Zhao Qinghe

"Form up! Form the sword formation, now!" Zhao Qinghe finally snapped to his senses and roared the order.

He drew the longsword from his back with a clang, but the hand holding it trembled slightly.

His fellow disciples jolted awake at his shout, scrambling into position to assemble the sword formation.

But it was already too late.

The instant Zhao Qinghe drew his sword, Si Chen vanished from where he stood.

Thunderbolt Flash!

In the next instant, he appeared before the square-faced disciple who had been shouting the loudest.

The square-faced disciple's vision blurred, and a handsome face appeared right before him, mere inches away.

Terrified, he tried to retreat and raise his sword to block.

But Si Chen had already lifted his hand and pressed a finger to the center of his forehead.

"Pfft!"

The back of his head burst open. Still holding his sword, his body toppled stiffly backward, kicking up a little dust.

At the center of his forehead was only a tiny, charred hole, with a few residual arcs of electricity flickering around it.

An instant kill!

One encounter, and a Foundation Establishment Realm cultivator was dead!

Fast! Far too fast!

So fast that the others had only just assumed the opening stance of their sword formation, without even having time to circulate their spiritual energy!

Zhao Qinghe's eyes nearly split with anguish, grief and terror mingling within him. "Junior brother!"

"Senior Brother Wang!"

Cries of alarm erupted. Seeing a companion who had been alive moments ago become a corpse in the blink of an eye, every other disciple blanched in horror.

The crowd watching outside the gate froze as well. The scene fell so silent that not even a crow or sparrow could be heard.

What... what kind of strength was this?!

Were Foundation Establishment cultivators no more than paper figures before him?

The battle that followed completely overturned their understanding.

Every time he flickered from place to place, a streak of white lightning accompanied him,

every time he appeared, a soft rumble of thunder followed,

and every time he struck, a disciple of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect fell.

Sometimes, it was a simple finger pressed to the forehead.

Sometimes, it was a casual punch driven into the chest.

Sometimes, he merely brushed past, and the lightning trailing him left his opponent collapsing, charred from head to toe.

Before such absolute speed and power, their so-called sword formation fell apart before it could even take shape.

At the sight, Zhao Qinghe's heart ached, but he also knew forming up was now impossible. He could only shout hoarsely, "Attack together! Surround him!"

Forcing down their terror, the remaining disciples charged Si Chen like madmen, sword light striking from every direction.

Yet what happened next made every spectator suck in a breath of cold air.

Faced with those spirit-artifact longswords gleaming with cold light, Si Chen neither dodged nor evaded!

Clang! A longsword struck his arm, leaving only a faint white mark.

Clink! A sword tip stabbed toward his back, only to bounce straight off.

Thud! Someone swung at his neck with all their strength, but it merely made him pause slightly.

This man's flesh could actually withstand spirit artifacts head-on!

They might only be low-grade spirit artifacts, but they were still spirit artifacts! What ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator would dare take them with their bare body?

The sword techniques of Zhao Qinghe and his fellow disciples could inflict no meaningful damage at all.

Despair swiftly engulfed them like an icy tide.

The battle became a one-sided cleanup.

When Si Chen flickered one last time and stopped before the young junior sister named Zhang Wan, her face was deathly pale with fear, and she could barely hold her sword.

"N-no... please..." She trembled, tears spilling from her eyes.

Si Chen looked at her, his gaze as unruffled as ever.

He did not hesitate because of her fear and pleas, just as he had not grown angry because of her earlier arrogance.

Zhao Qinghe let out a desperate roar. "No-!"

But Si Chen's finger had already struck.

The terror in Zhang Wan's eyes froze in place, and her petite body crumpled to the ground.

Now, Zhao Qinghe was the only disciple of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect still standing.

Leaning on his sword, he stared at the corpses of his fellow disciples strewn across the ground. His eyes were hollow, every trace of light within them extinguished.

Anger, fear, sorrow... and regret.

He knew he had no chance of surviving today.

But he was, after all, the senior-most disciple of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect.

In this hopeless situation, Zhao Qinghe's heart instead grew strangely calm.

He drew a deep breath and held his longsword horizontally before him. His left hand gently brushed across the blade, moving slowly, as though bidding it farewell.

He looked at Si Chen, his gaze no longer fearful and his breathing much steadier, then slowly spoke:

"Zhao Qinghe, inner disciple of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect."

This was the ending he had chosen for himself as a sword cultivator.

Si Chen stopped and watched him quietly, without seizing the chance to attack. He could sense that this man was somewhat different from the other disciples.

So he solemnly cupped his hands toward Zhao Qinghe and bowed slightly.

"Si Chen, rogue cultivator."

At this returned courtesy, an indescribably complicated smile appeared on Zhao Qinghe's face.

His opponent had granted him an honorable end befitting his identity as a sword cultivator.

"Please... receive my sword!"

Zhao Qinghe shouted, moving with his sword and becoming a dazzling streak of light,

this was the strongest, fastest strike he had ever unleashed in his life as a cultivator!

His sword flashed like a startled swan, its speed surpassing even his own limits. With an unyielding resolve to burn jade and stone alike, it thrust straight toward Si Chen's throat!

For the first time, a faint hint of surprise appeared in Si Chen's eyes, for his Foundation Establishment body could not keep pace with his reactions.

"Sss-"

The blade swept past his neck, bringing a trace of coolness as it grazed his skin.

Si Chen raised his hand and lightly brushed his neck, a hint of astonishment entering his eyes.

Since coming to this world and obtaining this body, this was the first time a human cultivator had truly wounded him.

Though it was only a superficial wound, healed in an instant by the vast vitality of plants,

that strike had indeed hurt him.

He asked, "What is that strike called?"

Meanwhile, Zhao Qinghe, who had poured everything into that strike beyond his own limits, seemed drained of all strength. His face was white as paper, and his body swayed. Only by bracing his sword against the ground did he barely keep from falling.

Hearing Si Chen's question, Zhao Qinghe slowly lifted his head, a flicker of pride crossing his eyes. "Moon Chaser."

He knew he had given it his all, and had reached the end.

He turned away, no longer looking at Si Chen. Instead, he struggled to straighten his back and gazed toward his sect, slowly returning his sword to its sheath.

"Shing-"

The longsword slid into its sheath with a clear, ringing note, bringing his brief life to its final rest.

"A fine sword strike."

Si Chen nodded and raised his right hand. A streak of lightning, condensed to the utmost, flashed and pierced Zhao Qinghe's forehead in an instant.

He respected his opponent's choice and was willing to grant him the dignity he deserved.

Zhao Qinghe's body shuddered slightly before pitching forward, a trace of release on his face.

He died quickly, without much pain, and retained his final dignity as a sword cultivator.

Zhao Qinghe... Si Chen remembered that name.

He also remembered the sword technique called "Moon Chaser."

With that, this contingent of Flowing Cloud Sword Sect disciples in Ancient Gaze City had been wiped out.