The Demon Lords-Chapter 700 - 144 Who is the Immortal in the Sword!_1

On the plains before Snow Sea Pass, Sword Energy was being unleashed wildly.

To be human is to possess complex emotions that transcend those of mere beasts—emotions detached from the instinct for survival, some even useless or detrimental to it.

Not many in this world understood the Sword Saint.

In his childhood, what Yu Huaping most looked forward to each day was visiting the old, time-honored restaurant outside the Imperial City for a bowl of noodles. The rich aroma of meat, accompanied by a generous handful of green onions and coriander, created a taste that was utterly intoxicating. The sorrows of his difficult upbringing and the burdens borne by his elder brother, who was like a father to him, all seemed to vanish into the billowing white steam.

In his youth, the Sword Saint learned swordsmanship from his master. His master was not well-known in the street, for the peak of his master's achievement in life was merely that of an Eighth Rank swordsman. His master found sustenance by serving as an Imperial Censorate Officer for an ordinary wealthy family, ensuring he was free from worries about food and clothing. However, to make a significant name for himself in the street, his master was truly not up to par. But true geniuses require only the first sword and the most fundamental method of sword cultivation. After all, whether one uses fine iron or a broken file to crack open a stone has no bearing on whether it contains the essence of jade or is merely a dark, worthless rock.

Before his master died, he told Yu Huaping:

"You are you, and I am I. To have been able to teach you, I have no regrets in this life. For you to have met me, that is my good fortune. I am your master, but you need not tell others who I am. In the future, on the path of sword cultivation, there will surely be a peak that belongs to you. I do not need you to make a name for me. An ant wielding a sword—how could it ever hope to shine with the brilliance of the sun and moon?"

Thus, no one in the world knew who the Sword Saint's master was. People always assumed he was some reclusive grandmaster of sword cultivation who shunned fame. In reality, he was simply a free-spirited old man, unwilling to shamelessly bask in his disciple's glory, even unto death.

Upon reaching middle age, one must establish oneself. With his sword, he challenged experts everywhere, accumulating the height of his own sword cultivation and, at the same time, building his renown as one of the Four Great Swordsmen. The fact that the title 'Saint' could be bestowed upon him proved that the entire street acknowledged the monumental achievements he had made on the path of sword cultivation.

The Baili Family had the backing of the Zhao Family of the Qian State. Li Liangshen was supported by the Earl of North Border's estate and its North Border Army iron cavalry. The swordsmiths of the Chu State, in turn, were backed by great aristocratic families with centuries of heritage in the Chu region. Only he, Yu Huaping, despite bearing the surname Yu, had truly risen from humble beginnings. People of the street naturally come from the street. Therefore, it was this street that bestowed the sole title of 'Saint' upon him. In the words of the street folk, what connection did the other three truly have with the street? Only Yu Huaping was one of their own, through and through. To rise from grassroots origins and traverse the world with a single sword—that was the true dream of the street pursued by young heroes and heroines.

He killed the head of the Situ Family to help Situ Lei seize power. He betrayed Emperor Jin, and Ah Brother died in battle. The wild people invaded, and lives were devastated. Reaching middle age often brings a period of confusion. In General Zheng's words, it's the so-called 'midlife crisis,' and the Sword Saint was no exception.

Looking back, he realized he had done so many damnable things. Looking forward, the future appeared as nothing but a murky haze.

The sea's calm was merely a temporary suppression of the raging turmoil beneath. All that was needed was a gust of sea wind, a dark cloud, or a lone sea bird to suddenly pierce through it all, shattering that ridiculous calm. Some would collapse at this, sitting on the ground, crying their hearts out. Others, however, would erupt in response. Clearly, the Sword Saint belonged to the latter group.

Perhaps even the Sword Saint himself hadn't expected the situation to escalate to this. He was merely assassinating a traitor; was it truly necessary to stake everything?

But events had unfolded, developing naturally...

If one were to ask him if he regretted it, he would likely counter with a question: Is there such a thing as a bent sword blade in this world?

Longyuan was in his hand, transforming into a crimson torrent. Blood oozed from the Sword Saint's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, yet his entire being exuded an unusual, invigorating clarity.

Let the oppressive weight in my chest be swept away now!

One sword strike. Longyuan was unleashed, drawing a circle around the Sword Saint. In an instant, the chests of a hundred wild people riders were rent open by sword wounds. The armor they had just plundered seemed as flimsy as a cicada's wings before Longyuan at that moment. Many wild people stared down in disbelief at the holes in their chests. Just like that... I'm dead?

One by one, the corpses of the wild people warriors tumbled from their warhorses. And this was just the beginning!

I, Yu Huaping, have practiced the sword for thirty years and nurtured this blade for thirty years! How could my will be so easily exhausted?

Longyuan flew out once more, piercing the bodies of the wild people one after another. With the Sword Saint at the epicenter, their warriors toppled from their mounts, as mists of blood bloomed in the air—like the fireworks of life, celebrating their demise.

If Geremu's death had been a heavy hammer blow, shattering the composure of these wild people warriors, then the terrifying might displayed by the Sword Saint now was like lash after lash of a heavy whip, flogging away their courage.

This man is a demon! This man is invincible!

For a moment, the wild people riders in the inner circle of the encirclement began to rein in their horses, even as those on the periphery continued to surge forward. The situation had not truly improved much. However, the Sword Saint, already drenched in blood, paid no heed to his current predicament.

"Since Heaven sent me into this world, I must leave behind a story for posterity to behold! Today, beyond Snow Sea Pass! I, a swordsman of a fallen kingdom, for my lost homeland, shall defend its gate once more!"

Longyuan flew forth, a streak of Sword Energy erupted from the Sword Saint, swift as a thunderbolt. Along this line, dozens of wild people riders, along with their mounts, were annihilated.

The next moment, the Sword Saint raised one hand above his head.

The biting winter wind itself is like a piercing blade. Today, I shall borrow the frost as my sword, and my flesh and blood as the offering!

Illusory blades of Sword Energy materialized in the cold wind, piercing the necks of the wild people, penetrating their armor, and sundering their warhorses. In an instant, nearly another hundred riders screamed and fell.

The Sword Saint's figure swayed slightly, but his imposing aura remained undiminished. He let out a battle cry, and Longyuan, which had just flown out, returned once more, soaring high into the sky. Then, as if borrowing the sharp edges of frost from the clouds, a barrage like hailstones rained down, crashing upon them.

"AAAHHH!!!"

"AAAAHHHHHH!!!"

The screams were incessant.

Some wild people began to flee, but many others, their inner ferocity ignited, resolved to seek a quick end rather than a futile escape, and charged suicidally towards the Sword Saint. However, any wild people rider and their mount that ventured within roughly fifty feet of the Sword Saint were instantly diced apart. The Sword Saint stood there, an inviolable deity. Such an opponent was truly despair-inducing.

It had to be remembered that Shatuo Queshi had fought a bloody battle against the North Border Army's iron cavalry. These, however, were wild people, and not even the true, elite forces directly under the Wild King. Their fighting will and spirit naturally could not compare to that of the North Border Army of old.

Years ago, Yao Zizhan had penned a poem for the Baili Sword:

"Baili's shocking thunder knocks at Heaven's Gate; I ask, who is the immortal among swordsmen!"

And today, at this very moment, the Sword Saint's blade had sown the seeds of an Internal Devil in the hearts of these wild people knights. Not even the brilliance of the stars could erase this terrifying nightmare. His power seemed to eclipse the starlight itself.

Just then, Hasi arrived, his body radiating a blue light, and roared:

"He borrowed the power of this land to forcefully elevate his state! He cannot move now! If he moves, his cultivation level will drop! Whoever takes his head will be rewarded with cattle, sheep, slaves, and enfeoffed as a lord of a thousand households!"

Instantly, the surrounding wild people riders realized the situation. Hasi, as a Guide Leader, held great prestige among the wild people. Many of them, their courage rekindled, charged forward once more. Hasi himself leaped into the air, a star mark swirling between his eyebrows.

"Yu Huaping, your opponent is me!"

The blood-soaked Sword Saint sneered,

"You? You are not worthy."

In that very instant, a wave of Sword Energy swept out, instantly piercing the star mark between Hasi's brows. Like a kite with a severed string, Hasi was violently knocked off course in mid-air and plummeted to the ground. He was not dead, his eyes still wide with shock, but the star power within him had been utterly dispersed by the Sword Energy. Without months of recuperation, he would be unable to fight.

One sword? No, merely a wave of Sword Energy!

And now, facing the wild people riders who were once again swarming toward him, Longyuan returned to the Sword Saint's hand.

He could not move; he could not leave this spot. This was why he hadn't attempted to depart after forcefully elevating his state. It wasn't that he didn't want to; it was that he was unable.

Yet, he did not feel he had made a losing bargain. He let out a great roar: "Even if I die today, I will take a thousand riders with me to the grave! How many more do I need? How many are still lacking? Come! All of you, quickly!"

Longyuan hummed, then flew out once more. Mists of blood continued to erupt. Before the Sword Saint, a gruesome mound of flesh and blood from men and horses began to churn and grow. The stench of gore in the air was so thick it was nearly suffocating.

In a short while, of the two thousand wild people cavalry who had charged from their stockade to intercept, only half remained.

There was a saying in both the street and the military: a Third Rank Martial Cultivator, in the midst of battle, could hold off a thousand iron cavalry! Note: hold off, not slaughter!

Yet today, on this open plain, facing the charge of two thousand cavalry, without aid from the terrain, without shifting his position an inch, he stood his ground. He was clearly a swordsman, yet in this manner, he had single-handedly slain a thousand cavalry!

After this battle, when the people of the street judged swordsmen, there would undoubtedly be a new standard. After today, the Baili Sword—who once turned and fled before the North Border Army's iron cavalry—would no longer be qualified to be mentioned in the same breath as the Sword Saint of the Jin State!

Finally, when Longyuan returned to the Sword Saint's grasp once more, the sword did not fly out again. Instead, it plunged into the earth. The Sword Saint's aura began to rapidly diminish, like a fire that, after burning with fierce intensity, slowly dwindled, leaving only embers and a profound loneliness.

Before him, lay a mountain of corpses in a sea of blood. But what the Sword Saint saw in his mind's eye was a small boy in Shengle City, practicing with a wooden sword in a little courtyard, and standing behind him, a woman as gentle as water.

She... she was still waiting for him to come home. But he... he couldn't go back anymore. That fellow Zheng... you're a resourceful man. Her family... please, take care of them for me. However, the Sword Saint also knew that General Zheng had respected him, unconditionally satisfying his every need, only because he *was* the Sword Saint—the *living* Sword Saint. But soon...

Yet, a smile touched the corners of the Sword Saint's lips. He chuckled, That fellow Zheng, go ahead and calculate for me: these thousand heads, this military merit... how much silver is it worth? Will it be enough for that widow and her orphaned children to live on?

Around him, the wild people riders, who had halted once more, saw that the Sword Saint seemed utterly spent. They began to urge their horses forward, preparing for another charge. The Sword Saint no longer had the strength to lift Longyuan. He watched the sword embedded in the earth before him, unmoving, awaiting his final destiny.

He was tired. So very tired. The oppressive weight in his chest had finally dispersed. He had lingering attachments, yes, but no regrets.

BANG!

Just at this moment, the two hundred Shengle cavalry, personally led by Liang Cheng, smashed directly into the wild people's encirclement!

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