The First Elder and the others still had the leisure to guess at its origins and marvel at the sharpness and power of that sword strike, only because their limbs had gone weak and their true qi was exhausted. Whether they lived or died was no longer up to them.
Xiang Yang, facing that sword strike head-on, was different. As the killing sword came upon him, his primordial spirit sounded the alarm. His mind was utterly blank, leaving only the most primal combat instinct and an unbounded boldness to break this sword strike.
The arm gripping Que Xie in reverse bent back before his chest at an incredible angle, supple as a tendon, the saber held horizontally at his waist.
His solemn eyes closed the instant his opponent unsheathed his blade. The wind swept past, stirring black hair across his face, while the toes of his long boots pressed forward, piling up a small mound of snow.
His breathing nearly ceased, his aura nearly vanished, as though he had disappeared from between heaven and earth. Only when the sword qi burst toward him like exploding fireworks did he suddenly exhale and slash.
This slash was speed taken to its ultimate extreme. Perhaps it was not merely one slash, but a saber art formed from the fusion of countless slashes, transcending time and spanning space. As fast as the heart, so fast was the saber.
This slash was strength taken to its ultimate extreme. The surging true qi within already roared like ocean waves, wave upon wave, rising layer upon layer without end. It was the foundation Xiang Yang had built through repeated rebirths, two Heavenly Silkworm Transformations, and countless fortuitous encounters.
This slash was, even more so, a strike in which speed and strength, saber technique and saber intent, fused