Grasping the Four Sword Attendants, the Overthinking Sword Venerable

Handling the Four Sword Attendants; the Sword Venerable Who Loved to Overthink—Sword Four suddenly felt the track of his Destiny shift. The sword that should have stabbed straight into Zhiming's throat somehow veered three inches off course.

He frowned, withdrew his sword, and thrust again.

Zhiming glanced at him once more.

The sword tip veered off again.

Sword Four's brow furrowed tighter and tighter. He thrust seven or eight times in a row, and every strike inexplicably shifted away at the instant it was about to land.

At last, he spoke. "What are you looking at?"

Zhiming said faintly, "Your Destiny."

"When you thrust that sword, it should originally have struck my left shoulder. I made it shift three inches."

"Your next sword would have hit my right ribs. I made it shift three inches again."

"Every time you attack, Destiny has already set the outcome. I only need to give it the lightest nudge."

Sword Four was silent for a long time. "Then does that mean I'll never be able to hit you?"

Zhiming said, "Unless you leap beyond Destiny."

Sword Four put away his sword. "I can't leap out."

Zhiming rarely showed a trace of approval. "At least you admit defeat decisively."

From start to finish, only a few dozen breaths had passed, and the Four Sword Attendants had all been defeated.

Shichen had fought one against two and won cleanly and decisively.

Yang Mei had made it look effortless; from beginning to end, he had never let Sword One touch even the hem of his robe.

Zhiming had not even moved a finger. With nothing but his gaze, he had defeated Sword Four.

The Four Sword Attendants stood in a row and cupped their fists together.

Sword One's tone was solemn. "The three fellow daoists' methods reach