Useno's gaze lingered on the thin, hair-like bloodstain on the back of his hand for a full three breaths.
He saw that sword strike clearly—it had no power, no explosion of Battle-qi, not even a sword's cry. It was like a gust of wind brushing past his palm. By the time he reacted, his flesh had already been torn open. The protective holy light of the Peak Saint Realm was as if it didn't exist in front of that sword mark.
He slowly raised his head and looked at the young man standing opposite him with a sword in his hand. The slight disdain in his eyes finally faded away and was replaced by genuine fear.
" Tempos of the Wind." Useno repeated the name in a low voice, a hint of coldness in his tone. "I've lived all these years, and I've seen people comprehend the Laws of Wind. But to blend 'fast' and 'slow' into a single sword strike, deceiving my eyes and intuition—you are the first."
Linley did not answer. The wind swirled silently around him, and the Purple Blood Soft Sword was enveloped by a layer of air currents that was almost invisible to the naked eye, as if it were about to break through the air at any moment, yet it also seemed to be frozen in place, completely still.
Useno narrowed his eyes and slowly took a step forward. He had no intention of probing any further. The full power of the Peak Saint Realm erupted at this moment. The holy light around him no longer radiated outwards, but instead completely receded inwards. The fierce aura pressed down so hard that the entire city wall creaked. He was going to use the cleanest and most decisive strike to cut down this young man who had repeatedly surprised him on the city wall.
Linley felt the pressure. The old and new wounds on his chest throbbed, and his legs felt like lead. Yet, his hand holding the sword remained remarkably steady.
In that instant, he didn't think about victory or defeat, his five brothers, or the Radiant Church. All he could see was the approaching black and gold light and shadow, the sword in his hand, and the gust of wind around him.
Useno moved.
That palm strike was silent and without warning, as if it had emerged from the darkness of night, heading straight for Linley's heart. It was so fast that no one below the city could see it clearly; they only felt the pressure of the Peak Saint Realm crashing down on them like a mountain.
Linley's mind, however, was unusually still at that moment.
He saw it clearly. Not with his eyes, but with the wind around him. The wind told him which arm Useno's palm strike was channeled into, in which direction the force was directed, who would be faster first and who would be slower later—everything was crystal clear, as if an invisible net had revealed every inch of the palm strike's trajectory.
The beauty of the Tempos of the Wind lies in this word "see." When it's fast, the wind is an eye; when it's slow, the wind is also an eye. When fast and slow complement each other, the wind's eye opens.
Just as Useno's palm was about to strike Linley's chest, the Purple Blood Soft Sword emitted a soft sound.
There was only one sound. But within that sound lay the purest wind in the world.
The tip of the sword slid up against Useno's palm strike, avoiding a direct confrontation. Instead, it followed the force of the blow, piercing the weakest point of his powerful palm strike—the inside of his elbow. The sword trembled, moving with almost imperceptible speed, skipping any unnecessary flourishes, focusing solely on that one solid point and delivering a gentle thrust.
A muffled "hiss" sounded.
Useno's right arm, from elbow to shoulder, was ripped open with a deep, bone-revealing gash. The holy light dissipated into a white mist at this spot, and his full-force palm strike, which should have ended Linley's life, was cut off by a single sword strike, unable to deliver even a fraction of its force.
"Well--"
Useno's entire body jolted violently, staggering backward several feet before crashing into the battlements and barely regaining his balance. He clutched the bloody gash on his right arm, veins bulging on his forehead, and for the first time, an intense, overwhelming rage welled up in his eyes.
"What a fine combination of wind and sword!" he gritted his teeth, uttering each word clearly, "I'll see how long your eye of wind can stay open."
His injured right arm was unresponsive, yet he refused to retreat. With a flick of his left palm, a fierce aura suddenly condensed around him, and disregarding his injuries, he was determined to fight Linley to the death.
Linley did not engage in a direct confrontation with him.
He gripped his sword, took a step back, and the wind condensed into a thin barrier in front of him. He knew in his heart that his sword strike had only managed to wound Useno because of the skill he had just grasped and his opponent's underestimation of him; in terms of true foundation and strength, he was still far inferior to Useno, and even if he fought to the death, he would not gain any advantage this night.
But he knew one thing even more clearly—the lives of his five brothers were far more important than the outcome of this moment.
" Useno," Linley's voice was calm, yet each word was clear, "You are a man of the Holy Island, my man, and also my man, Linley's man. Tonight I will not fight you to the death, but those five brothers—" He paused, "if you dare to touch a hair on their heads again—" He also said, "I will walk to the Holy Island and personally deliver the sword of Tempos of the Wind to you."
Useno stared at him, at the still-bleeding wound, then at his five brothers below the city, bound by chains, their eyes wide open and refusing to yield. Finally, he snorted coldly and gave up the fight.
" Linley, I'll remember this sword strike you delivered today." With that, he clutched his right arm, then his figure flashed, transforming into a streak of black light as he sped south without looking back. The Four-Winged Angel followed closely behind, quickly disappearing into the night.
The night wind swept across the city walls once more, dispersing the remaining holy light.
Linley stood there, gripping his sword, watching the departing figure. The breath he had been holding in finally eased. Immediately afterward, a sharp pain surged from his chest. He staggered, fell to one knee, and used the tip of his sword to support himself. In the end, he couldn't hold back any longer, and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth.
He did not fall. Leaning on his sword, he slowly straightened up again, and walked down the city wall step by step to his five brothers who were bound by chains.
"Third brother!" Gates cried out, his voice hoarse, "Are you... are you alright?!"
"I won't die." Linley, using his last bit of strength, squatted down, the wisp of wind from his fingertips flowing inch by inch along the patterns of the Black Yù chain. After a long while, a very soft "crack" sounded, and the chain broke in two.
The sky gradually turned a pale white.
Linley sat on the broken wall atop the city wall, his Purple Blood Soft Sword lying across his knees, gazing at the sliver of light that was gradually brightening the sky. He hadn't killed Useno that night, and he had suffered considerable injuries, but for the first time, he was absolutely certain of one thing—he had crossed that threshold of wind.
"One wind, one sword." He murmured these words, his fingers tracing the blade. "Fast is the eye of the wind, slow is also the eye of the wind. When both converge... this path can be considered officially established."
The morning light crossed the mountain ridge and fell on his weary yet exceptionally bright face. He knew that the wind he held in his hand was no longer the sword that used to charge and slash recklessly.