Because I am a genius
A forsaken swordsman, clad in black, lay in the rain, his flesh and bones grotesquely twisted, a blurred mass of blood and meat sprawled upon the ground.
Even with hearts as steadfast as rock, these black-clad swordsmen were utterly blinded by rage, emitting howls that seemed more beastly than human.
Yet the white-clad woman stood resolutely, her figure untouched save for the raindrops and the blood of others cascading upon her.
The sorrowful-faced middle-aged man and the scholarly figure in a green robe, holding an oiled paper umbrella, approached each other, merely standing side by side, watching the last black-clad swordsman as he was hurled backward, his anguished cries fading into silence upon hitting the ground.
On the muddy official road, only the white-clad woman, the sorrowful middle-aged man, the green-robed scholar with the umbrella, and Li Qilong, holding the judge's pens, remained standing.
For a moment, the world fell into silence, with only the soft patter of rain breaking the stillness; no one dared to make the first move.
The white-clad woman had lowered her blood-dripping, gleaming axe, her gaze settling first on the peculiar hairstyle of the sorrowful middle-aged man. Calmly and indifferently, she inquired, "Are you from the south?"
"I am Qiu Luosha, a disciple of Longji Cliff, hailing from the southern region you mentioned, Your Highness." The sorrowful middle-aged man slightly bowed, acknowledging her with respect. Although he was slightly older than the white-clad woman, he understood well that, in terms of both status and cultivation, she was indeed deserving of the title 'senior,' which brought him a sense of ease.
"Then you must be a student of the Thousand Demons Cave," the white-clad woman replied, nodding lightly. "The journey from the Thousand Demons Cave to Rudongling takes at least two months; you must have endured great hardship."
Both the sorrowful middle-aged man and the scholarly figure beneath the oiled umbrella were momentarily taken aback. They had envisioned countless scenarios for confronting this white-clad woman, whose veins flowed with the most noble blood of the Yunqin Empire, yet they had not anticipated her to utter such words upon their first meeting.
"It was not arduous," after a brief silence, the middle-aged man replied, his expression slightly stiff. "I have been at Qianxia Mountain, so the journey here was not particularly long."
"Our Yunqin Empire has always valued martial prowess and courage… After your death, I shall ensure that your remains are returned to Qianxia Mountain, allowing you to return to your homeland," the white-clad woman stated, her gaze steady upon the sorrowful middle-aged man.
Were such words spoken by another, they might have seemed arrogant and brazen, yet when they came from her lips, the middle-aged man leaned forward slightly, bowing respectfully. "Thank you for your profound kindness, esteemed senior."
The white-clad woman nodded slightly and turned her gaze to the scholarly figure beneath the umbrella. "And what about you?"
The green-robed scholar remained silent, offering no response. The white-clad woman's expression grew colder, and she said no more. "Who among you will go first?"
The sorrowful middle-aged man smiled bitterly. "Then I shall take the lead."
The rain continued to fall, and suddenly, a piercing sound resonated through the air. The middle-aged man's right sleeve tore apart at the shoulder, revealing a slender purple sword that, propelled by astonishing speed, left a trail of afterimages as it surged toward the white-clad woman to strike!
With a light step, the white-clad woman swung her gleaming axe, meeting the purple sword with precision, producing a deafening clash.
The sorrowful middle-aged man trembled violently, his body sent flying by the overwhelming force, landing several zhang away in the mud, his complexion pale. Yet the translucent, ice-like purple sword remained unscathed, its surface shimmering with a faint purple glow.
"Ziyu… indeed a disciple of the Thousand Demons Cave," the white-clad woman acknowledged, as if reading the thoughts of those present, choosing not to pursue the attack, merely nodding in approval.
The sorrowful middle-aged man forced a smile again, and as the rain continued to fall, the sharp sound of his sword echoed once more. He and his sword broke through the mist, advancing toward the white-clad woman, yet her movements were simple yet effective; the axe struck faster than the middle-aged man could react, forcing him to retract his sword defensively, only to be sent reeling back once more.
"Clang… clang… clang…"
The purple sword danced around the white-clad woman, while the sorrowful middle-aged man circled her like a great bird. However, each clash of their weapons left him increasingly pale, his right hand trembling more, blood beginning to seep from his mouth… Soon, droplets of blood began to fall from his nostrils.
The white-clad woman exhibited no impatience, merely wielding her axe, compelling the middle-aged man to retreat repeatedly in a panic.
Suddenly, she stepped forward. Although she emanated no overwhelming aura, that single step caused the middle-aged man to falter. The golden light surrounding him flickered like a candle's flame extinguishing, and as he attempted to block her axe with the purple sword, it was violently knocked from his grasp, the blade striking him heavily.
It felt as though he were struck not by a thin sword but by a mighty hammer, as the middle-aged man's chest caved in, his hands falling weakly to his sides as he was propelled backward, crashing into the mud.
Blood poured from his mouth and nose like a gentle stream, rendering him breathless, yet his expression remained eerily calm.
"Ouyang Shixiong, it's your turn now." Driven by an indomitable will, even after sustaining such fatal injuries, this formidable warrior from the Wang Mang Dynasty, who understood the gravity of the situation better than Li Qilong, did not succumb immediately. Instead, he gazed helplessly at the gray-black curtain of rain above, mingled with blood and rainwater, and uttered those words.
The scholarly figure holding the oiled umbrella bowed deeply to the man, now engulfed in mud.
As he bent low, the raindrops around him suddenly seemed to be ensnared by vibrations in the air, slowing everything down.
"Crack…" The oiled paper umbrella in his hand shattered under a strange and powerful tremor, disintegrating in the rain and revealing a pale, youthful face.
The previously concealed green-robed scholar now stood with hair and eyebrows as white as snow.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
This white-haired man, whose face was etched with a tragic yet resolute expression, felt his heart beating like a war drum. With each beat, the veins beneath his skin bulged grotesquely and darkened ominously, resembling sinister black lines appearing on his body.
"Purgatory Mountain!" Li Qilong, standing dazed in the muddy official road, stared in bewilderment at the transformation unfolding in the green-robed scholar, his body shaking uncontrollably, unsure whether from cold or fear.
Suddenly, he was gripped by despair, the judge's pens slipping from his grasp and falling into the mud as he cried out, "Impossible! How can you be from Purgatory Mountain?!"
As the middle-aged man had advised Lin Xi, there were too many unknowns in this world, too many formidable beings; the Yunqin Empire had the Qingluan Academy, while the southern Wang Mang Dynasty had its own existence like Purgatory Mountain.
Powerful beings were not to be feared; what was truly terrifying was the prospect of a warrior from a place like Purgatory Mountain appearing right beside oneself.
If a being of such caliber had arrived from Purgatory Mountain, what was left for him to do?
"Have I fought through countless battles, clawed my way to a position like Lingdu, only to remain untouched by the so-called machinations of power? Am I merely a pawn manipulated by others?"
Having attained the position of Lingdu, he believed he had entered the true realm of political intrigue, yet it was only at this moment that he began to grasp how shallow and absurd his previous understanding had been.
The sorrowful middle-aged man's entire body convulsed violently in the mud, his caved-in chest emitting strange sounds, while the green-robed scholar, marked by dark blood veins, recognized that the middle-aged man had reached his final moments. He understood that this man was holding on merely to witness the outcome, a struggle that must be excruciating, and thus resolved to bring this matter to a swift conclusion. He gathered all his strength, inhaling deeply, channeling his soul power through his blood.
The rain and mist around him suddenly transformed into white vapor, but just as he prepared to step toward the white-clad woman, his expression tightened. He suddenly sensed a peculiar tremor in the air around him, emanating from beneath his feet, from the muddy ground.
In an instant, this powerful figure from the sacred land of the Wang Mang Dynasty contemplated a possibility, raising his foot as if to shatter the entire muddy road. Yet it was too late; a faint glimmer of sword light shot forth from the blood-stained muck, evading his foot and accelerating rapidly, emitting a piercing whistle. With a soft sound, the sword light severed all the protruding black veins on the right side of his neck, soaring into the sky and hovering above his head.
The green-robed scholar clutched his neck, yet the dark blood continued to spurt from his fingertips like arrows.
He stared wide-eyed, and only then did he realize that the green-clad girl, who had previously sat at the front of the carriage, had somehow emerged from the arrow-riddled carriage, intently observing the sword hovering above him.
That sword was a hiltless broken blade, silvery and gleaming, with delicate runes and a distinct icy crack running along its surface.
"How is this possible?!"
The green-robed scholar slowly knelt in the pit he had created, the rainwater pooling around his waist. He gazed at the young girl with her two small twisted braids, her innocent face entirely disregarding the blood and shattered corpses around her, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. "How can it be… you are so young, how can you wield a flying sword beyond fifty paces? How can you have attained the level of a Holy Master?!"
Perhaps realizing the futility of his situation, he released his grip on his neck, and the dark blood surged forth even more recklessly. Observing the relentless flow of blood, the green-clad girl frowned slightly but answered earnestly, "I may appear youthful… but I am a genius."