This man hailed from the same sect as Ling Shuang. He was one of the martial uncles who had tried to kill him in the mountains all those years ago.
But after his attempt failed, Ling Shuang's master had severed all his life force with a single sword strike.
The spirit of the Soul Art was also one that knew how to pick its targets. Worried that Ling Shuang might defuse its schemes with ingenuity, it had directly chosen an old Sword Cultivator from the past—one capable of matching him blow for blow, with cultivation and foundations even deeper than his own—to return through the soul.
Now that enemies had met, their eyes naturally burned red with hatred. Neither had any intention of saying another word to the other.
Thus, the instant the old Sword Cultivator finished speaking, two streaks of sword light shot through the sky almost simultaneously.
A careful look would reveal that Ling Shuang held a slight advantage in speed.
Yet the old Sword Cultivator merely lightly pushed open his scabbard, exposing three inches of the blade at his waist, and Ling Shuang's unstoppable momentum was instantly suppressed.
The spirit of the Soul Art had spent a full two hundred years of lifespan to summon this old Sword Cultivator. His strength was naturally not to be underestimated.
Even a peerless contemporary swordsmanship prodigy like Ling Shuang found it difficult to gain any advantage under his hands.
Meanwhile, Yang Lingrui, who was still reforming his physical body below, could not avoid being affected by the surging tidal waves of sword qi produced by their sword duel.
Fortunately, amid the unrestrained turbulence of sword qi, the phantom of a towering green mountain manifested and sheltered Yang Lingrui within it.
Sensing that familiar aura, Yang Lingrui was deeply moved.
But