Chapter 27: Heavenly Sword Subdues Evil

  “Don’t stop! Use your thoughts as a sword—el your Qi and guide your Internal Energy.”

  At that moment, after delivering that sword strike, An Jing found his breathing somewhat bored. The Sword Spirit, who had been watg in appreciation, immediately spoke up to guide him:

  “You ed a rge quantity of demonic beast flesh, building up a dense reserve. The moment you broke through, you actually reached Internal Breath Like Rivers—but precisely because of that, the backsh is even stronger!”

  “Guide your energy—return it to your dantian!”

  An Jing took a deep breath. The instant he unleashed the Scarlet Death Bde, he sensed a thick, pure warmth welling up inside him. That rich current seemed to e from nowhere, flowing like a mighty river. There was no doubt it was his Innate One Qi!

  His heart suddenly thumped, far louder and more resonant than ever before, like thunderous war drums eg across heaven ah.

  In that fleeting moment, this powerful warm current turirely into Internal Energy under his trol. However, after striking out with that sword, An Jing no longer had the mental focus to fully and it. His Internal Energy scattered, threatening to disperse throughout his body.

  Fortunately, the Sword Spirit was there. Following its guidance, An Jing took slow, deep breaths as rge beads of sweat began to drip from his arms and chest, carrying a strange fragrance.

  That was the accumuted medial power from ing demonic beast flesh aless Water over a long period—power that had dulled An Jing’s senses and subtly altered his body and mind.

  But not anymore.

  Right now, within An Jing’s body, a sword-like heat roamed. It was as if he had swallowed molten iron, and it scorched a path through him. Wherever it burhe soured out, f harmful residues from his body.

  This was An Jing’s Innate One Qi, which was to say, his Internal Energy.

  That energy was extremely hot and difficult to trol—like the involuntary funing of one’s internal ans, even guiding it was hard.

  Yet a martial artist could direct it by practig sword forms, steering it toward certain areas of the body tthen them. It was simple, swift, and exhirating.

  Through repeated expenditure and stimution, coupled with tinual meals and training, one could grow Internal Energy and enhance trol over it.

  This was also the in of the saying “the poor study while the rich practice martial arts”—oneoruly stepped into a martial artist’s realm, the daily ption of stamina and blood-essence required to cultivate Internal Energy was massive, replenishable only through abundant food or pills.

  However, great sects possessed special “visualizatiohods” that allowed practitioo guide their Internal Energy through focused imagery, thereby produg abundant Internal Energy with minimal loss of blood and Qi.

  The Serene Sword Teique recisely one such method. Uhe guidance of the rusty sword in the Serene Sword Teique, the overly heated blood and Internal Energy gradually became more trolble and refihrough polishing away the sword’s rust. With tinued practiot only would An Jing’s Internal Energy grow stronger, but his very soul would receive a tremendous boost!

  No wohe Sword Spirit described it as “the foundation of all methods.”

  “Time to go back.”

  After stabilizing the Internal Energy in his body—gathering it into his dantian, cirg it throughout his body along the Zhou Tian pathways, theurning it to his dantian in a plete cycle—An Jing’s eyes shone brilliantly. The glow gradually receded, and the Scarlet Death Bde Qi he held also withdrew into his body.

  He had no idea where this Scarlet Death Bde inated, but it responded freely to his will—albeit at the cost of siderable blood and Qi, sapping his stamina.

  He could ask the Sword Spirit about it ter. For now—assuming time flowed the same in both worlds—An Jing guessed it was nearly dawn. He o return to his dorm room immediately.

  Still, he did not fet the most important thing.

  First, he performed the Serene Sword Teique to calm and disguise his Internal Energy, and then the Sword Spirit stirred slightly, cealing it further.

  , he stowed the twe-caliber pistols, the “Lingguang” pistol, and several magazines he had collected. Then An Jing summohe rusty sword.

  Uhe Sword Spirit’s guidance, he sshed through empty air again, slig open a gap aurning to Huaixu.

  Ihe ruins…

  Some time after An Jied…

  A faint rustling sounded. tless threads of darkness verged, f a sich-bck silhouette that silently appeared where An Jing had stood.

  It lingered for some time before the sword marks An Jing had left, warily looking around. Then it wordlessly dispersed, retreating into the shadows.

  In the Huaixu realm…

  At Hanging Fate Manor…

  The torrential rain still poured down, nterns flickering in the wind and water, yet the patrols had all vanished.

  An Jing emerged from a hidden chamber, suppressed his presence, and strode rapidly toward the main residence.

  Using the downpour, he rinsed away the medial fumes his body had expelled. When he passed those “water vats,” he paused for a moment.

  Then, having steeled his resolve, An Jing turned his head and tioward the main building.

  He would not fet.

  Upourning to his dorm, he found everyone fast asleep. No instructors were on patrol—after all, the person in charge of patrolling the dorm was An Jing himself.

  The Medie Manor Lord did not monitor him stantly. As long as the “patrolling instructors” failed to catch him, An Jing would still score full marks the day when he led the training.

  As for how he avoided their patrols—that was simply his own ability, something the Medie Manor Lord paid no mind.

  He wrung out his clothes, ged bato his inal garments, hid the firearms, then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  In the unspoken darkness…

  An Jing dreamed of a sword.

  It was a long, archaic bde with a mysterious guard that merged seamlessly with the sword’s body, like a cold, crystalline sprih the moonlight.

  The bde was three fingers wide and four feet long. Its nearly transparent, silvery-white metal revealed faint turquoise cloud designs whenever light shone upon it.

  Its chilling aura was tempered by a razor-sharp crity, a silent cold emanating slowly from its edge.

  Simply looking at that bde’s edge would make one feel as though they were in the frigid northern rivers, even in the height of summer.

  A pale, slender hand gripped it—thirong.

  Long, sharply defined fingers clutched the hilt, and a solitary figure stood high above the heavens.

  They gazed down upon a cruel and corrupted world.

  Across the nd, yer upon yer of buildings rose; cities burned for a thousand miles. Above the sky’s vault, tless cloud cities plummeted, hidden realms suspended like stars in the firmament.

  A hundred nations waged endless war, seas of blood submerging mountains, fields strewn with white bones. In the capital atop the Heaven’s Pilr, a det emperor indulged in every excess, tless sves prostrate at his feet. In the opulent gardens, men and women writhed like fleshy worms, while from their gluttonous bas came the reek of fresh blood. Bck smoke from torturous fmes rose all the way to the pinnacle of the sky.

  And on that Heaven’s Pilr—atop the cloud cities and myriad hidden realms—pairs of eyes gazed upourbulent world below. They showed her indifferenor delight, her pity nor malice.

  They only watched, waiting for a single seed to emerge from this mountain of corpses and sea of blood, from this o of desire and jungle of flesh, and bee one of them.

  They did not obtain that one Heavenly Will True Demon seed, which had emerged from endless suffering and despair and attained enlighte.

  They found a sword instead.

  At first, it was just a star glimmering at the edge of the sky, then it swelled rapidly, outstripping every floating cloud city, rge enough to cleave the entire heavens. A t divine sword broke through from the summit of the firmament, slig the sky apart and splitting the world in two.

  The moment An Jing truly saw this sword, he felt as though it had cut him—yet it did not strike.

  For it was already broken.

  Broken from the hilt.

  It was merely an echo from ages long past, a remnant of aimes.

  【Subduing Evil】

  At the end, the boy heard a cold, distant voice softly echo in his ear:

  【Uhe】

  g—

  An Jing awakeo the sound of that sword’s ringing.

  (End of Chapter)