Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 459 - 124 I Don’t Regret (4/5)

Since he had agreed to Hong Hui’s request, although he despised the man’s character, Wang Anfeng still carried his sword and left the inn.

He had watched that courtyard for seven days before he finally returned today.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

A disciple dressed in a blue and white sword robe came out and almost jumped from astonishment, but he remembered that this man had come with the eldest senior brother before, so he barely calmed his mind and made way, saying,

"Are you here to see the eldest senior brother?"

"Please come in," he added.

Wang Anfeng nodded, offered no objection, and stepped into the courtyard.

Hong Feibai was standing in a corner of the courtyard practicing his sword; his sword light was severe, and with a broken sword in hand, he created a grand spectacle. Upon seeing Wang Anfeng, his movements briefly halted.

A disciple had already gone inside to report to the Master’s wife.

It was at that moment, not long after Wang Anfeng had entered the Heavenly Sword Sect’s courtyard, that he suddenly felt a chill in his heart and abruptly looked up.

The sky remained unchanged, but a vast Sword Intent surged upwards. Despite the distance, he still felt as if his skin were being sliced, his expression dramatically changed.

Throughout the courtyard, longswords wailed mournfully.

"What is this…"

"Not good!"

The two exchanged a glance, Wang Anfeng and Hong Feibai burst out of the courtyard, rushing toward the direction from which the fierce aura emanated. With their qinggong, it took only mere moments to reach the location of the city tavern.

Corpses littered the ground, turning what was once the most luxurious area into a scene resembling the Blood Sea.

The remnants of Sword Intent still refused to dissipate.

The old man at the tea stall opposite the tavern looked a bit pale, his legs trembling slightly.

Hong Feibai recognized this pervasive Sword Intent. Seeing the martial artist lying inside the building and feeling the unbelievably strong aura that lingered, his face became drastically pale, and his eyes almost turned red. Clutching his broken sword, he rushed forward.

Gong Rui had just been intimidated by the stern-faced middle-aged swordsman, losing face in front of his subordinates.

A leader without authority will not stand, and upon seeing Hong Feibai’s blue and white sword robe, anger burgeoned within him, suddenly sweeping down his arm, the elite soldiers instinctively triggered their mechanical crossbow bolts.

What was called the pestilence spectacle unfolded here.

One bolt after another tore through the air, targeting only the two people on the street. Wang Anfeng, smelling the blood in the air, felt his heartbeat quickening, thoughts crowding his mind, recalling once again how Hong Hui looked before.

"I know another path, but it’s been long since anyone has taken it."

"I must go ahead and clear it…"

What path does a swordsman take?

What path does a swordsman take?!

Not uttering a word.

Deafening!

Already, someone nearby couldn’t help but shout in alarm, the old man in the tea stall nearly covering his eyes, unwilling to see the young man in green who had come to drink tea here in the earlier days meet disaster, his heart filled with lament.

Sword Intent surged around.

Wang Anfeng’s eyes widened, his right hand almost instinctively gripping the hilt of his Iron Sword.

The sword rang out sharply.

A moment of gloom, suddenly the sword was drawn from its sheath, the longsword traced the enduring Sword Intent in the air, a brilliant sword light flared between Heaven and Earth, facing the arrayed elite troops armed for battle. In an instant, arrows fell like rain, swarming like locusts.

There the young man in green took a firm step forward.

The Iron Sword whistled, and behind him, the sound of a zither rang out sharply, like plucking a sword to sing a song.

He let out a long howl, and the three-foot Qingfeng swirled.

Thus, the swarming locusts were scattered.

The old man who had until now stood firmly despite the pungent smell of blood now widened his eyes, his legs going weak, and he firmly sat down on the ground.

Holding a tin box containing five copper coins, he watched as the man in green charged through the ranks, watching as the long sword cried out, breaking through the swarm of locusts, the three-foot Qingfeng spewing radiant sword light, overwhelming the hundreds of arrayed soldiers, his lips trembling, his arms clutching the iron box tighter, the copper coins clinking incessantly.

His mind flashbacked to the words casually spoken by the young man the day before, leaving a void in his heart with only one thought remaining.

"This sword, truly is worth a hundred thousand gold!"

Inside the courtyard under the third paulownia tree.

The beautiful woman had dried her tears, leaning on the bed, she stared blankly for a moment, recalling the slightly tender whisper of her husband when he left. She then reached for the bowl of porridge on the table.

The temperature was just right to eat, neither hot nor cold, just like the ones she used to make.

She lifted the spoon and stirred, discovering the dried fruit she had loved since childhood hidden at the bottom; it was tender, just how she liked it.

She held the bowl of porridge, lost in thought.

He was always like this, never saying anything…

Hong Hui was moving at a very fast pace on the road, his expression still stern.

The scenery on both sides whooshed past, he approached a pavilion where a man with a steady demeanor sat; behind him stood a crimson longsword with the handle shaped like a ferocious tiger.

On either side stood two men, one a giant of a man holding a heavy sword, and an old man carrying a long sword, both exuding remarkable presence, subtly integrating with the surrounding Heaven and Earth, creating various peculiar phenomenons.

Wan Longke looked up and glanced at the approaching Hong Hui, saying,

"You know, who I was waiting for isn’t you."

Hong Hui’s face showed no fear, even though this man had once driven him to a corner in the Taoist temple, he was still unflinching. He looked up at the several experts before him, including members of the White Tiger Hall and Yuedao Sect Leader, the Tiger Sword Champion, each with a radius of over five hundred miles, many experts had already assembled.

Indeed, his days of waiting had not been in vain.

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The middle-aged swordsman sighed slightly, by now his hair had turned partly white.

Yet his spine remained as straight as the sword in his hand.

His face was stern.

Without speaking, he raised his hand and performed "Immortal Welcoming the Guest," the most fundamental thrust, quickly evolving into many complex variations, the Qi Force changing increasingly intricate, eventually converging forcefully, like a dragon sweeping forward.

This place revealed the top martial artists within a range of over five hundred miles. Seeing this move, full of vast sword intent, the most crucial point was the hidden viciousness and complexity in the sword moves they contained. Immediately, some leaped to dodge, while others, confident in their martial arts, chose to resist with their weapons.

Around ten miles, the sky surged and changed.

A fiercely sharp sword intent almost pierced the heavens.

The snow accumulated on the ground suddenly scattered, then swept up by the sword wind, the sound of clashing weapons echoed incessantly.

One among them groaned, wounded by just one move. As the snow dispersed completely, the expressions of the crowd changed abruptly; a knife thrust into the ground, and its owner’s eyes widened, a sword having pierced his chest.

The elderly swordsman with graying temples slightly stirred his wrist.

The man holding the knife spat out blood, his heart shattered. Even a grandmaster could hardly survive such a blow, and he died instantly.

Hong Hui drew his sword, staggered to stand on the ground, raised his eyes to look at the surrounding martial artists who wore faces of horror, took a deep breath with a stern face, and bowed slightly as if to fulfill the rigid impression these sect heads had of him, and said:

"The first one, it seems I haven’t forgotten how to kill."

"This place with heavy snow is just right for resting, so I invite everyone to stay here..."

The sword-wielding warrior glared and roared angrily,

"Hong Hui, how audacious!"

Hong Hui slightly startled, his face showing a hint of reminiscence, then suddenly shook his head and laughed, the laughter growing louder and more maniacal, suddenly stopping to loudly say:

"I have been too timid for a full twenty-three years."

"It’s time to be bold once!"

The sword in his hand hummed softly.

The swordsman was no longer a peak master, his expression gradually becoming serene, his right hand holding the sword, his left hand outstretched, brushing past the blade of the sword.

Inheritance, inheritance.

A hundred years at the Heavenly Sword Sect, five peaks represented the inheritance.

Over a thousand disciples are the inheritance, including their families, and relatives, a total of tens of thousands of people, sharing fortune and adversity, all of them are the inheritance.

Heavenly Sword Sect had been waning for a long time with wolves lurking around. When his master passed away and no one could support the sect, what awaited them was countless deaths and injuries, disciples dispersed, a literal sea of blood.

Who in the world doesn’t have relatives?

The matter of abandonment was actually proposed by the daughter during a time of hardship.

As they say, no regrets, both father and daughter felt the same.

But it’s better if they just blame me alone.

The swordsman’s expression was stern as he thought to himself, straightening his back.

He had not reached the higher realm his master hoped for, was not a good disciple, his disciples turned against him, his daughter died because of him, his wife accused him with tears...

Looking back at his life, sixteen years of recklessness, followed by twenty-three years of caution, having squandered thirty-nine springs and autumns of his life in vain.

The increasingly loud sound of the sword’s cry.

Hong Hui’s face remained stern as ever, his hair completely turned white.

His daughter’s last serene smile.

The face of the corpse scattered by the wind, his wife’s accusation, his disciples’ turning against him.

All flashed before his eyes.

His heart ached slightly, but his expression remained extremely cold.

No regrets.

How could he regret?

He would feel pain, mourn, and be saddened, but he could not regret. If he regretted, it would be an insult to his daughter who looked at him and boldly stated that everyone has relatives, to the direct disciple who carried his coffin for over a hundred miles, to himself who got to where he is now, and to his fellow sect members lying dead along the path.

It would be an insult to the sword.

His Qingfeng slightly turned in his hand, his burdened back straightened a bit more.

The cautious heart for twenty-three years, at this moment, also birthed a defiance as if he were still the reckless young swordsman who would dare to demand the Jade Emperor to dismount.

To slay all foes, butcher the enemies, for a new legacy, for a new sword heart.

For a dignified future ten years later.

Regret?

No regrets, no regrets!

Isn’t this the master? This is what a master does, right?

Carrying the burden of tradition, he held back the gates of darkness, setting them on a path to a broad and bright future.

The fire passes from one to another.

The fuel ends, the fire continues.

The longsword’s edge slightly lifted, an intense sword momentum rose from his body, enveloping everyone present under his assault, leaving the crowd speechless with fear.

The Incense Master of White Tiger Hall felt his weapon tremble and buzz in his hand, the clouds above dispersed, the sword light fierce and wild, seeming to unleash the twenty-three years of careful cautiousness.

The resonant cry of the sword, vigorous qi burst forth.

The Incense Master of White Tiger Hall’s eyes slightly widened, feeling an almost unbelievable oppressive force from his blade, vigorous qi spurting out, cutting a blood line on his face, the collision of sword qi and inner qi felt like sharp stings, making his body tremble, unable to stabilize.

Across from him, Hong Hui seemed slightly dazed, mutterings, jeers, and mocking provocations filled his ears.

The era of Heavenly Sword Sect is over.

Better to shrink back, be a sect that allows itself to be humiliated and beaten, perhaps barely preserving the sect’s legacy.

To shrink back? To be beaten and berated?

What a joke!

In the world of martial arts, among thousands of sword-wielding fellows, who is the coward?

The nearly middle-aged man’s expression was defiant, vivid as if he were still a youth.