Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 461 - 126 Brandishing the Sword with a Long Roar, Leaning on Kunlun (Combined in One)

Wan Longke had never seen such a brilliant sword light before.

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His eyes widened, his body stiffened. Under such a sword light, even though he had stepped into the Fifth Rank and become a Xuanwu Martial Artist, he had absolutely no power to resist. Yet, unlike the several other martial artists around him, he didn't lose his composure; instead, he just held his sword with both hands, staring straight as the sword light devoured him.

Under the sword light, he watched the man he once disdained, his sword robe stained with blood.

All sorts of emotions surfaced in his heart—rage, unwillingness—all of which dissipated under the sword light. He sighed, smiled and nodded, saying, "I submit!"

The sword light was fierce.

It then engulfed everyone around him, and before death took him, Wan Longke had already lost all thought about his original plans, merely watching that unprecedented pure sword light.

His body was erect, the stance of a true martial artist.

To die under this sword, what a fortune...

It's a pity...

Wan Longke sighed inwardly, his thoughts fading away with the approach of death.

The sword light dissipated.

Heaven and Earth were clear, as if the vast sky.

In a radius of more than five hundred miles, every Sect master who had long coveted the Heavenly Sword Sect perished under Hong Hui's sword, falling to the ground. Six top-grade blades, once listed in the rankings of the Fire Refining Sect, were embedded to Hong Hui's left and right, their qi mechanism stirring up a sharp whistling sound that echoed persistently.

With the enemies dead, the Heavenly Sword could flourish for another decade.

By that time, the next generation would have also grown up. Thinking of this filled him with hope, but Hong Hui's expression was as stern as ever. The five people who had descended from the Heavenly Sword Sect bore faces full of grief, looking at Hong Hui's upright posture for a long time, nearly speechless at the familiar visage.

The three treasures of a martial artist are essence, qi, and spirit.

With Hong Hui's cultivation, he had entirely burnt out his essence and life, his body broken, his vitality scattered, pouring everything he had into the longsword to strike that recent blow.

At this moment, Hong Hui was barely supported by his remaining Sword Intent, but this would eventually dissipate.

Then, even his physical body would not remain.

The elder opened his mouth, as the old send off the young, his face full of sorrow, hoarsely saying:

"Foolish child..."

"Was it worth it?"

Hong Hui nodded, saying, "It was worth it."

Without hesitation.

The elder looked at the child he had led into the Heavenly Sword Sect, the youth who once climbed on his neck to pick fruit, looked at the now 'Heavenly Sword' with tearful eyes, unable to speak anymore.

At this moment, Hong Feibai seemed to come back to his senses, his body swaying slightly, almost falling backward.

But he steadied himself quickly.

Even if his junior brothers were naive and foolish, seeing their master looking fierce and his blue and white sword robe stained with blood, they already knew what this scene represented.

Immense grief struck at once, the young ones hardly able to accept this reality. Their faces showed sorrow, and low sobs could be heard. Hong Hui looked in that direction, frowned, and coldly shouted:

"What are you crying for!"

The crying paused slightly, as if frightened.

The disciples raised their eyes, hope flickering within them.

The stern man in their eyes still stood there.

The elder, however, could not bear to look, knowing the current state of Hong Hui, how every inch of his body was torn by the extreme Sword Intent. At this moment, any slight movement would disperse the residual Sword Intent and his body would instantly turn to dust, dying in extreme agony. Even speaking each word made him suffer an agony like a thousand arrows piercing his heart.

The elder's nose soured, nearly unable to hold back his tears.

Hong Hui's tone remained unchanged, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, looking at his disciples, he sternly rebuked:

"How have I always taught you? Huh? Crying, what kind of swordsman does that make you?"

"Everyone will die. I will die, and one day, you too will leave this world."

"Crying, crying, crying, is crying of any use in Jianghu? Since you have returned to the Sect, go back and practice your sword immediately. At this hour, your swordsmanship is not yet polished. Go now!"

His voice was as usual.

As if in the mountains, as if in the sect.

As if on every morning of martial arts training.

He again frowned, looking at two of them, saying:

"Ling Hao, correct those three issues with your swordsmanship early."

"You Ruoqian, if you still can't keep a proper state of mind, better leave the mountain early and don't enter Jianghu again."

His tone really wasn't polite.

The two called out boys straightened up, responding loudly. You Ruoqian, a youth who had only joined the sect a few years ago, often secretly cursed this strict master. Yet at this moment, he responded loudly, his eyes looking at the sky, tears uncontrollably streaming down his youthful face.

Hong Hui, seeing this, seemed to become angry, saying:

"Return to the mountain to cultivate immediately, don't stay here!"

"Go, go, go!"

The crowd stood silently, unwilling to leave, not until the eldest among them spoke. Then they walked with stiff steps toward the Sect gate, passing the battlefield, passing the man standing erect.

Passing their master, walking towards their future.

So they didn't see the middle-aged man with his back turned to them, his facial expression becoming gentle.