My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion-Chapter 644 - 428: Soul Severed at Yuanfeng Building

"Come!"

Raindrops as large as beans fell from the sky, shattering upon impact.

Two figures stood opposite each other, their silhouettes jagged and fierce against the brooding sky, like ominous shadows cast by broken stones. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

It seemed as if neither moved.

BANG!

An explosive clash of metal reverberated through the street.

The curtain of rain rippled outward from the sound, scattering in splintered waves. The two seemed to vanish in an instant, closing dozens of meters between them. Sparks from clashing blades flashed cold, filling the street with an icy chill.

Six Yang Elder's face revealed both shock and awe as he said:

"Master Huang has truly reached such a pinnacle."

The Daoist of the Flying Sword caught a faint glimpse of the technique but was only able to grasp a fraction of it. He involuntarily asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"I had assumed that after Master Huang suffered the grief of losing his son, his martial skills, even if not ruined, would have stagnated for years," the elder sighed, rain dripping from his eyebrows. "But now that I've witnessed this, I see his skill is refined anew—driven by sheer will!"

"What kind of will?" the Daoist of the Flying Sword asked.

"A father avenging his son!"

With the elder's solemn words, another cloud of mist exploded through the wide street.

The long blade cleaved through the sheet of rain. Three feet and seven inches in length, one finger's breadth in width—it emanated an icy, forbidding aura. The rainwater beaded and slid off its edge instantly, revealing a blade that killed without leaving traces of blood. Its ornate purple sandalwood scabbard with silver inlay quivered in the downpour—this was Huang Jing's family heirloom blade, "Wankong."

The blade's frostbitten edge passed perilously close to Chen Yi, the air pressure slicing through his waistcoat, leaving it in tatters. Shredded fabric scattered like fire sparks, only to be battered down by relentless rain.

This scene was breathtakingly perilous.

The fierce gusts howled, whipping against Chen Yi's face. Before anyone could discern whether his expression was one of alarm or relief, his figure blurred—a whirlwind of darkness streaking to Huang Jing's side.

Then, he struck out with his blade.

The blade cut out horizontally, a fine, cutting line bursting forth with searing fierceness, seeking to cleave Huang Jing in two at the waist!

Huang Jing's face shifted slightly. In a sudden sidestep, he dodged the strike, weaving past the blade's edge with footsteps containing the circular finesse of the Eight Diagrams. His movement wasn't overly quick, but with measured, seamless fluidity, he found himself at Chen Yi's side. Wankong Knife sliced horizontally, threatening to split open Chen Yi's skullcap.

Chen Yi's body twisted in an instant. With another step—a step that seemed to tread on clouds—his figure blinked into disappearance. Huang Jing's face once again darkened; spent of strength, he twisted backward in a desperate roll, his form scattering rainwater around him as he tumbled.

Before onlookers could discern the fight's intricacies, a pitch-black figure descended fiercely from the air!

BANG!

The blade carved a deep gash into the ground, rain bursting against Chen Yi's shoulder, its impact sending gusting bursts of air whipping his drenched garments skyward.

Huang Jing retreated several paces, instantly widening the distance by over a dozen meters. As he withdrew, he angled the back of his blade toward the rain and gave it a sudden shake. The water droplets turned into needles, shooting through the air like projectiles.

Chen Yi shifted and dodged deftly, slicing through the flying rain needles with the wind of his blade. When he finally came to a halt, the warping rain curtain between them reformed itself entirely.

Rain fell densely, like iron!

Six Yang Elder's expression oscillated between grave seriousness and cautious relaxation, while the Daoist of the Flying Sword was deeply engrossed, meditating on the profound intermingling of sword and knife intent. Meanwhile, Thunder Bear considered whether such a blade could break through his invulnerable Golden Bell Protection. The rest of the Jianghu fighters, unable to peel their eyes away, clicked their tongues incessantly, marveling at the ferocity of the duel but failing to grasp any deeper understanding.

Huang Jing stood firm, fixing his gaze on Chen Yi, his voice hoarse as he said:

"Fine blade... fine blade. At barely thirty years of age, your skill is only slightly beneath my Huang's Saber. Given time, you may well become another Lonely Smoke Sword."

Chen Yi said nothing, wasting no breath on idle chatter.

Words were meaningless. No matter how eloquent, they could not disturb even a single raindrop. Matters of life and death—of justice or vengeance—were drawn with the pen of swords and knives, one horizontal, one vertical.

Huang Jing's blade tip rose. The reason he agreed to this duel of life and death wasn't merely to maintain his heroic dignity—it was because back at Yuanfeng Building, he had seen Chen Yi's technique firsthand, gaining insight into how to counter it.

For a martial artist, the worst fear is having your technique seen through. This is why martial sects value their disciples' origins more than their talents—those with obscure or suspect backgrounds are never admitted to the inner sanctum, lest the sect's secrets be stolen and exposed.

Huang Jing's voice rose sharply as he said:

"Your movement is 'Stepping Across the Clouds,' but far from Tang Ze's authentic mastery. You're nothing but an imperial lackey—treacherous scum! It's shameful enough to sell yourself to the emperor, but to steal the techniques of righteous warriors? The Jianghu Code is clear: thieves lose their hands! Do you understand?"

"Idiot."

Chen Yi unleashed 'Stepping Across the Clouds' once more. First one step, then another. By the third step, he had pierced through the wall of rain.

Huang Jing had widened the gap earlier and used rain as projectiles specifically to disrupt this movement. But now, as Chen Yi reached his third step, Huang Jing also lunged forward, his footwork derived from the Ba Gua Sect of Northern Shaanxi. It excelled at sticking and binding opponents, a perfect match for Huang's Saber, a blend of both soft and hard techniques.

The Huang family had splintered from the Ba Gua Sect generations ago. With the Eight Diagrams stepping technique paired with the Huang's Saber, the combination was flawless.

Amid the pouring rain, Huang Jing and Chen Yi passed by each other in a flash. Huang Jing knew Chen Yi had yet to draw his sword, so he closed the distance to less than an inch, pressing his blade straight in to deny Chen Yi the space to unsheathe.

CRACK!

Chen Yi planted one foot down. His other foot abruptly kicked upward with brutal force, smashing into Huang Jing's chin!

Huang Jing's body vaulted into the air, crashing through endless strands of rain. His breath hitched as his limbs convulsed, and he barely managed to stabilize himself upon landing, skidding back several steps on the slick ground. The two separated once more, with only muffled impacts echoing through the rain.

Huang Jing wiped the blood trickling from his mouth in wolfish frustration, muttering hoarsely:

"You fight with fists and feet as well?"

Chen Yi glanced down at the ripples left in the rainwater from Huang Jing's retreat.

Huang Jing's pupils narrowed, sensing Chen Yi's attempt to deconstruct his Eight Diagrams stepping. He couldn't afford to be passive; immediately, he stepped forward, rushing down a perfectly straight line.

As he closed the distance, however, he saw the faintest smirk curl at Chen Yi's lips.

A chill shot through Huang Jing, dressed in funeral shrouds.

He realized too late…

This was a trap!

The sword on Chen Yi's back unsheathed. In a single swift motion, Chen Yi gripped the blade and thrust it through the rain, the tip carving a massive void through the downpour as it surged forward.

Faced with imminent death, Huang Jing neither retreated nor dodged. Wrath flared in his eyes—a father bereft of his son had long discarded thoughts of survival. He stomped heavily on the ground; Wankong Knife scraped along the sword's edge as it deflected the thrust!

SHHHHIIING.

Sparks scattered amidst the rain.

Huang Jing angled the sword's tip just enough that it merely pierced his side. Blood erupted as he steadied his remaining strength, roaring furiously, "Die!"

Not just a wound for a kill—but a death for another death.

The blade of Wankong gleamed coldly, its power terrifying. The rain that touched its edge burst apart instantly. Its blow surged like a torrent, cascading toward Chen Yi in an inescapable flood!

Chen Yi let go of his sword and sidestepped lightly, the rain exploding like shattered glass in front of him. He remained expressionless.

Huang Jing struck again, his blade raining down in layer upon layer. Like a storm, the consecutive strikes engulfed Chen Yi's form. Yet even amidst this relentless assault, Chen Yi retreated step by step, as if each strike had its own counterpoint in his retreat.

Tattered fabrics scattered everywhere, his garments shredded, floating like silken debris under the force of the blade. Cuts grazed his arms, his face, and his ankles… The chilling air pierced into him, yet his steps remained light, as if hovering across the rippling water's surface.

After an indeterminate number of steps, Huang Jing's slashes suddenly came to a halt. His energy inexplicably drained. Lowering his gaze, he saw blood pooling, a scarlet flower blooming into the rain—a string of his intestines hanging from the wound.

Huang Jing's eyes widened as he stared through the dense curtain of rain at Chen Yi. He seemed to want to lift his blade, but his feet were immobile. He stretched his hand feebly, yet his blade slipped from his grasp.

CLANG.

The funeral-clad Huang Jing collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Chen Yi returned both sword and blade to their scabbards, standing silently in the rain.

One horizontal. One vertical.

A question of fairness, a question of life and death.

Whoooosh whoooosh whoooosh…

What an extraordinary battle, yet the only sound on the street was the falling rain, reminiscent of the charred ruins of Yuanfeng Building. The crowd was silent, faces frozen in shock.

A deathly stillness.

At this moment, even those who were not masters—even those with just a pair of eyes—could see it clearly.

Huang Jing fought with his life, his blade razor-sharp and unrelenting, as fierce as the tide.

But in the end,

he only tore through cloth…