Chapter 126: Green Mountain Unsheathed, Cleaving Flesh and Blood; Euthanasia at the Bottom of the Sword Pool?

How powerful is Zhao Huangting after regaining his strength?

This single sword strike provides the answer: sword energy born from heaven and earth, bamboo branches rising from the soil.

It was as if an entire bamboo forest of sword energy had manifested out of thin air, instantly submerging the massive private residence, effectively erasing the entire compound from Jingguan City in an instant. Every bamboo branch erupting from the ground was condensed from sword energy, possessing a cutting force of extreme sharpness. As the bamboo leaves swayed, it seemed as if they were slicing through the very air itself.

Inside the residence, the servants recruited by the Prince of Jiangling were terrified, paralyzed and unable to move. The bamboo branches formed by the sword energy drifted around them, making them feel as if they were trapped in a bamboo grove. Yet, the shattered mansion and the shredded architecture served as a grim reminder that these branches were terrifying beyond measure.

The strike targeted only those it intended to target. The sword energy spared the innocent. Zhao Huangting’s mastery over sword energy had long reached the realm of perfection, and today, he unleashed all the stifled frustration he had been harboring.

Li Qingchuan, the Daoist from the Celestial Master’s Mansion, was by no means weak; his Ninth Realm cultivation would make him an honored guest anywhere. But he had encountered Zhao Huangting. When a truly serious Zhao Huangting struck with just one sword, the Daoist could not even withstand a single blow.

Sword energy intertwined and permeated the air, and bamboo branches swayed in the wind. Zhao Huangting stood tall, gripping the brilliant, silver-glinting "She Niudou" sword. His plain robes fluttered in the gale, his white hair and long eyebrows danced, and his entire being radiated an aura of arrogance.

In the distance, the Prince of Jiangling had fled far away with the Second Prince, Zhao Pei. The Prince of Jiangling wore a grave expression, looking on with astonishment as the garden residence was erased from Jingguan City. Zhao Huangting... had he not ignited the Nirvana Fire and suppressed his cultivation with the Heart Sword, effectively becoming a cripple? Unless he pulled out the Heart Sword and allowed the Nirvana Fire to consume him entirely, he could not unleash his full cultivation—but doing so would cause his life to wither away in an instant, like an epiphyllum blooming at night.

Had some transformation occurred within Zhao Huangting? The Prince of Jiangling furrowed his brow. Beside him, the Second Prince, Zhao Pei, was still shaken. That single strike from Zhao Huangting had caused the entire sprawling mansion to vanish; the sword energy weaving through the air and that magnificent, bamboo-wielding strike had chilled his heart. Had the Prince of Jiangling not brought him away, he would have been at least severely wounded if not killed by that sword momentum—and it did not seem like the old Imperial Uncle would have been merciful toward him.

"Wasn't it said that Zhao Huangting had ignited the Ninth Realm's Nirvana Fire and could no longer use his cultivation?" the Second Prince asked, taking a deep breath to calm the shock in his heart. "What is happening now? This strike... could he have recklessly unleashed his Heart Sword just to land a blow on Daoist Li?"

The Prince of Jiangling brushed the dust from his Confucian robe and listened to the Second Prince’s words, falling silent for a moment. Then, he spoke slowly: "Is Li Qingchuan... worth it?"

Of course, he was not. A newly ascended Ninth Realm practitioner from the Celestial Master’s Mansion was hardly worth Zhao Huangting unleashing his Heart Sword and burning away the remainder of his life. In Zhao Huangting’s prime, he would not have even deigned to look at someone like this. As the scene before them demonstrated, for Zhao Huangting, Li Qingchuan was someone who could be dealt with in a single strike.

"But it is just as well. A temporary recovery of cultivation suggests that Zhao Huangting will likely not stay at the Sword Pool Palace for much longer; perhaps he will head north soon," the Prince of Jiangling, Zhao Xi, said softly. His robes snapped in the wake of the sword energy.

The massive sword energy that had wiped out the entire mansion suddenly vanished. The lifelike bamboo forest dissolved into wisps of sword energy, revealing the ruins of the residence, which were riddled with holes.

A figure stood trembling in the center. It was Li Qingchuan, the Ninth Realm Daoist. He was drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a peach-wood sword. His Daoist robes were shredded and soaked in crimson, and his legs could not stop shaking. Finally, unable to bear the pressure, he slumped to one knee with a thud and coughed up blood. Around him, the remnants of shattered yellow-paper talismans were scattered across the ground. The peach-wood sword he had relied upon snapped in two, lying on the ground like a withered peach branch.

He had once held that peach-wood sword aloft, wreathed in purple lightning, and invited Zhao Huangting to strike. At that time, he had been full of vigor and arrogance. But today... Zhao Huangting had struck as he wished, and with a single blow, he had shattered Li Qingchuan’s spirit, casting a dark shadow over his heart. Li Qingchuan recalled his actions at the Jiangling residence and realized how laughable he had been. Had he not used the Golden Lotus seed from the Celestial Master’s Mansion, he would have been a ghost under Zhao Huangting’s blade today.

This strike was truly aimed at his life. The killing intent contained within it was so potent that without the protection of the Golden Lotus seed, even his Primordial Spirit would have been annihilated.

High above in the sky, Zhao Huangting’s plain robes fluttered as he narrowed his eyes. "A Golden Lotus seed, eh? You have a tenacious life. I didn't think this strike would fail to kill you." Gripping the She Niudou in one hand, his hair and beard flew in the wind. "Since it didn't kill you, I, Zhao Huangting, cannot be bothered to use a second stroke. I'll give the Celestial Master’s Mansion that much face."

After speaking, Zhao Huangting looked up toward the twilight clouds in the distance. Vaguely, he seemed to sense a gaze cast from afar—the Old Celestial Master of the Celestial Master’s Mansion. With a scoff, Zhao Huangting played with the first-grade sword, She Niudou, twirling it in the air before shifting his gaze to the Prince of Jiangling, who had evaded the strike in time.

The Prince of Jiangling, dressed in his Confucian robe, bowed toward Zhao Huangting. Zhao Huangting curled his lip; he held no regard for this elegant and mild-mannered Prince. "As a scion of the Zhao Imperial family, the movement technique you used to dodge my sword... what kind of crooked path is that? Just like your Imperial Brother, you are both a disgrace."

With a mocking scoff, Zhao Huangting didn't bother to look again. He stepped on the air, and the sword light wrapped around him, descending back into the Sword Pool Palace. As for the Second Prince, Zhao Pei... he was not even on the same level, not even worthy of Zhao Huangting’s notice.

The Prince of Jiangling remained in his bowing position. The drizzle of plum rain fell on his skin, bringing a chill, yet the smile on his face remained perfectly warm. However, beneath that warmth, a bone-deep chill hissed like a viper.

...

Zhao Huangting returned to the Sword Pool Palace. He asked Wang Yansheng for a thin yellow pear-wood sword case to store the She Niudou. The sword was silver-white and far too dazzling; ordinary sheaths could hardly contain its sharpness. Thus, a sword case was needed to store and nurture its sword energy and intent. Furthermore, after that one strike, She Niudou seemed to have completely linked with Zhao Huangting’s internal energy; sword energy surged and coiled incessantly, and only a sword case could conceal its aura.

Since Wang Yansheng had already gifted him a first-grade sword, he certainly wouldn't be stingy with a mere case. Zhao Huangting placed the sword in the case and slung it over his shoulder. With his plain robes, white hair, and the sword case, he truly possessed the dashing air of an old swordsman.

"I’ve carried the 'Qingshan' bamboo sword at my waist my whole life and never used another weapon. Carrying a sword case feels quite awkward," Zhao Huangting said with a chuckle.

Wang Yansheng glanced at him. "If it's awkward, give the sword and case back to me. How many swordsmen in the world would die to have them?"

Zhao Huangting hurriedly offered a few flattering words; he knew better than to offend the world's greatest sword-smith. After all, no swordsman wants to offend the person who crafts their blades.

"Are you really just going to let that little Daoist from the Celestial Master’s Mansion go? Since you already struck, why not be thorough?" Wang Yansheng asked calmly.

Zhao Huangting waved his hand. "If one strike didn't kill him, then I can't kill him. The Old Celestial Master of the Celestial Master’s Mansion wouldn't stand by and watch me kill one of their Ninth Realm practitioners. It isn't easy for them to cultivate someone to that level. Unless I intended to have a showdown with that Old Celestial Master before heading north, it wouldn't be worth it. Fighting that old turtle is utterly pointless; I’d rather save my energy."

Zhao Huangting’s words made Wang Yansheng reflect. "The Zhenwu Temple and the Celestial Master’s Mansion... both are major Daoist sects. Comparatively, the Zhenwu Temple is more magnanimous. The Celestial Master’s Mansion is obsessed with becoming the state religion of the Great Zhao, gathering the nation's destiny to bolster their sect and rise above the Zhenwu Temple. The Zhenwu Temple, on the other hand, seems indifferent and non-contending. But whether they truly don't care, or if it’s just a facade of 'playing hard to get,' is hard to say."

Zhao Huangting stretched and put an arm around Su Muzhe’s waist. "The Celestial Master’s Mansion wants to borrow the destiny of the Yuan-Mongol Empire, but they are too afraid to go. If they went, the Yuan-Mongol Emperor might just eat every single golden lotus in the Heavenly Pool on Mount Yunjin. As for the Zhenwu Temple... they say many reincarnated immortals end up there. I don't care for it much. By comparison, the Celestial Master’s Mansion is at least more real and simple."

Wang Yansheng nodded, then a look of helplessness surfaced in his eyes. "Among all these pugilistic factions, the Sword Pool Palace is the most lacking in successors. The best we have is Lu Shisan, but compared to the Daoist Child of the Zhenwu Temple, the Little Celestial Master of the Celestial Master’s Mansion, or the Buddhas of the three Buddhist temples... he falls far short. If a faction lacks fresh blood, danger is never far behind. Especially in this era, where so many of the older generation are reaching their limits—a twilight age..." Wang Yansheng let out a long sigh.

Hearing the subtext in Wang Yansheng’s words, Zhao Huangting felt the sword case on his back suddenly grow hot. "Old Wang, if you have something to say, just say it. Don't beat around the bush. The current generation of Sword Pool Palace isn't enough, but... it’s not as bad as you say," Zhao Huangting squinted.

Wang Yansheng grinned, looked at Su Muzhe and Wan Jieliu, and said, "You are on good terms with An Le. Persuade him to join the Sword Pool Palace."

Zhao Huangting narrowed his eyes upon hearing this.

"It’s not An Le joining the Sword Pool Palace; it’s the Sword Pool Palace... betting on An Le."

...

Glug, glug.

The bone-chilling, icy water crashed against An Le’s body. His shredded green robes revealed his upper torso, submerged in the freezing lake. He could clearly feel the biting sword energy drilling into his flesh. An Le stood like a sculpture, leaning on the Qingshan bamboo sword, having crashed into the lakebed and stirred up the silt.

Few had ever visited the bottom of the Sword Pool Lake. As An Le looked around, he saw that the lakebed was embedded with sword after sword—all manner of blades. Unlike the swords fused into the Sword Bell, which were broken, blunt, or discarded, these were the "dead swords." The swords embedded in the lakebed were all incomplete; some were riddled with cracks, some lacked hilts, and some were merely sword embryos. They were the failures of the forging process, never having truly lived. They were discarded, sinking to the bottom to become part of the lake itself.

Three vortexes spun at the bottom of the lake. The three first-grade extreme swords—Cheng Ying, Long Que, and Yan Gui Chao—hung in a triangular formation, enclosing An Le and his Qingshan sword. An Le could feel the sword intent and energy released by the three blades. The energy was truly terrifying, a force of total destruction. With his Fifth Realm body-tempering cultivation, An Le felt as small as an ant before this sword intent.

However, the sword energy surging from Qingshan allowed him to withstand the pressure, and the ancient scriptures of the Qingshan Classic clinging to his body provided him the foundation to persist.

*Sharpening!*

An Le understood clearly during the sharpening process of Yan Gui Chao: to sharpen a treasure sword, one uses the sword energy of other blades to grind the edge. But Yan Gui Chao only needed the Seven-Star Long Que to sharpen. Yet Qingshan... had drawn out three first-grade extreme swords. The old Sword Saint seemed to feel it was necessary to intervene, even sending Cheng Ying to join the fray. Thus, the situation of three swords surrounding one was born!

As the current wielder of the Qingshan bamboo sword, An Le was inevitably dragged into this terrifying maelstrom of energy.

"Come!"

An Le exhaled at the bottom of the lake, a bubble of air filled with sword energy surging toward the surface. The three swords—Cheng Ying, Long Que, and Yan Gui Chao—seemed to understand his intent. With a hum, their sword intent swept out, transforming into three streams of killing light that coiled toward him.

The entire lakebed was instantly engulfed in brilliant, extreme sword light!

An Le gritted his teeth, slowly lifting the Qingshan sword he leaned upon, and pushed it forward gently. However, his calm and determined eyes suddenly constricted. The sword intent of the three blades coiled around the Qingshan like three dragons or serpents, spreading slowly until they wrapped around his fingers, his arms, his torso... and finally, his entire being.

Sharpening Qingshan... was never about sharpening the sword.

What was being sharpened... was the person.

...

Inside the Sword Pool Lake, a figure in a hempen robe stood with hands behind his back, his hair floating upward like seaweed. The old Sword Saint’s eyes opened and closed, sharp and profound sword intent erupting. He looked at An Le, who was wrapped in a cocoon of sword intent by the three first-grade extreme swords, a look of astonishment flashing in his eyes.

"The Qingshan sword... a blade stained with the blood of an immortal."

"So that’s how it is... its sharpening was never a test for the sword itself, but a test for the person wielding it." The old Sword Saint murmured, his gaze drifting.

Zhao Huangting had come to the Sword Pool Lake to sharpen Qingshan four times. He had tried to use the sword energy within the lake to grind and polish the bamboo sword, using the traditional method of sharpening. But he had failed every time. Even the old Sword Saint had been confused, unable to find the reason. Today, watching An Le sharpen Qingshan, he finally understood.

The bamboo sword Qingshan never needed sharpening. A bamboo sword is already sharp without an edge; it can slay even an immortal and make them bleed. The one who truly needed sharpening was the person holding Qingshan. When the wielder is sharpened, it means Qingshan is sharpened.

But if that were the case... could this boy... succeed? Even the old Sword Saint felt uncertain at this moment.

...

An agonizing pain tore through his heart! It felt as if every inch of his flesh was being pierced and sliced by sword energy. An Le had never imagined that sharpening Qingshan would be so painful. It didn't make sense—wasn't sharpening supposed to be the use of sword energy to polish a blade? Why was this energy directed at him instead of the sword?

Starting from his arms, it began to shred every inch of his flesh! At that moment, An Le felt as if his physical body no longer belonged to him. Flesh, meridians, bones, Dantian, internal cores, and even his sword-furnace Primordial Spirit—everything was being ground into nothingness by the sword energy. This was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt.

*Heaven will bestow a great mission upon a man, it must first labor his mind and toil his bones?* An Le only wanted to sharpen Qingshan... why was it suddenly necessary to endure such agony?

An Le watched with his own eyes as his flesh was stripped away, blood permeating the sword energy, until he seemed to be nothing more than a skeleton of shimmering spirit-bone. Unwilling to sit and wait for death, An Le roared, circulating his blood and energy, mobilizing the innate spiritual energy in his Dantian to strike back at the sword energy. It was a heroic attempt, but the result was dismal. The innate spiritual energy evaporated instantly...

The newly evolved Dao Fruit, [God-Communicating Sword Body], seemed to have lost its effect; these sword energies showed no mercy. His flesh was shredded, again and again, turning into fine particles. Then came the bones. The teeth-grinding sound of bones being crushed echoed—starting from his finger bones, bit by bit, they were shattered into visible particles. Then his arm bones, ribs, spine... and finally, his skull.

An Le even saw himself completely reduced to nothingness, leaving only a massive cloud of particles floating in the sword energy.

The tattered bamboo sword, Qingshan, hovered quietly, beginning to flicker with light. The particles of his flesh and bones were swallowed by the sword as if by a whale. The sword energy, like a silkworm cocoon, circled the sword.

But within the cocoon... An Le’s presence had vanished without a trace.

...

In the Sword Pool Palace, Zhao Huangting, who had been chatting happily with Wang Yansheng, suddenly froze. He looked as if he had turned into a statue. Stunned, confused, bewildered... a variety of emotions erupted like a shattered silver vase.

Su Muzhe, who was very familiar with Zhao Huangting, turned to look and saw a look of madness and disbelief climb onto his face. "What is it?" A sense of unease welled up in her heart.

Wang Yansheng also sensed something was wrong. He narrowed his eyes, and the next moment, his expression began to tremble. Without a word, the two vanished, appearing instantly by the side of the now-calm Sword Pool Lake. Su Muzhe and Wan Jieliu followed, their faces full of confusion.

Zhao Huangting’s lips trembled, and his plain robes shook visibly. "It was just sharpening a sword... how could the person be gone?"

Wang Yansheng was lost, a look of shock, disappointment, and denial in his eyes.

"An Le... An Le’s aura... is gone."

"An Le is dead?!"