“But…” the cultivator tried to speak again, only to be interrupted by his senior sister, “If it really was the sect leader himself here, there’d be no need to continue—we might as well just concede…”
She hadn’t finished her sentence when she suddenly froze. Not just her—practically all the cultivators on the southern city wall were stunned. Behind the increasingly thick green fog, a man in a dark blue robe suddenly appeared. Although he seemed to be in his forties, the years hadn’t marred him but instead endowed him with a charisma that could not be found in younger men. Ling Ji, looking as handsome and captivating as ever, slowly stepped out of the fog, in his hand was the sword that had once dazzled the four realms. Among young cultivators here, many had heard tales of Ling Ji’s impressive feats during his younger days, largely because their elders had been defeated under his sword.
“It really is… it is…” the young male cultivator from Duankong Sect gritted his teeth, his voice trembling. Just three months ago, this Seventh Martial Uncle had been the most mysterious existence in the sect. Many younger disciples had heard legendary tales of his youth, but those stories felt too distant, far removed from the reality they lived in. After joining the Duankong Sect, they had never seen this Seventh Martial Uncle wield his sword.
They could hardly imagine how dazzling the sword that once stirred the four realms was, having only seen a Ling Ji who seemed indifferent to everything.
It was really difficult for them to connect the powerful legendary swordsman with the low-key and detached Seventh Martial Uncle.
That is, until that day…
The disciples who had been in the sect that day would likely never forget. They couldn’t forget the sword light that had suddenly stirred in the main hall, nor could they forget their Seventh Martial Uncle, who had walked out from the main hall, the sharpness of his presence rivaled that of the world’s sharpest sword. They also couldn’t forget how their respective masters had to follow silently behind Seventh Martial Uncle, bowing their heads in deference.
The two Duankong disciples defending the southern wall happened to be at the sect that day. Even seeing a sword that might have been Ling Ji’s had already given them so much terror they were rendered speechless.
Now, seeing the man himself before them, the young male cultivator was only stunned for a moment before quickly sheathing his natal sword and bowing to Ling Ji: “Greetings, Sect Leader.”
His senior sister did the same. Even though the defensive array on the city wall separated them from Ling Ji, and even though no one would remember what happened here after leaving Ten Absolutes Mountain…
But they couldn’t forget the sword aura they had witnessed that day. That sweeping, overwhelming sword aura could even stir the winds and clouds, the epitome of the world’s sharpest blade that gave you a chill to the bone.
Ling Ji’s gaze swept lightly over the two Duankong disciples. He motioned with his hand, and his sword was once again in action. This time, everyone saw it—the thin and narrow sword, like a specter, suddenly stabbed at the colorful lights of the defensive array.
Clang, clang, clang… A barrage of sounds erupted. All the cultivators on the city wall were still reeling from the shock of Ling Ji’s sudden appearance, unsure of what their next action should be when facing the sect leader of Duankong Sect. Only when cultivators from different parts of the city, who had hurried over to assist, arrived on the wall did they snap back to reality.
“What are you doing?!” The leader of the reinforcement team, a spell cultivator, shouted angrily. He looked at the dazed crowd on the wall, then at the sword boldly attacking the array’s colorful barrier, furious. “What are you doing?! Have you all lost your minds?!” This person was an inner disciple of Jingyuetian, the number one spell sect in Three Thousand Worlds, although not under Yan Xuan’s father. He was also one of Jingyuetian’s most talented disciples, and although his fame couldn’t compare to Yan Xuan’s in its heyday, he was still quite renowned in the Three Thousand Worlds.
“It’s… it’s Sect Leader Ling!” one of the cultivators managed to respond.
“What do you mean, Sect Leader Ling?!” The Jingyuetian disciple furrowed his brow and he was about to yell again when his gaze suddenly swept across the now dark green fog.
“!!!” His eyes widened as he spotted the crescent moon above the thick fog.
“Ju… Junior Brother Yan?!” The Jingyuetian disciple watched incredulously.
Jingyuetian was one of the oldest sects in the Three Thousand Worlds. Having preserved the legacy of the bygone era, its disciples almost universally used the same method to cultivate their natal weapon, which typically took the shape of moons. For ordinary disciples, their natal weapons were usually full moons. The more talented the disciple, the smaller the moon, with a crescent only achieved by the most talented disciples.
At this moment, a crescent moon hung above the dark green fog, casting a gentle glow. The moonlight spilled over the fog like mercury, cascading endlessly. If not for the fog’s eerie dark green color, the scene would have been enchantingly beautiful.
The Jingyuetian disciple was very familiar with Yan Xuan, a junior brother of his, not to mention that none of the other three Jingyuetian disciples who had entered Ten Absolutes Mountain possessed a crescent-shaped natal weapon. “No… impossible!” He quickly shook his head, dismissing his own thought. It was impossible that Yan Xuan, with his severe injuries and merely Qi Condensation level of power, could be this powerful.
But another voice in his heart whispered: Junior Brother Yan Xuan had completed the third challenge, joined the Heavenly Camp, and fought alongside Pei Mufeng and others. Maybe his injuries had healed long ago!
“Junior Brother Yan?” The cultivators near the Jingyuetian disciple heard him and looked at him in disbelief, asking, “Which Junior Brother Yan?!”
There is only one Junior Brother Yan in Jingyuetian!
Yan Shunbei has only this one son!
It was clear which ‘Junior Brother Yan’ had shocked this Jingyuetian disciple.
As if Ling Ji wasn’t enough, now Yan Xuan too? The cultivators on the walls were stunned.
“What are you all dazing about?!” Suddenly someone shouted, “No matter who they are, is this the time to be lost in thought? If they break through our city wall’s defense array, all of us will have to face that terrifying sword!”
“Are we just going to stand here and let him kill us all?!”
“Right!”
“Strike now!”
“Take action!”
“We can’t just sit here and wait to die!”
“Exactly! We can’t just sit here and wait to die!”
For a moment, the city wall became noisy again. Yet, the cultivators on the city wall perhaps didn’t realize that although they had just felt they had an overwhelming numerical advantage and could crush the Heavenly Camp, they were now using “we can’t just sit here and wait to die” to motivate each other and boost morale.
Meng Qi and her group were much more composed. They never expected Ling Ji alone to completely overwhelm all the cultivators from the Earthly Camp, as they were no weak opponents. Startling them into a momentary pause was enough.
Inside Meng Qi’s Five Spirits Cauldron, the medicinal liquid continued to churn, popping tiny bubbles continuously. Soon, she waved her hand again, and a glob of this liquid merged into the thick fog, instantly deepening its already dark green hue. She reached out again, dropping several more spiritual herbs into her cauldron.
Even Yan Xuan and Qin Xiumo were somewhat surprised—just how many spiritual materials and medicinal items had Meng Qi prepared?! Her storage pouch seemed like a bottomless pit, the stuff within it seemingly inexhaustible.
Not to mention the constant use of profound-grade spirit stones.
“Meng Qi, just how many spiritual materials did you prepare?” Yan Xuan finally couldn’t help but ask.
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