From a Martial Arts Sect to an Immortal Cultivation Sect Chapter 94
After the two streams of sword intent clashed for several breaths, they exploded apart.
The terrifying shockwave that erupted hurled Jiang Zhaoxia backward.
Jiang Zhaoxia landed on the opposite bank of the Xi River.
After hitting the ground, he staggered back eight full steps before finally steadying himself.
His complexion turned pale, blood trickled from the corner of his lips, and even the right hand holding his sword trembled uncontrollably.
He fixed his gaze firmly ahead.
Across the river, a great cloud of dust rose up, completely obscuring Shen Yue’s figure—only a faint silhouette could be seen.
The wilderness fell silent.
Everyone turned their eyes toward Shen Yue, waiting for the dust to settle.
Before long, the dust dispersed.
Shen Yue’s figure appeared—his white hair fluttering, his robes in tatters.
Yet, despite his appearance, he remained uninjured, his entire being wrapped in a sharp, unyielding sword aura—his momentum stronger than before.
Shen Yue lowered his head and looked toward the sword in his hand.
As his gaze fell upon it, cracks appeared along the blade, rapidly spreading until it shattered like glass, scattering fragments across the ground.
When the disciples of the Clear Sky Sect saw that the Sword God’s sword had broken, they were instantly exhilarated.
“Elder Jiang won?”
“No, that’s not right.
The Sword God doesn’t seem injured at all.”
“Even so, without a sword, how can he continue to fight?”
“To witness a duel like this in my lifetime—no regrets even in death!”
“Their martial arts are too high! Compared to them, the so-called first-rate experts of the martial world are nothing.”
Not only the disciples but even the lay spectators began to chatter in excitement.
To them, even if Jiang Zhaoxia could only fight the Sword God to a draw, it was already a tremendous honor.
After all, Jiang Zhaoxia was several decades younger than the Sword God.
Even in defeat, none could blame him.
When the dust across the Xi River fully cleared, Shen Yue released his right hand.
The broken sword hilt dropped to the ground.
With a light stomp of his right foot, the soil beneath the hilt caved in, forming a small pit.
Then, with a wave of inner energy, he drew surrounding dirt to bury the hilt completely.
From start to finish, Shen Yue’s gaze never once left Jiang Zhaoxia.
Blood continued to trickle from the corner of Jiang Zhaoxia’s mouth, sliding down his chin in droplets, yet his eyes remained fixed on Shen Yue.
“Your inner strength is the strongest I have ever seen. Your swordsmanship, too, is exquisite. Unfortunately, your sword intent still lacks maturity. Still, you only lost to me. Across the martial world, you stand among the very best. Ordinary masters of entry-level realms would not last even a single move before you.”
Shen Yue spoke as he stared at Jiang Zhaoxia, his tone carrying a trace of admiration.
But Jiang Zhaoxia could no longer suppress the raging sword qi rampaging within his body.
He opened his mouth and spat a great mouthful of blood, then half-knelt on the ground.
He had only been standing by sheer willpower.
He could not accept this defeat.
With cultivation at the Sixth Layer of the Nourishing Vital Energy Realm, he had not feared anyone since reaching this level.
He believed that aside from his Senior Brother, no one could defeat him.
Yet today, he had lost miserably.
He could sense that Shen Yue’s inner power was weaker than his own—the loss lay in swordsmanship and sword intent.
To lose on the path of the sword—how could someone born a sword fanatic accept such a thing?
Shen Yue turned his gaze toward the hundreds of spectators in the distance and spoke aloud:
“Does the Clear Sky Sect have anyone else who can fight me? If not, hand over the Emperor Mystic Sword. I have no wish to take it by force.”
Arrogant!
That was the only word everyone could think of.
The Clear Sky Sect disciples’ earlier calm was gone—anger and humiliation burned within them.
“Why should only you set the terms? What if you lose?”
A voice rang out from behind.
Hearing it, many disciples’ faces lit up with joy as they turned toward the sound.
The Clear Sky Sect disciples and the onlookers made way for Li Qingqiu and Yuan Qi.
“Master, teach him a lesson!”
Zhao Zhen, standing in the crowd, threw his fist into the air, excitement shining in his eyes.
Beside him, Yuan Li wore an equally expectant look.
Su Xiling, Ku Yi, and Ku Er were also present.
Seeing Li Qingqiu appear, they all breathed sighs of relief—they did not wish to see the Clear Sky Sect trampled beneath the Sword God’s feet.
Though they admitted the truth—none among them were his match.
So what if one had entered the realm of mastery?
There was always someone beyond, and heavens beyond heavens.
To most of the martial world, they were reclusive masters; yet before a true peerless expert, they were no different from ordinary men.
Only... how high did the Sect Master of the Clear Sky Sect truly stand?
Under countless watching eyes, Li Qingqiu strode forward.
As he passed by Wu Man’er and Yang Jueding, he continued toward Jiang Zhaoxia.
Shen Yue’s gaze fell upon Li Qingqiu, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Another young man.
He had heard that the newly risen Clear Sky Sect was full of youthful geniuses—he once thought that exaggerated.
Now, it seemed the rumors had actually understated them.
Though his expression remained calm, Shen Yue was inwardly shaken by Jiang Zhaoxia’s prowess.
At twenty-one, possessing such skill—by fifty, the martial path might well reach an unprecedented height through him.
But the future no longer concerned Shen Yue.
In this lifetime, all he wanted was to witness the Emperor Mystic Sword, create a new sword art, and then die without regret.
Had he met Jiang Zhaoxia ten years earlier, he would have taken him as a disciple.
As Shen Yue watched, Li Qingqiu walked past Jiang Zhaoxia.
Li Qingqiu casually flicked two silver needles that embedded into Jiang Zhaoxia’s chest.
“Senior Brother...”
Jiang Zhaoxia’s face flushed with shame; he wished he could disappear into the earth.
“You did not disgrace the Clear Sky Sect. The Sword God’s victory was not as effortless as it appeared.”
Li Qingqiu spoke without turning back, and his words caused Shen Yue to frown.
When Li Qingqiu halted his steps, Shen Yue said, “If I lose, I will pass down all that I’ve learned in my life to the Clear Sky Sect. How about that?”
Having roamed the martial world for seventy years, he would not have it said that he bullied the younger generation.
Of course, he did not believe he would lose.
“You’d already be defeated—what worth would your lifetime of learning have to me?”
Li Qingqiu asked with a light smile.
His tone was gentle, without hostility, yet his words carried an arrogance even greater than Shen Yue’s, stirring the blood of every disciple present.
Shen Yue snorted.
“Empty boasting serves no purpose. Speak then—what do you propose?”
“If you lose, you shall join the Clear Sky Sect,” Li Qingqiu replied firmly, his eyes locking onto Shen Yue’s.
When his smile faded, the pressure in his gaze made even Shen Yue feel an inexplicable weight.
He realized this young man might indeed surpass Jiang Zhaoxia—but fear was foreign to him.
In his life, he had never feared an opponent.
To die in battle would be the highest acknowledgment of his martial path.
Only, he had never met one capable of killing him.
“See? Even his aura cannot compare to my Sect Master’s!”
Li Sijin turned to Chu Jing, a proud smile on her lips.
Chu Jing nodded.
“Though the Sect Master is young, his presence is truly overwhelming.”
Yet as he spoke, a cold glint flashed in his eyes.
“Then come.”
Shen Yue’s patience thinned—he considered further talk a waste of time.
Li Qingqiu smiled.
“Since you are the Sword God, I shall use my sword art to exchange pointers with you.”
Shen Yue frowned—what did he mean? Was this youth not a pure swordsman?
At that moment, he saw Li Qingqiu raise his right hand across the river.
As Li Qingqiu did so, the Clear Sky Sect disciples and onlookers behind him lowered their heads toward the swords in their scabbards—each sword trembled.
Some instinctively gripped their hilts; others, realizing what was happening, refrained, simply staring at Li Qingqiu in awe.
Chu Jing turned his head, noticing that the swords of those beside him were quivering violently, and his brows furrowed.
Shen Yue, unaware of the disturbance among the spectators, focused entirely on Li Qingqiu.
Seeing him raise his hand without making a move, Shen Yue was puzzled.
He was about to speak when Li Qingqiu suddenly flipped his right palm.
Clang! Clang! Clang—!
Countless blades were unsheathed at once, the sound deafening.
The brilliance of their sword light reflected across Shen Yue’s face—his eyes widened in shock.
What was this sight before him?
From among the hundreds of spectators, over two hundred swords soared into the air, gathering behind Li Qingqiu, hovering midair, all their tips aimed at him.
Even the Sword God’s heart trembled at being targeted by over two hundred swords.
He had never seen such a thing—these blades were not held by anyone.
They floated on their own, as though animated by ghosts.
If even he felt awe, the crowd was utterly astounded.
Even those disciples who had guessed something extraordinary was about to occur were still stunned.
Jiang Zhaoxia, kneeling on one knee, looked up at the scene in disbelief.
Standing beside Li Sijin, Chu Jing’s brows knit tightly—his gaze toward Li Qingqiu filled with wariness.
He sensed no inner energy from Li Qingqiu at all.
Could it be that Li Qingqiu was not using inner energy to control these swords?
“What… sword art is this?” Shen Yue finally asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Li Qingqiu lifted his chin slightly and smiled.
“Inspired by the sword art of a certain master—I’ll borrow its name. This is called the Ten Thousand Swords Return to One.”
“Ten Thousand Swords Return to One…”
Shen Yue murmured the name, finding endless profundity within it.
Jiang Zhaoxia, however, was confused—when had his Senior Brother encountered such a master?
“Sword God, show me your strongest sword art. You’ll only have one chance,” Li Qingqiu said solemnly.
As his voice fell, the two hundred floating swords vibrated violently, letting out a collective sword cry—as if ready to strike at any instant—exerting an immense pressure upon Shen Yue.
Taking a deep breath, Shen Yue raised his right hand as well.
His strongest sword had never been the one he held—it was himself.
“This move is the greatest sword strike of my life, one I created myself—it is called A Sword That Defies the World.”
The moment he finished speaking, sword qi burst forth from him, sweeping upward.
His robe billowed madly, his white hair danced, and his overwhelming aura stirred the waters of the Xi River, coiling them like a dragon suspended in the air.
Li Qingqiu’s lips curved into a faint smile.
With a wave of his right hand, the two hundred swords above him erupted with terrifying sword qi and shot toward Shen Yue.
The shockwave alone forced the hundreds of spectators back several steps.
Almost simultaneously, Shen Yue moved—stepping forward and leaping high, his entire body like a peerless blade carrying the sharpness of a lifetime as he charged at Li Qingqiu.
The ground itself quaked.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh—!
Countless swords carrying lethal qi pierced through the air, striking toward Shen Yue, engulfing him in an instant.
Dust and wind surged skyward.
Through the blinding sword light, it seemed as though Li Qingqiu commanded an army of a thousand blades.
The next moment, Shen Yue’s figure burst from the storm of sword qi, flung backward like a meteor.
He soared a hundred zhang before crashing down upon the main road, sliding several more zhang before stopping, leaving a long scar upon the earth.
Shen Yue lay on the ground—robes in tatters, his body trembling, blood seeping from his seven orifices.
His eyes lost their luster, his mouth hung open, frothing with blood.