The finger Jing Jiu extended was neither a sword technique of the Green Mountain Sect nor any Daoist art of the Chaotian Continent. It was simply a sword strike.
He knew that using the Green Mountain Sect's sword techniques would make today's fight rather troublesome.
He hated trouble more than anyone and liked only to finish things simply.
Simplicity did not mean insufficient power. Ultimate simplicity meant ultimate focus, ultimate purity.
It was somewhat like the sword strike with which that child of the No-Grace Gate had killed Emperor Xiao amid a sky full of falling leaves.
As it turned out, Jing Jiu's choice was as correct-and as perfect-as his choices in every battle over the past thousand-odd years.
Shen Yunmai had no other way to counter his simple strike. He could only meet it head-on.
In a head-on clash, what mattered was who was harder.
Whether on the Chaotian Continent or in the Galaxy Alliance, what could be harder than One Sword for All Things?
Without any surprise, Shen Yunmai lost this clash of swords.
What Jing Jiu had not expected was that his strike, so simple and focused, had failed to kill his opponent.
That sword light broke into his body but could not pierce through it. Shen Yunmai suffered only minor injuries.
Then he would try another strike.
Sword light flickered.
His finger descended.
An exceptionally clear sword cry rang out.
This time, his finger failed to land between Shen Yunmai's brows.
At some point, Shen Yunmai had raised his right hand, blocking the space before his eyes.
That sword cry was the sound of Jing Jiu's finger meeting his palm.
Jing Jiu's finger felt countless strands of sword intent swirling ceaselessly, sensed an extremely familiar aura, and met countless layers of resistance.
The sword intent emanating