After leaving the Divine Constable Gate, Demonic Blade's spirit locked on like a chain, following the saber intent that brought him boundless pressure. He crossed clusters of residences, bustling marketplaces, and throngs of people, finally arriving before a deserted compound in the heart of the city.
Wild grass grew thick here, and there was not the slightest trace of life.
Thick smoke and dust had blackened the crumbling walls. Scattered crimson tiles lay stained with muddy rain-soaked earth, covered in the marks of time.
At the end of the broken walls and ruined ramparts, atop the roof of a smoke-blackened house, Demonic Blade saw the true source of that powerful saber intent.
A tall young man in a loose white robe, his hair tied into a knot, stood upright on the rooftop. Upon seeing Demonic Blade arrive, he leaped down. Though the two faced each other, they remained far apart.
The intense saber intent around his body had entwined and merged with the spiritual currents in the air, turning into an unseen tide of energy that drifted around him and concealed Heavenly Saber's face. Whether he was handsome and dashing or ugly beyond compare, none could tell.
But it did not matter. Flesh was merely an outward appearance. For martial artists who had reached such a pinnacle, what truly mattered was the core—the spirit.
What Demonic Blade truly valued was the saber intent around the young man's body, so dense it seemed tangible. Even with Demonic Blade's cultivation, he felt immense pressure from it. In this day and age, aside from Heavenly Saber, no second person could possess such imposing might.
After all, Demonic Blade had already reached the pinnacle of the saber path in this era. Not even saints or divinities could surpass him. The only one who could