Confrontation in the Wind, One Sword No Trace

The old Daoist was furious.

After so many years apart, and in weather this wretched, Nalan Ming still insisted on challenging him!

After some thought, he replied, "I'm old. I can't beat you."

Those words made it sound as though the two had just fought a bloody battle. He wanted to put an end to this pointless conflict.

Nalan Ming shook his head. "I've waited many years for this day. If you want me to leave, defeat me."

Having said this calmly, he took a step forward and headed into the wind and snow beyond the main hall.

Wang Xian, standing beneath the snow pine, froze.

He had never expected this old man from Tianshan to truly challenge his master!

All for a divine sword—a divine sword that did not belong to them.

Thinking of this, he could only ask, "Master, will you accept the challenge? Will you lose?"

The old Daoist lifted the teacup before him, drained it in one gulp, and replied indifferently, "Does winning or losing matter?"

Wang Xian looked at Nalan Ming's gloomy face and shook his head. "Doesn't it?"

The old Daoist stepped out of the hall and shot him a fierce glare.

Looking up at the sky, he muttered to himself, "In this life, there will always be a few moments that have nothing to do with victory or defeat. Staying alive is what matters most."

These words sounded rather strange to Nalan Ming and Wang Ruowang.

Only Wang Xian gave a thoughtful "Oh."

The last time Master fought Martial Uncle, it seemed there had been no victor either.

Nalan Ming drew his spirit sword amid the wind and snow and shouted, "Fight!"

The vast snow mountains remained silent. Only those two words pierced the wind and snow, echoing among the peaks.

They even crossed mountains and ridges, heading toward the Kunlun Sword Sect on the northern slope.

Cradling a cup of flower tea, Dongfang Nishang turned her gaze toward the Daoist temple on this slope. Her delicate brows knitted slightly, but she said nothing.

Who would have thought that after she left, someone else would come up Kunlun to trouble her senior brother?

Beneath the snow pine, Wang Xian remained silent.

His master had already stepped out of the hall. This was not yet his battlefield. Compared to the three old men before him, he knew he was not even an ant.

Nalan Ming took out a silk handkerchief and wiped the spirit sword in his hand.

Seeing the old Daoist emerge from the hall, his fighting spirit rose higher and higher, and the spirit sword in his hand grew even sharper.

"Clang!"

The spirit sword slashed toward the sky. The snowflakes in the air trembled softly, while the cold wind let out a mournful howl.

That sword strike cleaved toward the vault of heaven before finally vanishing into the boundless wind and snow.

Wang Xian stood silently beneath the snow pine.

His master had not drawn his sword, even though the old man before him already held a spirit sword and had slashed once at the sky.

Yet Wang Ruowang sensed his senior brother's killing intent, and his face instantly turned pale.

Frowning, he thought, We only came to seek a sword. How did this turn into a fight to the death with the old Daoist?

Nalan Ming looked at the old Daoist and shouted, "Daoist brother, where is your sword?"

The old Daoist shook his head.

Not drawing his sword did not mean he had conceded or yielded to the other man's dense killing intent.

What could not be seen did not mean it did not exist.

The old Daoist suddenly smiled faintly and sent Wang Xian a voice transmission. "Sometimes, you do not need to draw your sword at all, because your whole body is a divine sword!"

Man and sword as one!

Wang Xian understood this principle, because his master lectured him about it without end every day.

From the moment he picked up a wolf-hair brush and wrote his first stroke on paper, he had felt that he himself was a sword—a divine sword yet to leave its sheath!

So he nodded, still saying nothing.

With spirit sword in hand, Nalan Ming suddenly vanished from Wang Xian's sight.

A streak of Sword Qi abruptly tore through the wind and snow, slashing toward the old Daoist who stood like a snow pine!

The old Daoist stepped back. With a light sweep of his Daoist robe, it was as though a drifting cloud rolled past, brushing aside the Sword Qi that had cut through the storm.

Nalan Ming's sword made no sound, leaving only a current of air in the cold wind.

Back then, when the two had fought at Tianchi without a decisive result, Nalan Ming had fallen into the disadvantage, and the old Daoist had stopped drawing his sword.

It was not because he was invincible, but because he could not be bothered.

In the entire Kunlun Sword Sect, aside from his junior sister Dongfang Nishang, no one dared draw a sword before him!

After countless years of bitter contemplation, Nalan Ming had finally understood one thing: the old Daoist had transformed talismans into his sword.

Thus, before making his move, he had made one demand of the old Daoist—he was not allowed to use the Dao of talismans.

The old Daoist had first been taken aback, then nodded in agreement.

Nalan Ming took a deep breath.

These past years, he had not idled away his days. At every moment, he had considered how to break the old Daoist's sword. Now was the time.

Without the enhancement of the Dao of talismans, he no longer regarded that sword as a threat.

The cold wind howled as Nalan Ming slashed out with his sword, merging with the icy gale sweeping toward them.

Even in Wang Xian's eyes, it was impossible for a moment to tell which was the cold wind and which was Sword Qi.

Watching the sword concealed in the wind, Wang Ruowang shouted, "What a sword!"

Yet the old Daoist merely clasped his hands behind his back.

Facing such a powerful sword strike, he still did not take out his own spirit sword.

Wang Xian froze. What was Master going to do?

Heaven and earth fell silent.

"Boom!"

It was as though thunder had erupted amid the wind and snow. At the instant the thunder rang out—

A sword appeared before the old Daoist.

Facing this opponent who had come from afar, the old Daoist transformed the wind and snow before him into a sword within the wind.

In that instant, the sword from Tianshan had already reached him, whipping his Daoist robe into loud flutters like a battle flag.

Wang Ruowang, inside the main hall, suddenly saw a flash before his eyes.

Two fierce streams of Sword Qi collided in his vision. The sword from Tianshan was like a divine sword from beyond the Ninth Heaven, striking solid ice.

With a crack, the solid ice shattered!

The sword hidden in the wind instantly turned into a long rainbow. It first broke through the solid ice, then continued forward without pause, slashing toward the old Daoist.

Even now, there was still no sword in the old Daoist's hand.

In Wang Xian's eyes, his master himself was a sword at this moment!

Thus, he understood. His master had turned his body into a sword and meant to use this earthshaking battle to explain the essence of the sword Dao to him.

Heaven and earth crumbled!

Yet the wind and snow did not erupt as Wang Ruowang had imagined. Even the snow on the ground was not blasted into the sky!

Transforming his palm into a sword, the old Daoist swept his sleeve and turned Nalan Ming's sword strike into a raging torrent of Sword Qi, reversing its course.

It slashed toward the distant snow mountains!

By then, Wang Xian had already closed his eyes.

That sword was too fast. He could not see it clearly, so he could only use his divine sense to observe the current of air cutting toward the snow mountains.

"Boom! Rumble..."

It was as though peals of thunder rolled in from the horizon. Wang Xian did not see the sword mark his master had left behind.

But he heard the heavy snow atop the mountain, cleaved by that terrifying Sword Qi into a sudden avalanche like an inverted river of stars, like ten thousand galloping horses.

He stared in utter shock!

Wang Ruowang was left speechless!

It was not over yet!

That sword mark cleaved through the snow mountain and shot straight into the vault of heaven, tearing a rift through the thick clouds overhead.

A streak of golden light slowly descended from the crack.

Within Wang Xian's divine sense, a sword mark surged from the Daoist temple straight into the clouds, splitting the dark sky and allowing sunlight above the cloud layer to spill down like drifting clouds.

The slowly descending golden light was like a sword mark falling across his sea of consciousness!

At that moment, he thought of the first sword form his master had taught him.

One Sword No Trace!