Amidst the carnage and ruin, the air in the Grand Hall was thick with desperation. Cultivators groaned softly, the wounded huddled against shattered pillars, and broken weapons littered the blood-stained marble. The remnants of the once-powerful Alliance lay scattered, humbled, their arrogance shattered along with their ranks.
Kai Feng stood alongside Yin Shuang, their presence an island of calm amidst the devastation. Each breath he drew was a searing struggle; pain radiated fiercely through his chest and limbs, a cruel reminder of Master Shen's brutal assaults. Yet despite his battered state, his gaze remained defiant, focused upon the silent, imposing figure who had brought destruction to their doorstep—Wu Ming.
"You still cling to your pride," Wu Ming mocked, his voice smooth yet edged like a blade. He spun his iron hooks casually, droplets of blood splattering onto the ruined floor. "Even now, with your sect in ruins and your body broken. Admirable—or perhaps simply foolish."
Kai held his gaze unflinchingly, his voice steady. "Pride has nothing to do with it. Evil like yours demands resistance."
Wu Ming smiled coldly, amused by the defiance. "Then come. Show me this resistance."
Kai reached instinctively for a sword just as he had done in the manual's hidden realm, only to realize his hand grasped nothing but empty air. His expression darkened briefly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.
He turned swiftly, voice rising urgently. "Does anyone have a sword?"
The cultivators stirred, murmuring uncertainly. One young disciple rushed forward eagerly, offering his finely crafted blade with trembling hands. "Sect Lord! Please accept mine!"
But before Kai could even respond, another voice boomed with authoritative confidence, resonating deeply across the hall.
"Take mine, Sect Lord Kai."
The speaker was Master Yan Song, an esteemed elder from the Serene Jade Valley, renowned not only for his prodigious skill but also for his noble character. Yan Song stepped forward solemnly, holding out a blade of peerless elegance, its scabbard carved from white jade and decorated with threads of gold and green—a blade imbued with righteous Qi, revered by all orthodox sects as a treasure of unmatched virtue.
"I offer you the Green Jade Edge," Yan Song declared clearly, drawing surprised gasps from the gathered cultivators. "This sword symbolizes righteousness and justice. Take it, and let it cleanse your path."
Kai studied the magnificent blade briefly, then quietly shook his head, surprising everyone present. "I thank you, Elder Yan, but righteousness and virtue aren't defined by precious metals or polished jade."
He turned away, his gaze settling instead upon a figure that no one else had noticed—a humble soldier standing quietly off to the side, armor cracked, face smeared with grime. In his hand, he clutched a simple, plain steel sword—cheap, mundane, utterly forgettable.
"You there," Kai called softly, approaching the startled soldier. "May I borrow your blade?"
The soldier blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, with deep reverence, he knelt, lifting his plain sword above his head with trembling hands. "Sect Lord, it would be my honor."
Kai grasped the humble sword, testing its balance carefully. The sword felt ordinary, mundane, utterly unremarkable. Yet its simplicity felt right, matching the rusty, battered blade that Yin wielded.
He turned to Yin, eyes meeting hers. "Sometimes, the strongest swords are those tempered not by precious Qi or divine blessings but by resilience and determination."
Yin's gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she raised her battered, rust-marked sword, nodding quietly. "Then our blades match perfectly."
The gathered cultivators watched in stunned silence, their hearts stirred by Kai's deliberate rejection of hypocrisy and symbolic righteousness. Many exchanged uncomfortable glances, suddenly aware of their superficial pride and hypocrisy.
Wu Ming laughed darkly, his voice dripping scorn. "An impressive speech, Kai Feng. Now show me if your swordplay matches your words."
Kai moved first, a blur of chaotic energy exploding forward. His attack was wild and unpredictable, his blade slicing through the air like a raging river, torrents surging, endlessly flowing from one strike into another. He embodied raw energy, each movement fluid yet unrestrained, drawing upon instincts rather than disciplined forms.
Yin surged forward beside him, attempting to fall into rhythm with Kai's furious assault. Her movements, precise and disciplined, struggled to match his wild, spontaneous strikes. She tried valiantly, blade flashing rapidly, attempting to synchronize her techniques with Kai's unpredictable flow.
But each attempt failed miserably. Their blades collided awkwardly, throwing Yin's timing off, forcing her to adjust mid-strike. Her frustration grew rapidly, each failed synchronization leaving her increasingly vulnerable.
Seeing Yin's distress, Kai grimaced, his heart pounding furiously. He attempted to adapt, slowing his attacks to allow Yin room to synchronize, but that hesitation cost them momentum. His swordplay faltered, openings widening dangerously.
Wu Ming smiled coldly, hooks slicing effortlessly into the chaos they created, exploiting every gap ruthlessly. His twin hooks spun rapidly, intercepting Kai's frantic strikes and Yin's hurried attempts with ease. He moved with contemptuous ease, his movements controlled and unhurried.
With a precise, lightning-fast strike, Wu Ming deflected Kai's sword downward, forcing him into an awkward stance. Kai staggered, barely blocking a lethal follow-up aimed directly at his heart.
Yin's frustration erupted. "Kai, follow my lead!"
Without waiting for his response, Yin launched into a flawless series of sword forms, disciplined and precise, each cut exacting. Her blade flashed elegantly, weaving intricate patterns, perfectly controlled, each strike intended to pierce enemy defenses decisively.
Kai attempted to adapt, falling into rhythm behind her. But her rigid, disciplined sequence was utterly alien to him. He struggled to match her strict timing, his blade clumsy and uncertain.
Once again, Wu Ming pounced mercilessly upon their disunity. His hooks cleaved through their fragile coordination effortlessly, slicing through the delicate forms Yin carefully crafted.
Their attempt at disciplined swordplay crumbled rapidly, and Yin cursed angrily under her breath, panic surging. Wu Ming drove them back step by step, their feet slipping upon the blood-soaked floor, their defenses unraveling rapidly.
Kai's breath came raggedly. "This isn't working!"
As Yin and Kai pressed forward, blades moving in seamless tandem, a newfound confidence surged between them—dangerously intoxicating. Their swords wove a rhythm that threatened even the most seasoned onlookers, forcing Wu Ming to retreat for the first time.
But then—disaster struck.
A flicker. A pause no longer than a breath. Barely perceptible, but enough.
Wu Ming's eyes narrowed with predatory precision. His cold smile returned—sharp, cruel, and knowing.
He saw it.
The tiniest lapse in Kai's stance, a moment of overextension as he mirrored Yin's footwork too closely. It was a microscopic error, the kind only a master killer would see, let alone exploit.
With a hiss like a snake striking, Wu Ming twisted his torso and launched forward, one of his iron hooks spinning into motion.
"Shadow Hook Execution!" he snarled, voice laced with killing intent.
The weapon howled through the air, a blur of glinting steel wreathed in jet-black Qi.
It carved a deadly arc, zeroing in with terrifying speed—
Straight for Kai's exposed neck.
The hook gleamed like a crescent of death, its jagged edge poised to rip through flesh and bone without resistance.
Yin's eyes widened, her breath caught mid-form.
Kai barely had time to react.
And in that suspended instant—between the beat of heart and blade, the dance of dual swords threatened to end in blood.