Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 464 - 128: Farewell to Jianghu (2/2)

In the third year of the Great Yuan Era of the Great Qin, on the twenty-first day of the eleventh lunar month.

At Heavenly Sword Sect, Hong Hui's sword shattered the sky. With the strength of a Sixth Rank Martial Artist, he challenged those above his rank, killing one Fifth Rank Martial Artist and seven Sixth Rank Martial Artists. Within a radius of over five hundred miles at the heart of Heavenly Sword Sect, at the boundary of two counties, all foes were vanquished, mighty adversaries were no more. Many sects crumbled and disbanded, incapable of sustaining themselves, no longer capable of competing as before.

This place was almost devastated by a single person wielding a sword.

All were shocked.

............…

The Heavenly Sword Sect is located on one of the four surrounding peaks called Cloud Soaring Peak, where atop the peak lies an ancient pavilion. The terrain is exceedingly treacherous, swept by fierce Gang winds that prevent ordinary people from climbing.

Legend has it that seventy years ago, the Heavenly Sword himself left it behind. Originally, it was just a perilous mountain top devoid of verdant greenery throughout spring and autumn, covered solely with hideous rocks that obscured the vast scenery.

At that time, a young swordsman, displeased and drunk, drew his sword and stumbled up the mountain at night. First, he sliced off the peak with a single stroke, then with a breath turned the severed mountain top into dust, never to be seen in the world again. Afterwards, he gathered craftsmen to build the pavilion there.

The veracity of this story has become hard to ascertain.

After a full seventy years of vicissitudes in Jianghu, the elders of the past have long scattered to the winds. Is the story of this pavilion true, or is it false?

No one cares.

Most people simply regard it as the members of Heavenly Sword Sect glorifying themselves. However, the scenery of this place is truly magnificent and extraordinary.

At the highest point of the terrain, one can look up to see the vast and boundless sky, and looking down, the mountain undulates uncertainly, winding like dragons and snakes. Between heaven and earth, there is a vast expanse. The Gang wind howls, all sounds are hushed. Standing there, one feels utterly alone, naturally evoking the frosty solitude of an Immortal.

An elderly man in white stands outside a courtyard halfway up the mountain. He lifts a cup of tea to his mouth, sets down the cup after drinking, and looks towards the faint figure of a young man in blue in the pavilion, watching as the latter remains unmoved amidst the roaring Gang wind, lost in a trance.

Wang Anfeng stands in the pavilion, with the Gang wind blowing from all four directions. His clothing flutters wildly, but he himself is as steady as an old pine with roots deep in the ground, not moving an inch. His black hair is tied with a wooden hairpin, his eyes calm, as he simply gazes at the majestic weather and sky.

In his hand, he holds a sword.

An iron sword, with a scabbard that is nothing more than two pieces of wood nailed together, pitifully plain.

Yet, even amidst the Gang wind, this sword too remains still.

After staring at the landscape outside the mountain for an unknown period, a faint glimmer lightens Wang Anfeng's eyes, as if awakening from a statue-like state. He raises the longsword in his right hand, its blade pointing straight at the oncoming Gang wind.

At that moment, the wind is fierce. It's not necessary to mention such a rudimentary weapon, which is essentially just a slab of iron. Even a truly sharp, high-quality sword would tremble and hum, or even bend within such a gale, but this sword emits not a sound. Silent as a stubborn stone, it cleaves the head-on storm.

Wang Anfeng narrows his eyes slightly, a divine light hidden in their depths.

In his mind, he replays the grandiose sword strike he witnessed the day before, over and over.

That sword strike was not the strongest he had ever seen. In the Qingfeng Edge, the Great Elder had used his finger as a sword to split the skylight and clouds three thousand miles away, stunning the world and ranking among the top ten fighters.

Those at such a high level are difficult to categorize by rank.

Mindset, state, combat will...

The outcome of a clash changes due to various factors. Each fighter is a brilliant individual of this era; each one is extraordinary and unparalleled. How could it be so easy to determine who is superior or inferior? The Great Elder of Qingfeng Edge, reputedly the seventh in the world, is in fact among the premier Martial Artists under heaven.

But to Wang Anfeng at this moment, the last sword that Hong Hui spent his life force on, though vastly inferior in power, was not the slightest bit different in intent.

It was only when he saw that sword that Wang Anfeng understood the compensation Hong Hui had mentioned for protecting Hong Feibai and the others—being able to witness that sword up close.

To see the most intense moment in a swordsman's life.

To personally feel that sword intent, that sword heart. Such an opportunity was rare, even for any swordsman who cultivated the Sword Dao, let alone for any martial artist.

Wang Anfeng took a deep breath, his eyes closed. Amidst the raging wind, the sword didn't tremble, standing still like a silent, stubborn rock, dispersing the gale.

The elder on the mountainside watched, spellbound. It took a long while before he withdrew his gaze and turned to another direction—the training ground of the Cloud Soaring Sword Sect. There, fierce sword lights flashed. Despite the considerable distance, one could still feel the piercing sharpness.

On the training ground, Hong Feibai wielded a broken sword, still performing the same Cloud Soaring Sword Technique. Each silver flash and bursting sword Qi possessed full strength, causing envy among the other disciples. But he never seemed to be satisfied or to stop.

With each repetition, the technique gradually altered. Yet, everyone could tell that this evolving sword technique was still the Cloud Soaring Sword Technique.

The clouds move without trace, existence and extinction formless.

In the young man's uplifted black hair were strands of grey.

More eye-catching than the brightness of the swords.

The elder looked away, sighing aloud.

Three days after Hong Hui's dissolution, the Tiger Sword Sect moved as a whole, leaving its original headquarters.

Thereafter, Yuedao Sect, Twin Fist Sect, and all others left. Of the original sects, barely one in ten remained. Some skilled martial artists from Jianghu appeared near the Heavenly Sword Sect with the intention to establish their own sects and take in disciples. Nevertheless, none dared to disrespect the Heavenly Sword Sect.

Inside a tavern's private room in the city.

A burly man drank heartily, his counterpart a refined man holding a longsword, handsome except for the scar marring his cheek, adding a touch of fierceness to his demeanor.

If it were a martial artist active in the southern parts of Fufeng, they would recognize this middle-aged man and the slender, sharp longsword in his hand.

With this sharp sword and an extremely unpredictable Chain Fast Sword technique, Cen Penghai's name had grown quite prominent in the southern region of Fufeng.

The burly man emptied a jar of strong liquor, thumping the empty jar heavily on the table.

Furrowing his brows, he looked at his older brother, his voice rough:

"Big brother, if you want to establish a sect, why bother to pay respects to that Heavenly Sword Sect?"

"It's a loss of prestige for no reason!"

Cen Penghai raised his eyebrows, slightly amused:

"Oh? How so?"

The burly man, bolstered by the liquor, slurred:

"What's there to say..."

"In that Sword Sect, only four Middle Third Rank experts remain, along with an old man who doesn't have many years left. With your martial prowess, big brother, why show them so much respect? It's embarrassing. It makes our friends in Jianghu laugh at us."

"Besides, with such a vast territory, Heavenly Sword Sect only has those few experts. If they keep everything in their hands, aren't they worried, aren't they worried that the surrounding martial artists and sects will be tempted by profit? If they attack in unison, Heavenly Sword Sect won't be able to stop them..."

Cen Penghai, who had been only smiling faintly as he listened, had his smiling demeanor dissipate and fell silent, sighing leisurely before he said,

"They are not certain."

The man who had spoken earlier now sounded somewhat inebriated as he asked in return,

"What, not certain?"

"Exactly, they are not certain."

Cen Penghai spoke, then fell silent for a moment before adding,

"Who knows if Heavenly Sword Sect will see the emergence of a third Heavenly Sword?"

"Within the same generation as Hong Hui, there are still four swordmasters, and there is also one swordsman at Fifth Rank."

"Below the Grandmaster, no one is certain they can withstand that one sword..."

When Hong Hui unleashed that sword, they were nearby visiting a friend. Recalling the sight of the Sword Qi Soaring to Skies they witnessed back then, and imagining the swordsman's grace, Cen Penghai felt a shiver in his heart and soul, almost overcome with an irresistible urge.

But following that impulse, a deep sense of defeat arose.

A swordsman's defeat.

His companion had already passed out drunk, but Cen Penghai continued to speak, not to explain, but because the intense emotions were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't feel at ease until he expressed them. After drinking three cups of wine in succession, he murmured,

"Hong Hui's sword didn't just kill martial artists, it killed endless human hearts and the omnipresent covetousness in Jianghu. After witnessing that Sword Qi Soaring to Skies, as long as there are swordsmen of Hong Hui's generation still alive, no one would dare to easily make a move against Heavenly Sword."

"It was truly capable of prolonging the life of Heavenly Sword Sect by a decade."

"And if someone from the next generation can grow, cultivating with that spirit, Heavenly Sword Sect will flourish for three hundred years..."

He stared out the window, gazing at the vast expanse of the sky.

The burly man beside him had already collapsed on the table, snoring loudly.

On the first day of the twelfth month, Hong Hui was buried.

On the martial arts field, Hong Feibai sheathed his sword once more.

The swordsmanship he was now demonstrating with his hands was no longer the same as before.

After contemplating the familiar scenery for a long time, he stepped towards the main hall, towards Bu Yunmeng.

Upon the summit of Cloud Soaring Mountain, Wang Anfeng, who had stood in the pavilion for several days, finally made a new move, but it was not to draw his sword.

He looked up at the vastness of Heaven and Earth, sighed, turned, and swept away his sleeve before departing. Before leaving, he weighed the Iron Sword in his hand and casually thrust it into the blue stone of the pavilion.

The sword remained motionless as ever.

After Wang Anfeng departed, an elderly man who had been lingering halfway up Cloud Soaring Mountain swiftly ascended, unaffected by the Gang wind. He landed upon the pavilion, gazing intently at the Iron Sword thrust into the ground. Moments later, he suddenly reached out to touch it.

A resounding sword cry arose.

The old man reflexively withdrew his hand, looking at the blood on his fingers, thinking about the swordsmanship he had seen from Hong Feibai these past days, and murmured softly,

"One grasps the mood by standing still, the other captures the technique in motion."

"Having attained it, yet abandoning it..."

Wang Anfeng had come to follow the tracks of the high-ranking experts from White Tiger Hall, but since the Incense Master of White Tiger Hall had died under Hong Hui's sword, the clues came to an abrupt end.

Now that Hong Hui had been buried, he had no reason to stay. He went to visit the Sect Leader of Heavenly Sword Sect, and upon leaving Heavenly Sword Sect, he saw Hong Feibai on the downhill path, whom he had not been able to find before.

The young man's temples were slightly white, yet his demeanor was more profound. He carried two swords on his back, one broad and simple, the other slender, and had a Broken Sword tucked at his waist.

The Broad Sword was named Heavenly Dragon Bone, used by Hong Hui in his youth, while the slender sword was just the standardized longsword worn by disciples of the Heavenly Sword Sect.

Wang Anfeng said in slight astonishment,

"Feibai, what are you..."

His gaze fell on the blue bundle the young man was carrying.

Hong Feibai, aware of his gaze, replied with a calm expression,

"I want to see the Jianghu beyond Fufeng, to see the various landscapes, to see the different swords..."

"And then come back."

Wang Anfeng looked at the young man, slowly nodded, and said,

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"That indeed sounds good..."

Hong Feibai nodded, and the two fell silent, walking down the mountain together until they reached the foot. Standing on a battlefield that had been wholly changed after being the scene of several fights among Middle Third Rank experts, Hong Feibai stopped, pursed his lips, turned to Wang Anfeng, and slowly raised his hand in salute, saying,

"Then, Brother Wang."

"Till we meet again in Jianghu..."

Wang Anfeng observed the swordsman with the slightly white temples and armed with three swords, raised his hand in response, and said,

"Till we meet again in Jianghu."

"Then, I take my leave."

"Farewell..."

PS: Here's the second update for today...

Yes, today's update is a bit late, I'll appreciate the support with rewards tomorrow... Then, I'll return to a more regular update schedule tomorrow...