The Buddha sword flashed like lightning, slicing into Wang Xian's chest in an instant.
Yet it was like a sword passing through a spring breeze. It cut nothing, left not the slightest trace, and then vanished from the long street.
The sight made the great general's heart tighten. The prince had indeed transcended the mortal realm.
Even a monk with such terrifying cultivation couldn't harm the prince, who was like a god or demon.
Three men had blocked the way, and who would have thought that the last to strike would be a monk from the East Sea? The monk was compassionate, but the great general didn't understand compassion. His heart held only the emperor, whose life or death was uncertain.
And the prince before him, who seemed like a demon god.
In that instant, Huiguo froze.
He hadn't expected that although his Demon-Subduing Sword had clearly cut into Wang Xian's world, the world before his eyes would vanish as if it had never existed.
The sword passed, and the wind stilled. Dozens of zhang away, Wang Xian stood in a robe of bright yellow, its faint radiance shimmering in the sunlight. There wasn't a trace of blood on him.
Instead, blood stained the monk's robes, and blood slowly seeped from the corner of his mouth. Countless shallow sword marks had appeared on the spirit sword in his hand.
The monk's expression grew more and more grave.
The sword in his hand grew heavier and heavier, as if he were clutching a snow-capped mountain. It was too heavy for him to bear.
Wang Xian, standing in the middle of the street, took one step forward.
As the wind stilled, petals and Buddhist scriptures drifted slowly down from the sky, landing on Huiguo's shoulders and on his Buddha sword.
Huiguo swept