"Those who wield the sword hold no gods in their breast, no Buddha in their heart..."
"With one sword above all, those who refuse shall be slain, those who defy shall be slain..."
"Where the Dao lies, my heart yearns; my body is like a sword, soaring above the vault of heaven..."
Gou Wuyue suddenly staggered back several steps. As he watched Ba Zunan's departing figure walk away at an unhurried pace, a scene from the eve of the Ten Seat Holders' campaign rose in his mind—the moment the two of them had first met.
Back then, the Moonless Sword Immortal's name had shaken the world.
The title of Eighth Sword Immortal had carved out an immense reputation in the Central Region.
The two had cherished one another as kindred spirits. When Gou Wuyue asked what a sword was, Ba Zunan had given his own answer in but a few sparse sentences.
Indeed, with no gods or Buddhas in one's heart, the sword wielder himself became divine.
Sword cultivators who pursued the pinnacle had never possessed any so-called faith. Or rather, their faith was only the sword, only themselves.
The moment something hung above one's head, the path of the sword would be inexplicably hindered.
Gou Wuyue understood this principle.
That was what Ba Zunan had meant back then.
Yet now, after decades apart, the two had gone their separate ways.
One had become the First Seat of the Saint Slave; the other had become the Dao-Wielding Sovereign of the Holy Spirit Hall.
It seemed that each had his own aspirations, each had rushed toward his own future.
But upon closer reflection, Ba Zunan was still the Ba Zunan of old—Ba Zunan stood a foot taller than the heavens, Ba Zunan the First Seat of the Saint Slave.
All the