The rivalry between saber and sword had existed since ancient times, like those who favored sweet flavors and those who favored savory ones—an almost instinctive opposition.
Yet in truth, sabers and swords had no inherent superiority or inferiority. What truly decided victory was nothing more than the difference between their wielders.
Just as every so many years, a saber wielder, a sword wielder, or some other martial artist would emerge invincible beneath heaven and claim the title of number one under heaven, that title honored the martial artist himself, not the weapon in his hand.
It was merely that, over the past century or so, the one invincible beneath heaven had been Master Zhong, who used a sword.
As for whether Xiang Yang's Heavenly Saber or the Demon Sword stood higher, that remained unknown. The Demon Sword had never appeared in person; only a single move of the Demon Sword Art had clashed vaguely with Xiang Yang for one exchange, revealing far too little.
Just as the bloody saber and sword shadows collided in midair and dissolved one another, deep within a valley a thousand li from where Xiang Yang had slain Tiger King and Di Jiang—
The Demon Sword, seated cross-legged atop the Sword Tower, abruptly awoke from meditation. His face twisted involuntarily, blood trickling from his nose. Even his sword-like eyes had dimmed slightly—a sign that his spirit had been wounded.
"What a Heavenly Saber. He actually shattered the sword intent of my Demon Sword Art head-on. Perhaps it truly is time for me to move."
His soft words echoed through the silent mountains, brimming with anticipation. Clearly, the breaking of the Demon Sword Art had stirred the Demon Sword's competitive spirit.
Back on the battlefield, now utterly ruined, smoke and dust filled the air, while traces of