"The first sword form: Draw Sword Slash."
An unfathomably mysterious aura swirled around Ye Lin. At that moment, it seemed as though he had grasped many things, yet also as though he had grasped nothing at all.
Yet in the next instant, Ye Lin abruptly drew the Xuanyuan Sword in his hand and slashed. In that moment, Ye Lin poured into this strike all his understanding of the sword, all the insights he had gained throughout his life.
Before this sword, even heaven and earth had to pale.
Darkness fell. The originally golden space dimmed until it was devoid of light, as though even the golden space itself did not dare contend with this sword for brilliance.
The Xuanyuan Sword trembled continuously in Ye Lin's hand, letting out faint cries of the sword.
Though the sword cries were faint, each one shook the soul.
When cultivators practiced the sword, they usually began with three forms: drawing, sweeping, and slashing.
As the saying went, the Great Dao was simplicity itself. This was simplicity.
The next moment, darkness descended before Ye Lin's eyes. At that instant, all six of his senses vanished. He could hear nothing, see nothing, smell nothing—as though he had truly died in that moment.
He could perceive nothing.
Yet Ye Lin was not the slightest bit flustered. He could not help but tighten his grip around the Xuanyuan Sword in his hand, and its icy touch steadied his heart.
After several breaths, Ye Lin slowly opened his eyes. The golden space had not changed. The only difference was that Yin-Yang Venerable stood in the distance, looking at him.
"Have I still lost?"
Looking at the completely unscathed Yin-Yang Venerable, Ye Lin muttered to himself. He had not expected that even after unleashing his ultimate sword strike, he had