Though Xue Linglong had no idea why Lin Huang had spoken up, she didn't dare disobey. She stepped aside and watched Feng Dao enter the palace alone, with only his blade for company.
"What a terrifying man. What do you think Lin Huang will do to him? He won't keep him here too, will he? Just being around that man makes my skin crawl."
Tunbao chattered away, making wild guesses.
But Feng Dao, upon entering the palace, thought of nothing and said nothing. He simply drew his blade.
The strike wasn't fast, but it was domineering.
The heavens shattered—and only then did this strike come.
Heaven itself as a blade: that was Feng Dao's blade.
A flicker of delight crossed Lin Huang's eyes. In recent days, he had pored over countless supreme arts and crossed swords with these geniuses along the way. He had witnessed too many techniques and too many prodigies. He had thought that with the myriad laws already in his heart, no matter how marvelous Feng Dao's blade might be, it wouldn't stir him.
But Lin Huang was still moved. This strike was simply too dazzling.
What dazzled him wasn't the blade in Feng Dao's hand, but the peerless blade intent he kept hidden in his heart.
It was a peerless blade path born of truly understanding one's own Dao.
That was why Lin Huang was dazzled and delighted: Feng Dao had truly comprehended the Dao in the Mortal World, and the Dao he had grasped was the blade.
Feng Dao was a man truly born for the blade. The state of mind in which nothing existed beyond his blade was laid bare in him.
That was why Feng Dao's eyes would always see only his own blade. As for his enemy—whether Lin Huang or anyone else—