Phase Two

Swords clashed. The sounds of Fuyao and Flowing Light colliding continued to detonate atop the Elixir Peak like an unrelenting thunderstorm.

Qingwei's neatly bound hair had long since come undone, whipped back into black ribbons by the howling winds whipped up by the sword qi.

There were several sword tears on his robes, but none were deep, and not a single one had cut his flesh. Fuyao hummed in his hand, alternately spitting out azure and golden sword glows.

Every strike slightly warped the air. His aura was still climbing, and as the battle dragged on, the layers of frustration and stagnation that had accumulated over many years were peeling away, leaving him sharper and more formidable.

Zixiao bore far more sword wounds than Qingwei. Three on his left arm, one on his shoulder blade, one on his ribs, and several shallower cuts that had only torn his outer robe. Yet with every swing, he felt his sword path being choked off by Qingwei's sword qi.

He had originally intended to use his status as the Senior Brother to suppress Qingwei—a tactic he had used before with outstanding results. But this time, Qingwei did not stop.

Had he even paused? Zixiao could not remember. He only felt Qingwei's sword growing faster and faster, so fast that every time he tried to speak, managing only a single syllable of “You—”, he would be cut off by the next flash of sword light.

He realized his old tricks no longer worked. Qingwei had no need to listen to him anymore. Qingwei had already decided what he was going to do, his blade reaching its destination far sooner than his voice ever could.

“Azure Cloud Sword Art, Ninth Form: The Boundless Heavens.”

Qingwei's voice rang out from the center of the sword light. The ninth form of the sword art. Mastering the first nine forms meant the Azure Cloud Sword Art had reached great mastery.

Among the first nine forms, there were killing strikes, escape techniques, and defensive arts—and this ninth form was a domain focused entirely on pure slaughter. As for the seven forms that followed, it depended on whether the cultivator possessed the comprehension to progress further.

That Qingwei was using this move proved his patience had truly run thin. He danced with his sword where he stood, Fuyao spinning, flipping, and carving intricate sword flowers in his grip. Every step he took rippled with pale golden waves.

Sword qi rose and gathered around him, condensing from scattered glows into a tightly wound, concentrating force.

Zixiao's attack lunged straight at him. In that split second, Qingwei stopped spinning. Fuyao traced a final sword flower in his hand. All his previous movements had been for this very moment—gathering qi, building momentum, and drawing the airflow of the entire battlefield into his own rhythm.

The momentum was established; the domain was now in his grasp.

Zixiao had already closed the distance, unleashing a diagonal slash wrapped in sword light straight toward Qingwei's ribs. Qingwei's gaze locked. He turned his blade horizontally, executing the same move Jiang Ci had used months ago on the Heavenly Punishment Platform.

“Vibrate.”

Holding his sword horizontally across his torso, he blocked Zixiao's slash and violently parried it away. Sword qi exploded between them, ripping up another layer of wooden floorboards and sending splinters flying in all directions.

Qingwei did not yield. His sword pushed Zixiao back. Caught by the force, Zixiao stumbled half a step backward.

Zixiao kicked off the ground, raising his sword and bringing it down in a vertical chop aimed directly at Qingwei's head. The downward slash was straighter and more ferocious than a typical sword move, but also clumsier—leaving his front completely exposed with no way to change his stance mid-air. It was a move only a novice would make.

Looking at Zixiao suspended in mid-air, a flicker of disappointment crossed Qingwei's eyes. Zixiao had abandoned the defensive counterattacks that the Flowing Light Sword Art excelled at in favor of offense, yet he chose such a reckless, wide-open approach. Since Zixiao looked down on him so much, there was no longer any need to hold back.

The sword qi boost from The Boundless Heavens was still active, giving Qingwei the confidence to launch a long-range strike. He didn't need to meet that downward chop head-on; he only had to wait for Zixiao to enter his attack range before he touched the ground.

Fuyao swept through the air. Four blasts of sword qi shot out simultaneously from the north, south, east, and west, sealing off all of Zixiao's escape routes.

Unable to change direction in mid-air, the momentum of the downward chop carried Zixiao straight toward the spot Qingwei had targeted. Qingwei thought, He can't possibly block this. The battle is over.

Qingwei was already prepared to sheathe his sword, the tip of Fuyao beginning to dip. But Zixiao blocked the frontal sword qi, retreating half a step. The remaining three cuts tore through his robes, one slicing his waist and drawing a line of dark crimson. As Zixiao landed, his body swayed slightly, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He stared at the bloody scratch on the back of his hand, dazed for a moment.

He was bleeding.

Why? Why did Master pass down the supreme, lethal Azure Cloud Sword Art to Qingwei, while the Flowing Light Sword Art I learned is nothing but a turtle shell? I am clearly the eldest disciple. Why?

Within his pitch-black fortune, something opened. A pair of blood-red eyes—eerie, ominous, and carrying the breath of calamity.

He tore open his collar, revealing a broad expanse of deep blue, translucent skin. At the very center, where his heart lay, glowed a ghostly blue light.

He glared at Qingwei with venomous eyes, his voice raspy and carrying a cracking resonance. “Junior Brother, since you insist on blocking my path to the Dao—”

He raised his hands, fingers splayed as if trying to grasp something invisible. “Do not blame me... for being ruthless.”

From his storage bag, he pulled out a Sovereign Rank sea calamity seed and a Heavenly General Rank Ice Spirit calamity seed, shoving both into his chest at the same time.

The two calamity seeds sank into his body like stones falling into water, spinning, colliding, eroding, and pulling at each other inside his chest cavity.

A blue-and-white interwoven light condensed into an expanding cocoon at the center of his chest. With every pulse, the layers of the light cocoon darkened.

Deep blue patterns began to spread outward from his chest, wrapping around his neck and climbing up his cheeks.

His hair changed color starting from the roots. The originally black-and-white strands were swallowed by deep blue in an instant, leaving only a few streaks of snowy white crisscrossing like blade marks.

His sword, Flowing Light, was trembling violently. A wail echoed from within the blade. It was struggling—struggling to escape the hands of its closest master.

Frost spread from his hands to the hilt, and then to the blade. The three-foot steel was coated in a layer of flowing frost, freezing, lengthening, and warping into a five-foot-long greatsword. The blade was covered in icy crystal patterns, resembling a layer of slowly growing new skin.

Zixiao raised the greatsword with one hand and pointed it at Qingwei. His height ballooned from five foot nine to well over eight feet, his skin covered in a layer of shaggy ice armor, and a pair of massive wings sprouted from his back.

Looking at the “thing” that had once been his senior brother, Qingwei's eyes filled with gravity mixed with a trace of deep grief. He had failed his master's dying wishes. He had failed to watch over his senior brother.

He had allowed Zixiao to stray onto this path of no return. He knew this battle would no longer stop at merely determining a victor.

Bai Cen retreated three steps in sheer terror, his voice dry. “How many fucking calamity seeds did this guy eat? He's turned himself into a Formless Spirit!”

Zixiao grinned, his mouth splitting open in an arc that almost reached his ears. “The pill, I will have. The Azure Cloud Sword Art, I will have as well.”

He closed his eyes in ecstasy, as if feeling something drawing near. “The Heavenly Envoy's gifts are truly generous. I have witnessed the reality of the world with my own eyes. Once I take the pill and transcend the tribulation—”

He opened his eyes. There were no longer any pupils left in them, only two pools of ghostly blue light. “The Heavenly Envoy will personally guide me. I shall ascend to immortality, join the ranks of the immortals, and enter eternal paradise.”

His cultivation surged once more. The aura of the Great Perfection of the Body Integration realm was like a moving wall, compressing the air of the entire Elixir Peak toward Qingwei and Bai Cen.

“As for you all—” He swept his greatsword across. A vast pool of ice exploded on the ground, frost crystals spreading in all directions, freezing pebbles, broken wood, and scattered scabbard fragments. Everything was frozen solid in an instant. “You shall all become nourishment for my ascension. It is your honor to aid me on my path to the Dao!”