Chapter 330
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Chapter 330: The Blood Moon River
Before the Kamitsumi Shrine, sword energy tore through the ground and the air.
The shrine, already in ruins, now lay in utter disarray.
Sword energy sliced through the worship path, carving dozens of irregular shapes into the earth. The wooden frames that once held Ema were shattered.
The shrine maiden’s kick burst open the offering box, spilling dozens of ancient coins. Even the dilapidated shrine trembled as though it might collapse at any moment.
Hokusinn Kichyō and Miko Kuya clashed fiercely, their swords colliding with deafening intensity—like a battle between reflections in a mirror.
They were truly too alike.
Hokusinn Kichyō raised her Nine-Syllable Blade high, preparing to strike. Yet, in the next instant, Kuya intercepted her precise trajectory. The unleashed power dissipated, leaving Kichyō vulnerable to a painful knee strike to her abdomen. However, she seized Kuya’s knee, countering swiftly with a sweeping leg that toppled her opponent. The fight descended into ground combat.
Kuya’s back pressed against the ground, limiting her swordplay. She struck the ground with her palm, summoning water to surge and strike Kichyō’s face. But Kichyō’s swift sword strike split the water, missing Kuya as she dodged.
The duel began with basic sword techniques but quickly escalated into a fierce exchange of power. Yet, their battle retained the precision of two master swordsmen.
Kichyō, pragmatic and unrelenting, wielded anything as a weapon—sword, fist, or knee. Even a spear, had it been available, would not have been excluded.
This was the essence of the Hokusinn Ichida-ryu style: practicality above all else.
Kuya remarked, “That move didn’t look like Hokusinn Itto-ryu.”
“It wasn’t,” Kichyō replied, explaining its origins. “It’s a technique from jujutsu and grappling. The Ming call it the ‘Bear Child’s Descending Leg Whip.’ It evolved further under Yagyū Simozi.”
Kuya raised an eyebrow. “Yagyū Simozi—your rival? Or your friend?”
“Both,” Kichyō admitted with a faint smile.
“You’ve changed,” Kuya said, gazing intently. “New techniques, new friends, even accomplishments echoing your mother’s legacy. Once timid and bored, you’ve transformed completely.”
Kuya swung her sword in response, her movements fluid yet fierce. The translucent blue vapors accompanying her strikes resembled cascading ocean waves.
Kichyō, unwavering, met the assault head-on. Her blade cut through the azure waves with the resilience of a rock against the tide. Kuya, desperate to overpower her, poured every ounce of strength into her attacks. Yet, her ferocity disrupted her rhythm, creating a fleeting pause.
Kichyō seized the opportunity, her Nine-Syllable Blade piercing through the ocean-like onslaught, aimed precisely at Kuya’s momentary lapse. The blade’s light grazed her mask, shattering it. Blood trickled from Kuya’s forehead as fragments of the mask cut her cheek.
Stepping back, Kuya pressed her hand against the wound, crimson seeping between her fingers.
“Hokusinn Itto-ryu adapts to its opponent,” Kichyō explained. “There are no absolute techniques. When desperation distorts your swordplay, openings emerge, no matter how brief.”
Kuya lowered her hand, revealing a face identical to Kamitsumiwoikirihime’s.
“What happened twenty years ago?” Kichyō murmured.
Kuya’s expression shifted—pain, helplessness, and bitterness flickering across her face. Finally, she spoke:
“In my memories, Bai Wei never existed.”
[Feast of a Hundred Ghosts]
Event in Progress
Bai Wei entered the feast’s inner sanctum, anticipating the Lord of Yellow Spring. Instead, he encountered a pitch-black serpent—a powerful adversary with a formidable presence.
Testing his blade, he found it sharp and durable. The serpent’s thick health bar promised a prolonged battle.
For expert players like Bai Wei, achieving high scores was as crucial as survival. The serpent’s resilience thrilled him—it offered ample opportunity to unleash his full power.
He ignited golden flames in his
eyes, summoning a torrential
wave of ether energy. The
golden light surged forth like
an unrelenting flood,
submerging the battlefield in
overwhelming pressure.
As mountains crumbled and
the ground split, Bai Wei
commanded the golden torrent
with precision. With a snap of
his fingers, the flood
momentarily stilled—only to
explode upward with
multiplied force. Jets of
golden energy towered into the
sky, majestic and awe-
inspiring.
Under the blood moon’s glow,
the golden river raged.
Demons fell in droves, their
bodies swept away in the
torrent. Only a few higher-level
entities survived, their fear
palpable.
Bai Wei, perched atop the
golden tide, took aim with an
invisible bow. He released a
quintuple spiral shot,
decimating his foes.
In the river’s shimmering
aftermath, he declared with
satisfaction:
“This is what I call clean.”
