My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion-Chapter 708 - 458: Merely the Best in the World (Two in One)

The vast heavens stretched endlessly, a smear of ink that would not dissolve became rolling black clouds. A few winding bolts of lightning flickered in bursts before fading, and scattered beads of varying sizes and colors fell across the expansive sky and earth.

From afar, they appeared as dense clusters of glowing golden beads. The faces of the immortals were all petrified—Jinggu True Monarch had perished suddenly. No one saw clearly how the person acted or withdrew their move. By the time they recovered their senses, a smear of golden blood had already splattered across the heavens and earth. The Sword Immortal, who grew more valiant in battle with his Sword Intent nearly reaching its pinnacle, was reduced in the blink of an eye to a headless ghost.

His head fell from the sky, while his Immortal Body remained suspended in midair. Stream after stream of fresh blood dyed the enormous swathes of ink-like black clouds. The immortals were on the brink of scattering like frightened creatures. None dared even to breathe heavily.

A voice, carried from far to near, descended upon them.

"Leave now. Do not dirty my sword."

The speaker was a shadowy figure whose hues were subdued like dark grass—it was Wu Buxu.

The immortals hesitated, their movements sluggish, each figure standing suspended in the air. None dared move first. It was less an expression of immortal dignity and more the fear of being killed first if they fled first.

An elderly man with white hair didn't turn his head and spoke in a cold tone:

"For a hundred years, we've avoided each other like well water and river water. Do you not know which is the well and which is the river? Are your eyes blind and unable to discern?"

Once his words fell, silence blanketed the immortals. Soon after, they transformed into streaks of flowing light, rushing toward the heavenly gates, disappearing into the dark, oppressive clouds, no longer to be seen.

Wu Buxu turned to face the person in front of him directly.

As though informing him, and also as though speaking to himself, he said: "The idlers have scattered."

"There's one left." Chen Yi pointed downward with his fingertips.

Wu Buxu lowered his gaze slightly, spotting the massive head of Jinggu True Monarch staring skyward. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot veins filling his gaze, reflecting the horror and astonishment of his death.

Previously, Chen Yi had honed his craft against Jinggu True Monarch and his Sword Armor—using them to refine his skill like sharpening jade with the whetstone of others' talents. He killed with an almost maddened fervor, having glimpsed the peak of the mountain yet still polished his life's most magnificent Sword Intent. And yet, with one sword, he met his death.

"A fanatic for the sword. A touch of fortune can be good, but it was far from enough. If you had managed to chase down Xiao Daoping, perhaps you might have earned a chance to live."

The ancient sword in his hand carved out a half-circle, and the elderly man spoke leisurely:

"For a hundred years, I've been sealed away from the Jianghu. You died after witnessing my swordsmanship, so you may rest in peace."

As his voice fell, Jinggu True Monarch's fiercely staring eyes faintly trembled before slowly shutting.

He died at peace,

not in vain for this life.

The last idle one was dead. Chen Yi watched Zhu Yu already leading Lu Ying and Yin Weiyin far away, alleviating a lingering concern in his heart. He raised his eyes to observe the skeletal old man whose figure seemed ready to crumble, recalling the first time he ascended the mountain to encounter him. The man resembled dried grass then—yet he tossed lofty and ambitious words toward him. But when he returned to the mountain again, he saw the man wielding grass like blades. Once, this towering peak of Sword Dao had a mere blade of grass capable of crushing him under its weight, leaving him unable to breathe. And now, as he looked again, the lofty mountain had narrowed and steepened further—transforming back into a mere blade of dried grass.

Not only his body resembled dried grass, but even upon beholding the ancient and unadorned sword, it too was merely dried grass. An extension of his mottled gray-white stubble.

Chen Yi gazed at him long and hard before retracting his gaze, resting them upon the sword that was stained with golden blood.

The ground served as its sheath through countless cycles of years. The long sword radiated a chilling gleam that seemed sharper than ever. Its aura was severe, and at its edge, there faintly appeared bursts of green light, accompanied by crackling, explosive sounds.

Seeing Chen Yi staring at his sword, Wu Buxu raised his sword slightly and remarked: "Fei Heng."

Chen Yi, recalling briefly, remembered this Old Sword Saint once ruling the world with his Fei Heng Sword without a rival. As a disciple of the Shangqing Dao, the sword's name naturally originated from Laozi's teachings. Yet, the era where he was unmatched was now long past. The once-revered name of the sword required others to dig into their memories to recognize it. Let alone the sword itself—even the famed Loulan Sword Emperor, once a contender alongside him, remained only as fragmented mentions. Indeed, Jianghu ages with time; across a thousand years, your legend too fades from the lips of men.

"The idlers are gone; there's no need for idle words between us," Chen Yi replied, pulling his thoughts back.

Wu Buxu observed Chen Yi silently for a moment before nodding slightly. He spoke plainly: "Your sword… has become sharper."

"Not the Sword Dao?"

"The sword is not Dao, nor should it be blasphemously called such." The old man's words mirrored his prior statements.

Chen Yi raised his Hou Kang Sword, saying lightly: "Mine can."

"A frog at the bottom of the well, unaware of my Great Achievement Realm," Wu Buxu paused briefly, narrowing his eyes. "But your Sword Intent is indeed something unique."

Chen Yi remained silent, seemingly affirming him.

"The distinction remains to be seen." Wu Buxu gripped his sword and unexpectedly chuckled, his eyes flashing with brilliance. "Let the sword itself make it clear."

Hou Kang Sword quietly lifted. Chen Yi wasted no words—it would only take swords to make it known.

"Kid, suppressed to the same realm—don't blame me for not respecting the young."

As his words concluded, the elder with white hair strode a large step forward. The ancient, crude sword swept upwards, delivering a sudden strike downward amidst the open air. The sword's chilling gleam cut fiercely, golden blood scattering wide, and Chen Yi neither dodged nor evaded but drove straight into the shadow of the sword.

Bang!

The glittering blade's brilliance exploded between the two figures. Chen Yi's form spun, flicking aside the sword's edge and attempting a neck slash, which narrowly missed. Wu Buxu's feet skimmed across the treetop, twisting half a circle to sidestep before sending another simple stroke. This time the blade seemed to sink into flesh as Chen Yi twisted his wrist to crash his hilt against the edge of the sword, unleashing a resonant hum.

Wu Buxu's expression remained fluid, his hands steady as he retrieved his sword, crouching like a nimble hare. The blade slashed diagonally towards the azure sky.

The fierce gusts whipped across their faces, roaring and deafening. Chen Yi dropped his hand slightly, his obsidian sword smashing against the luminous blade's gleam. As his shoulder shrugged upward, his momentum surged through the blade, forcing a press downward that then shifted direction toward Wu Buxu's arm.

But who was Wu Buxu? His figure floated effortlessly, swiftly circling back around the blade to narrowly dodge its edge with precise curvature. With a reverse grip, his blade slashed diagonally at Chen Yi's arm. The burst of force exploded; and as the non-eternal Fei Heng Sword caught five fingers firmly upon its length, locked fast mid-air.

The overwhelming essence from their bouts expanded into a fierce "lake" between the two combatants. Air currents surged upward and outward, shattering the densely compacted, thick black clouds over the Sword Pool. Above, a faint and formless rift tore across the sky.