide open, as if a sound in their throats wanted to cry out but was being choked back.

The entire venue was dead silent.

The bright moon had vanished, and the starlight had also vanished, disappearing into the first light of dawn just appearing in the east!

Everyone looked at this point in silence.

Perhaps at this moment, two more names had entered the hearts of everyone present.

Names like immortals and gods.

They would remember this decisive battle, branded into their minds.

Like poetry and song: On the night of the full moon, atop the Forbidden City, a sword comes from the west, a flying immortal from beyond the heavens.

Only after a long while did they slowly awaken from the lingering emotions.

"Ah—! That was amazing!" After watching it, Song Qingfeng practically roared aloud.

"A sword comes from the west, a flying immortal from beyond the heavens..." Nalan Hongwu murmured, repeating these two lines; even this old man who had experienced so much could not help but have his eyes redden, seemingly deeply moved.

Su Tianji was seen raising the Divine Sword Moxue, which she had just pulled from her pocket: "This blade is a weapon supreme under heaven; its edge measures three feet seven inches, with a net weight of seven catties and thirteen taels."

It felt exceedingly magnificent.

The sect master beside her, Xue Daoluy, witnessed this, his face twitching in irritation: Damn it, that is obviously Moxue!

Next, Nalan Mingxue also drew the Mad Blade Xueyin, saying coldly: "This is the elite of cold swords from overseas, cutting a hair blown against it; its edge is three feet three, with a net weight of six catties and four taels!"

She felt herself to be exceptionally formidable!

The others were moved to tears of frustration: Damn it, you people are just blatantly showing off!

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