Chapter 189
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Chapter 189: The Final Battle Begins
The dark and ominous clouds pressed down through layers of space, while the howling storm of the battlefield of the heavens coexisted with ancient times, seemingly never to cease. A gradually rising scent of blood filled the air, heavy and foreboding.
As the last rays of light faded away, the young man in white, his spirit soaring, wielded his three-foot azure blade, cutting through all illusions and obstacles. Standing firm in the void, his gaze sharp, he unleashed a force akin to mountains crashing and seas toppling towards the middle-aged man suspended in the haze above.
On the back of the vibrant red Pixiu, a woman in green held the array flags, gathering the spiritual energy of the heavens. The flag fluttered against the wind, rippling waves raced past the mist and flew straight towards the tip of the young man’s sword.
United as one—the person, the sword, and the array—all intertwined grandly in the Great Path, dependent upon each other.
This was the sword array combining the skills of Fu Yao and Qing Long.
Thousands of years ago, amidst turmoil on the Tianwu Continent, they once used this technique to subdue Mu Xuan Ye; now, with a new opponent, the world had transformed anew.
Ming He clenched her fists, gazing upward from below. For a moment, it was as if she saw the brilliance of countless stars illuminating the surroundings, intertwining the azure patterns of the array with the white sword light, painting a glorious landscape of hope and the future—a sword that symbolized new beginnings.
Sword Master Fu Yao hoped this would summon light and vitality, willing to bury himself in darkness for it.
In a heartbeat, Ming He lowered her head and slowly closed her eyes, blood dripping from her clenched fist onto her blue robes, echoing “tick-tock” as it resonated throughout the world, mirroring the profound despair within the hearts of the cultivators present.
That truly was a beautiful sword strike.
The five realms in Swordsmanship begin with sword energy, transitioning through sword intent and sword momentum, leading to a sword domain and sword spirit each unique to the sword cultivator.
Spiritual beings encompass consciousness and soul.
Though the sword path speaks of five realms, no one has ever claimed that there are only five realms.
The path has no limits.
The sixth realm is a uniquely personal level belonging to the sword cultivator.
Ming He was an exceptionally pure sword cultivator but could not discern what the sixth realm of Swordsmanship belonged to Fu Yao. She only knew that this sword could shatter the heavens. Its power surged, and its intent was exquisite—perhaps even Sword Master Li Xuantian, reborn, could not triumph over it.
A sword cultivator’s sword is one-of-a-kind, born of the heart and cannot be defined by strength.
Ming He’s Jing Ying Sword was white, Qin Chu Yi’s Chi Li sword also shone white, and now Fu Yao’s life’s flying sword was the same.
Each possessed a pure brilliance resembling pristine snow, yet signified three distinct meanings of white.
That was undeniably a peerless sword—a testament to the sword cultivator’s complete effort, pouring the master’s blood and flair into it. Hidden yet sharp, once drawn, it could shake the world, showcasing the brilliance of a human cultivator at the peak of the Earth Emperor Realm, honed over a millennium.
In terms of the Daoist path, Fu Yao could effortlessly overwhelm the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader by thousands of miles.
But what use was that?
At this moment, they weren’t engaging in a gentlemanly match seeking victory or defeat; they were locked in a life-and-death struggle, competing for the utmost output and force—the strong survive, while the weak perish.
Even at his peak, Fu Yao might not overcome the Emperor realm clan leader of the Tian Yan Tribe, let alone the now heavily injured Fu Yao, who had exhausted countless energies over a thousand years.
The clan leader stood proudly upon the clouds, his expression unchanged, his head slightly lowered. He almost imperiously reached out a finger to lightly press against the sword tip, a smile curling his lips tinged with the blood of slaughter and the ruthlessness of a deity.
Thus, Fu Yao’s face changed slightly, his features turning pale as snow in an instant, blood spilling forth from his lips.
It flowed across his white robes and fell to the uneven ground, mingling with the faint “tick-tock” sound from below, silently pounding against the quiet of the world.
In front of him, everything appeared transparent, yet his white long sword felt as if it was weighed down by something heavy, unable to advance an inch.
With his fingertip against the sword tip, Fu Yao gritted his teeth to halt the trembling of his wrist, his eyes bright yet shattered, his gaze meeting a pair of icy eyes that momentarily froze his mind.
It was an uncontrollable shudder of fear.
It was the innate pressure and suppression that high-tier cultivators held over low-tier cultivators, an inescapable influence on both soul and spirit.
Ming He was all too familiar with this sensation; even with her eyes closed, she could vividly perceive every movement in the surroundings.
The fierce winds roared through the clouds as Fu Yao took a deep breath, bit his lip, and spat blood onto the blade of his sword. Instantly, the sword erupted in a dazzling radiance, and the sword intent that formed exuded an indomitable, resounding power.
This was the sword cultivator’s technique of blood sacrifice to the sword.
On the back of the Pixiu, Qing Long also coughed up blood, her aura heavy and weakened. She waved her hands rhythmically, the azure flag spinning around her like a graceful dancer poised on her palm.
Her movements flowed seamlessly, blending into the rhythm of the clouds and water, as the azure light merged with the white light, surging toward the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader like an overwhelming tide.
The middle-aged man’s ornate brocade robe fluttered in the wind, and amidst the oppressive brilliance, he narrowed his eyes slightly.
Seemingly irritated by the light, he pressed his fingertip with a hint of force, causing the layer of light to fracture like a spider’s web, scattering from the edges.
“Pff!”
At the forefront of the battlefield, Fu Yao bore the brunt of the attack, his bright red blood staining his entire body. Clad in white, he resembled a blazing flame, the vivid crimson stark against the sky as he plummeted downward.
“Roar!”
The Pixiu let out a resounding cry, its four legs moving swiftly through the air as it instinctively lunged to catch Fu Yao.
The Tian Yan Tribe clan leader, however, had lost all patience and was no longer willing to indulge the human race.
He strode leisurely through the air, his gaze sweeping across the space beneath the pavilion, lingering briefly on Qing Long, whose azure robe was now blood-drenched, before settling on the falling figure of Fu Yao.
He recognized him.
Lord Fu, the master of the Imperial Palace, a prodigious talent from a renowned sect, had once fought valiantly on the battlefield of the heavens, spilling the blood of the Tian Yan Tribe countless times. He had turned the tide, sustaining the human race’s struggle for thousands of years.
He was the leader of the human race, a figure revered above the stars and moon in the hearts of human cultivators.
Then, let it begin with him!
The Tian Yan Tribe’s path of slaughter and his own ascent as the emperor of the heavens would commence with this man in white below.
The Tian Yan Tribe clan leader’s gaze turned icy, and he condensed a dark, oppressive energy infused with the tribe’s power at his fingertip. In an instant, it tore through the air, forming a vortex as it shot straight toward Fu Yao’s heart.
“Do not harm Lord Fu!”
“You vile creature, stop this at once!”
“I will fight you to the death!”
In an instant, the Earth Emperor Realm experts below erupted in fury, their eyes blazing as they charged forward. Despite their haste, their movements were deliberate, forming a battle formation that echoed with precision amidst the chaos.
Spiritual energies of green, purple, yellow, and blue converged, coalescing into a tremendous hand that surged with the force of wind and clouds, crashing toward the dark energy.
“Boom!”
Heaven and earth shook with a deafening roar.
Hundreds of human Earth Emperor Realm experts surged forward, their combined might overwhelming the dark energy and even driving its remnants back toward the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader.
The clan leader paused, reaching up to touch a streak of blood on his face. His eyes flickered with surprise before gradually hardening into cold fury.
It was as if a colossal beast, disdainful of the ants beneath its feet, had been wounded by those very ants—a mix of disbelief, seething anger, and a touch of absurdity.
He cast a disdainful glance at the mass of black figures in the clouds, his gaze shifting to the white-haired youth commanding the dragon below, who was racing to catch Fu Yao. Suddenly, he chuckled softly and thrust his palm forward, sending a heavy, oppressive imprint hurtling in that direction.
The white-haired youth, Dong Jian Ping, the lord of the Eastern Region, felt his pupils contract. Under the crushing weight of the Emperor’s pressure, he roared instinctively, “Form the formation!”
Until one faced it directly, no one could truly grasp the sheer terror of the Emperor’s pressure!
Exhausted in body and soul, with trembling hands and feet, she nearly lost her grip on the sword. The natural suppression between realms was vividly displayed between the royal side and the emperor.
“Roar!”
The dragon roared in fury, echoing the distant cry of the Pixiu. The azure figure was flung off its back as the colossal divine beast surged forward, positioning itself ahead of the human cultivators.
Ahead lay certain death; a fall might offer a chance at survival, so the dragon abandoned her to safeguard her life.
The palm before them seemed to stretch across the battlefield of the heavens, wielding the power to annihilate the world. It was a strike from an Emperor realm powerful ally, holding nothing back, unleashing every means at their disposal.
Even a lion uses all its strength to catch a rabbit; the clan leader of the Tian Yan Tribe had grown weary of games. Thus, they had no choice but to confront it and gamble with their lives.
Ming He released her clenched fist, her toes barely touching the ground as she prepared to catch Fu Yao and Qing Long, who were lost in the chaos and unable to intervene. Suddenly, she saw the girl in black, who had been silently standing behind Mo Xiao, leap upward.
Her figure darted through the endless black fog like the wind, spitting blood under the Emperor’s pressure and the slicing fog, as she grabbed someone and returned to Ming He’s side, calmly letting go.
Fu Yao and Qing Long collapsed limply onto the cold flagstone of the ancient pavilion, while Mu Xuan Ye glanced at Mo Xiao and spoke in a hoarse, deep voice, “Do my current battle achievements merit the glory of the Left Envoy title?”
“What?” Mo Xiao didn’t catch her words.
Mu Xuan Ye curved her lips into a smile, the woman who had been silent and stern ever since Ming He injured her in the Left Envoy’s palaces suddenly laughed.
Her furrowed features relaxed entirely, and for a moment, one could glimpse the captivating allure that had emerged during her initial appearance in the ancient cave dwelling, exuding a fierce and noble air.
That inherent aura hidden deep within rivaled even the pressure of an Emperor realm powerful ally.
She placed a hand on Ming He’s shoulder, her cold, lingering breath brushing through the air: “Since you could defeat me back then, it stands to reason that you can’t lose to him now.”
“Little Ming He——”
“Don’t let me down!”
As Mu Xuan Ye said this, she lightly tapped her toes and shot straight up into the air. With a resounding explosion, she faced the killing move of the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader all alone.
The Left Envoy of the demon race, with a half-demon body, naturally possessed a proud spirit, vowing to never fight alongside anyone.
For in her heart, she sincerely believed they were unworthy.
So they fell, and she stepped up.
“Clang!”
The sound erupted within the human race’s battle formation.
Faced with the Emperor realm cultivator’s all-out strike, even with hundreds of Earth Emperor Realm cultivators rushing to form a battle formation under Dong Jian Ping’s command, they could barely withstand the attack, only managing to protect the sanctity of the battlefield.
At that moment, Fu Yao and Qing Long lay in a daze on the flagstone of the ancient pavilion, their cultivation scattered and unfocused.
The young man in white, with blood staining his body, leaned against a nearby pile of dust, clutching the similarly bloodstained dragon while struggling to keep his eyes open as he gazed at the battlefield above.
The ancient auspicious beast, the Pixiu, lay weakened, its fur burnt and patchy, curled into a little beast, nestled in the pool of blood.
The elder of Qin Huang Mountain had blood dripping down his white beard, smiling as he exchanged reassuring looks with Ming He, then began to murmur softly while looking upward.
…
The black fog became saturated with thick blood, dark shadows creeping over the land, yet it couldn’t suppress the overwhelming stench of blood, revealing the brutal cleansing of heaven and earth.
The human race was fated to be wiped away by the Tian Yan Tribe.
In the clouds, Mu Xuan Ye wielded her whip and launched an attack; her body moved gracefully and lightly, as if stepping on the wind while cutting through the fog. Her right wrist flicked, sending whip shadows flying in all directions towards the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader.
“Humph!”
The Tian Yan Tribe clan leader let out a muffled groan. Having learned a lesson before, he now approached the situation with utmost seriousness, dedicating all his focus and attention, despite his inner disdain.
Mu Xuan Ye, however, stood apart from the other human cultivators. The Earth Emperor Realm human cultivators, save for Ming He and Qin Chu Yi, were far from their peak. They had depleted too much blood energy and mental strength, pouring half of their royal power into the formation seal. Now, they were merely making a final, desperate gamble to escape death.
Their battered bodies were weighed down by the Emperor’s pressure, and their exhausted minds struggled against the overwhelming foe. Yet, reaching this point was already a testament to their resilience.
Mu Xuan Ye, however, had never fought on the battlefield of the heavens before. Her blood energy remained intact, and her half-demon body, with its naturally rebellious nature, allowed her to resist the Emperor’s pressure with relative ease.
“You underestimated me!” she said with a smirk, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and icy detachment, as if recalling the cold indifference she felt upon first seeing this world. Her murderous intent coiled beneath her whip, ready to strike.
It seemed she was determined to unleash all the pent-up frustrations she had never voiced to anyone.
To Mu Xuan Ye, this world had never been fair. From the moment she could remember, her life’s path had been predetermined.
But then again, fairness was never a concept this world truly embraced.
She had no regrets about her actions. She did not regret allying with other races in the past, nor would she regret fighting fiercely on the side of the human race now.
It was all a matter of rising and falling in interest.
Her current thought was to help the sword cultivator in blue clothes, and so she did.
With that in mind, Mu Xuan Ye tightened her grip on her whip, her movements growing more ferocious. It felt as if something within her meridians was on the verge of bursting, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she reveled in the surge of spiritual energy flooding her spiritual ocean, savoring the feeling of supreme power, of dominating everything.
“Demon race forbidden law, burning life—she—” Has she gone mad?
Mo Xiao blinked at the scene, her eyes filled with confusion and shock.
Anyone on the battlefield of the heavens could sacrifice their life to protect the Tianwu Continent—anyone except Mu Xuan Ye.
She could never have imagined that this person would be Mu Xuan Ye.
Ming He hadn’t thought so either.
She watched as the woman in black clothes, drenched in dark blood, fell like a wounded eagle. Yet, the long whip in her hand sliced through the face of the Tian Yan Tribe clan leader, leaving a deep, menacing scar.
The clan leader, who had seemed invincible since his arrival, finally showed signs of losing his composure. His breath was still terrifying, his gaze still indifferent as he looked down upon the world, as if he hadn’t expended a single ounce of spiritual energy.
But of course, that was impossible.
Fu Yao’s desperate struggle, the life-and-death battles of so many human Earth Emperor Realm cultivators, the full counterattacks from the demon race, the demon race, and the Mermaid Clan, the spiritual infusion from the Pixiu and the dragon, and finally, Mu Xuan Ye’s brilliant last strike—all of it had come at a cost.
With so many sacrifices and efforts made, how could he remain unscathed?
Ming He and Qin Chu Yi stood side by side, their gazes lifting to meet his cold, beast-like eyes, with their vertically slit pupils, deep and fierce.
Now, it was their battlefield.
Life and death were fated; they contended with the heavens for survival.
If the Emperor Realm Practitioner represented the heavens, then today, they would break through the sky.
Ming He and Qin Chu Yi exchanged a glance, their right hands pressing down on the hilt of the Jing Ying Sword, as they heard Nineteen’s weak yet resolute voice:
“Ming He, Qin Chu Yi.”
“I have a formation that may kill enemies. Will you believe me?”
A formation capable of slaying an Emperor Realm Practitioner—Ming He had never heard of such a thing.
In fact, such a formation had never existed on the Tianwu Continent before.
The formation Nineteen spoke of could not have come from the ancient formations inheritance.
So where could it have come from?
Ming He cast a glance at Qing Long, thinking: The master of formation mastery? Perhaps not for much longer.
If they managed to survive, that is.
Ming He thought about this, raising her gaze to meet Nineteen’s clear eyes, her voice merging with Qin Chu Yi’s:
“Form the formation.”
