Number Three stood frozen, clutching his Qi Mei Staff with both hands. Severed Head Blade Lin Hongshui’s jaw hung slack as his gaze shifted from the severed head rolling across the dirt to Lu Sheng, who stood motionless, his eyes slightly unfocused.
The autumn wind swept through the clearing, stirring up a thin veil of dust that danced under the pale sunlight. For a long moment, none of the three men spoke.
Lu Sheng himself was caught off guard—he hadn’t expected that a man with such a formidable air would fall so easily to a single probing strike. Number Three’s shock left him trembling, while Lin Hongshui’s mind reeled in disbelief that this inexperienced youth—this brat—could strike with such deadly precision.
“Great… great, great!” Lin Hongshui suddenly broke into a laugh, though the smile twisting his face was feral, not amused. “Yet another who’s come looking for—”
“Chi!”
A sharp gleam flashed through the air. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc. Lu Sheng’s figure blurred, and when he reappeared, he was already standing before Number Three. The man’s head toppled from his shoulders, rolling across the ground until it came to rest beside a heap of blackened ashes.
Lu Sheng gave his blade a quick flick, scattering the blood from its edge. A wild exhilaration surged in his chest. ‘So this is what it feels like… to take a life. This is what it means to be a saber warrior. Just as the legends say—at the first word of discord, the saber decides all.’
He tightened his grip on the weapon. The plain silver-white blade, no longer than his forearm, felt alive in his hand—an extension of himself, his truest companion. A strange emotion welled within him, as though he were stepping into the pages of every martial story he had ever read. Passion burned bright in his veins.
“Come! Either kill me, or end up like the two pieces of trash on the ground.”
Lu Sheng’s eyes glowed red with fervor. He licked his dry lips, advancing step by step toward Lin Hongshui.
“You brat!!” Lin Hongshui roared, fury twisting his features as rage consumed him.
Gripping his thick-backed broad saber with both hands, Lin Hongshui advanced toward Lu Sheng with heavy, deliberate steps.
“Chi!”
A flash of silver light—like a swift swallow darting through the air—shot forth as Lu Sheng thrust out his saber. Though his Eighty-Four Swallows Pursuing the Wind Blade had only reached the Initiated level, it carried tremendous force when wielded with his refined understanding of the saber’s essence, honed through countless hours of Black Tiger Saber Technique training.
“Dang!”
The strike met solid resistance. Lin Hongshui raised his arm, his thick saber catching the blow with a resounding clang.
“I recognize this move… Swallows Skirting the Water…” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “So it’s the Swallows Pursuing the Wind Blade, eh? Back in the day, I nearly cut down the man who created this technique. Dealing with a little whelp like you will be no trouble at all!”
He twisted his wrist, shoving Lu Sheng’s saber aside. The broad saber arced upward in a diagonal slash, slicing through the air with ferocious power.
This was the Water-Splitting Move of the Wind-Rippling Saber Technique—one of Lin Hongshui’s signature openings. Whenever he used it, his opponents were forced either to dodge or face him head-on.
Lu Sheng shifted swiftly to the side, narrowly evading the heavy strike. He countered with his long saber, unleashing the full sequence of Eighty-Four Swallows Pursuing the Wind Blade. The two sabers collided in a shower of sparks, their clash echoing across the courtyard.
Their duel erupted into a storm of motion. Lin Hongshui’s strikes fell like iron hammers—each blow brimming with crushing force. Each time Lu Sheng parried, a jolt of numbness shot up his arm.
But Lu Sheng’s technique was faster, sharper—his saber weaving in agile arcs that slid along the edges of Lin Hongshui’s attacks, deflecting and countering with precision. The two moved like shadows, their blades tracing arcs too quick for the eye to follow.
Compared to Number Two and Number Three, their speed was on an entirely different level. Yet to these two masters, such ferocity was only the beginning.
In a single breath, Lu Sheng executed more than ten continuous forms of the Eighty-Four Swallows Pursuing the Wind Blade, yet still found no opening. Lin Hongshui’s strength remained unyielding, his movements as fierce and unrelenting as a raging tiger.
“Dang! Dang!”
The sabers collided again, twice in rapid succession—each impact ringing out like thunder through the night air.
Lu Sheng’s foot slipped slightly as it landed on a rotting plank, the wood splintering beneath his weight. His balance faltered for an instant.
Lin Hongshui’s eyes flared wide. With a guttural snarl, he brought his thick-backed broad saber crashing down.
“Go and die!!!”
Rage boiled in his chest. This brat had slain Number Two and Number Three right before his eyes—if he didn’t avenge them now, who would still fear him after this?
The broad saber howled through the air, vibrating with a strange, twisting force as it descended toward Lu Sheng’s head. The Wind-Rippling Saber Technique was famed for its unique way of channeling energy—each stroke multiplied the wielder’s strength severalfold. Lin Hongshui’s power, already terrifying, now became monstrous.
The massive blade cleaved downward, aiming to split Lu Sheng in two.
“Hoo!”
At that precise instant, Lu Sheng straightened and steadied himself, his saber quivering with fierce momentum. The blade thrummed, producing a deep, resonant growl that filled the courtyard.
“ROAR!!!”
A tiger’s roar burst forth, shaking the air. Lu Sheng’s eyes gleamed faintly red as he unleashed the Tiger Kill of the Black Tiger Saber Technique. His saber tore through the space between them, vibrating with explosive force as it struck toward Lin Hongshui’s arms—faster, sharper, deadlier than the descending broad saber.
“Don’t you dare!!!”
A furious shout echoed from behind a broken section of the wall. In the next heartbeat, a black blur shot forward, striking the side of Lu Sheng’s blade.
“Dang!”
Sparks flew—the impact deflected his strike. A chunk of ashen stone clattered to the ground.
A second man vaulted into the courtyard, muscles taut beneath his clothes. He wielded a broad saber identical to Lin Hongshui’s, his face marred by two crossing scars that ran from his forehead down to his chin, giving him a fearsome, beastlike visage.
“Big bro!!”
Lin Hongshui staggered back, his arms trembling from the shockwave of the tiger’s roar. Cold sweat streamed down his temples; for a moment, true fear flickered in his eyes. He had been only a breath away from losing both arms.
Lin Shuanghuo’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the two bodies at his feet. He spat out words like a verdict. “This brat’s using the Black Tiger Saber Technique — he’s not easy to deal with! More are coming. We’ll take him down together!”
“Alright!”
The brothers split and surged forward in perfect, brutal tandem. Lu Sheng did not flinch. He answered with the Tiger Might of the Black Tiger Saber Technique, every stroke carrying the weight of a falling boulder — far heavier than the lithe arcs of the Eighty-Four Swallows.
At full mastery the Black Tiger’s power was savage and precise: his blade found openings a hair’s breadth before his foes could finish their motions, cutting toward vital points and forcing them to retreat. In the space of a few breaths Lu Sheng had unleashed Tiger Might seventeen times in a blood-quick rhythm.
“Chi! Chi! Chi! Chi!”
Cries and clashing metal filled the yard. To everyone’s surprise, the two brothers’ combined assault barely matched Lu Sheng’s onslaught; they never managed to complete a full stroke — each attack was checked, parried, or driven back.
The fight continued, brutal and unrelenting, for the length of half a joss stick. Patience snapped in Lin Shuanghuo. Seizing a moment while his brother held the line, he stepped back, drew a paper sachet from his chest, and flung it at Lu Sheng’s face. “Just die!!!”
“Poof!”
Lu Sheng’s saber sliced the sachet to shreds; ash billowed outward. Instinct forced him to clamp his eyes shut, and with no time to think he hurled himself into the final Tiger Roar.
“ROAR!!!”
A second tiger’s roar tore the air. The long saber leapt like a coiled beast and met both broad sabers head-on. “Dang! Dang!”
There was a brittle snap — ka-cha — and Lu Sheng’s long saber fractured, the blade spinning from his hand and sticking into the earth. Yet the Tiger Roar was the technique’s crowning strike: its force and velocity were brutal enough that Lin Hongshui and his brother’s grips faltered, the broad sabers trembling in their hands.
Lin Hongshui laughed, a harsh, triumphant sound. “Now let’s see what you’ll block our attacks with! Go and die!! Hahaha!”
Lin Shuanghuo laughed, a sharp, maniacal sound. A saber warrior without his weapon was like a lamb led to slaughter—the gap in strength was enormous. He flexed his fingers, preparing to grip his saber and end Lu Sheng.
“Boom! Boom!”
Two low, thunderous impacts shook the air. Lin Shuanghuo’s eyes widened in disbelief as Lu Sheng appeared almost impossibly close. Lightning-fast, both of his palms struck Lin Hongshui squarely in the chest, one after the other.
The broad saber clattered to the ground. Lin Hongshui staggered two steps back, clutching his chest, speechless.
“Big… Big Bro… get… out!”
“Puuu!”
A spray of blood followed, and he collapsed backward.
Lu Sheng’s eyes gleamed with a strange, frenzied light. The kill had awoken something wild within him. With a blur of motion, he surged toward Lin Shuanghuo, his steps flowing from the Heart-Shattering Palm.
Lin Shuanghuo, as if snapped from a nightmare, roared in fury and swung his saber to block, but it was too late. The momentary shock of his brother’s death had frozen him for just an instant—enough for Lu Sheng to close the distance.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!!!”
Three thunderous strikes hit Lin Shuanghuo in rapid succession, palms smashing into his chest and abdomen like lightning. The Heart-Shattering Palm penetrated through skin and muscle straight to the organs.
Lin Shuanghuo’s face flushed beet-red. He stumbled back, then fell to his knees, glaring at Lu Sheng. He opened his mouth to speak, but a torrent of blood choked off his words.
“Puuu!!!”
He collapsed forward, lifeless. Silence claimed the courtyard.
Lu Sheng chuckled softly to himself.
‘Two Strength-Proficiency experts… probably Phantom Head Blade and Severed Head Blade that Uncle Zhao hunted when he was young. To think they’d fall by my hand today…’
He stared at the four corpses sprawled across the ground, a wild ecstasy surging through him as Qi and blood coursed violently within his veins.
‘Could this be the level of Intent-Proficiency that Uncle Zhao mentioned? And the martial arts intent Master Zhang Xun spoke of?’
If Strength-Proficiency was about controlling and harnessing the body’s raw power, then Intent-Proficiency operated on multiple fronts—sight, intent, sound—attacking the enemy through perception itself. It also allowed one to command the body with even greater precision than Strength-Proficiency could achieve.
After all, the muscles of the human body could not be so easily mastered. Lu Sheng recalled someone on Earth once theorized that if the strength of every muscle could be concentrated at one point, even an ordinary adult’s strike could reach the force of several metric tons.
The skeletal system, however, limited such raw power—it remained theoretical. Yet Intent-Proficiency seemed to bring one startlingly close to that theoretical limit.
Lu Sheng stepped cautiously across the yard, examining the Lin brothers’ clothing and pouches. From their waist pouches, he pulled out a stack of silver notes—each worth a hundred talents—and quickly stuffed them into his own without counting.
Next, he retrieved a worn black booklet, crafted from some strange, unknown leather. Lin Shuanghuo had kept it pressed close to his chest, signaling its importance.
Satisfied, Lu Sheng left the rest untouched. He settled quietly in the yard, waiting for Lu Manor’s men to arrive.
Even he had not escaped the battle unscathed. Facing two Strength-Proficiency experts born with exceptional natural power, and wielding the Wind-Rippling Saber Technique to amplify their strikes, had taken a toll.
In the last collision, his right arm had been concussed, his muscles screaming from the impact. Even his heels throbbed painfully—a dull ache lingering from the explosive intensity of his own power.
Not to mention the sharp, throbbing pain radiating from both his shoulders, battered by a relentless series of explosive strikes and full-strength saber maneuvers in rapid succession. The final collision had been so violent that it was possible he had even damaged some of his bones.
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