The Cold and Aloof Palace Master's Daily Demon-Slaying Life

Chapter 125 May you leave for half your life and return still a youth (Fourth update)

"凝".

He formed hand seals and spat out a mouthful of blood essence, which merged into his domain.

Instantly, the entire ink-wash realm seemed to come alive, with all the "ink color" surging and converging wildly, like hundreds of rivers flowing into the sea, gathering around the purplish-black sword light that was slashing down, transforming into layers upon layers of endless ink-colored barriers, chains, and vortexes, attempting to trap, wear down, and assimilate it.

This is Li Baitian's trump card.

He integrated all his understanding of ink painting and swordsmanship into this realm, seeking not to harm the enemy, but only to defend.

The purplish-black sword light entered the ink-wash field, and its speed indeed slowed down.

That invincible sharpness and destructive power seemed to be trapped in the thickest ink pool, being enveloped, weakened, and slowed down by countless layers of flexible yet resilient "ink intent".

Ink and purplish-black hues intertwined and vanished wildly in the air.

The area shook violently, and even fine cracks began to appear at the edges.

Li Baitian's face was ashen, blood seeping from his seven orifices, but he still desperately maintained his domain, his hands forming hand seals, veins bulging, his eyes fixed on the sword light that was getting closer and closer, yet also getting dimmer.

Three breaths.

Five breaths.

Ten breaths.

at last.

When the sword light was less than ten feet away from him, the ink-wash domain shattered with a crash.

Like a shattered glass scroll, countless ink fragments scattered and vanished.

The remaining purplish-black sword light, with about 30% of its power, slashed fiercely at Li Baitian's raised swords.

"clang""

A deafening clang of metal clashing was accompanied by the cracking sound of bones shattering.

Li Baitian coughed up blood again and flew backward, this time flying even further, and when he crashed to the ground, he was almost embedded in the frozen soil.

The two swords, Qingping and Taozhi, flew out of her hands and landed diagonally in the snow not far away. The swords hummed incessantly, and their spiritual light dimmed.

He lay in the deep crater he had created, his chest caved in, his arms twisted, his breath extremely weak, and his blood stained the ice and snow beneath him, quickly freezing into dark red ice crystals.

His Purple Mansion was almost shattered, his Dao Foundation was on the verge of collapse, his Primordial Spirit was riddled with cracks, and the flame of his life was like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

Ordinary cultivators of the Purple Mansion level would have died and their souls scattered long ago after suffering such severe injuries.

But Li Baitian, with immense willpower, stubbornly persevered, using his almost broken arm to slowly, bit by bit, prop up his battered body.

He staggered to his feet, covered in blood, like a demon crawling out of hell.

His gaze was fixed on Zuo Qingqiu in the air, and he hissed, "I've also taken the second sword strike."

The voice was weak, yet it carried an unyielding stubbornness.

The crowd watching from afar was completely silent.

Everyone was shocked by this tragic yet tenacious scene.

With his Purple Mansion form, he withstood two sword strikes from a True Lord and survived, even managing to stand up—

What perseverance! What a swordsman's heart!

The elders of Taihua Sect, including Master Qingwei, had complex expressions.

Master Lei Huang stared intently at the scene, seemingly lost in thought.

The remaining old monsters were filled with pure awe—awe of Li Baitian's ferocity, and even more awe of Zuo Qingqiu's unparalleled power.

Zuo Qingqiu stood in the void, his black robes still spotless.

She looked down at the swordsman below, who stood tall despite being covered in blood, and the look of admiration in her eyes deepened.

But that's about it.

She slowly raised the Purple Lightning Sword, its tip once again aimed at Li Baitian.

The third sword strike.

That was also the last sword strike.

This sword strike was unremarkable, nothing special.

But everyone knew that under this sword strike, the Qingping Sword Immortal, who had created a miracle and withstood two sword strikes from the True Lord, would have no chance of survival.

The purplish-black sword light, like the scythe of death, sliced ​​through the sky that had been restored to clarity after the ink-wash field was shattered, carrying an aura of annihilation that would end everything, and slashed towards Li Baitian.

Even before the sword's edge arrived, the sharp sword intent and the aura of death caused Li Baitian's battered body to tremble slightly, and his vision began to blur.

Is it really going to end?

Seven hundred years of dedicated sword cultivation.

Seven hundred years of trials and tribulations.

Slaying demons and monsters, seeking swift justice and revenge.

With a green duckweed in hand and a peach branch by my side.

Ask the world with your sword, roam freely across heaven and earth.

Past events, like smoke, come rushing back one after another.

In a daze, he felt as if he had returned to that sweltering afternoon seven hundred years ago.

The village was dilapidated, with crumbling walls and smoke still rising from the chimneys.

The air was filled with the smell of blood and burning.

As a child, he lay beside his parents' mangled corpses, crying until his tears ran dry.

A simply dressed Taoist priest silently looked at the mess on the ground and the child with empty eyes.

"Do you want revenge?"

The Taoist asked, his voice calm.

He raised his head, his face still wet with tears, but nodded forcefully, squeezing out two words through clenched teeth: "I want to."

The Taoist priest tossed him a rough wooden sword.

"Then let's practice swordsmanship."

From then on, under the scorching sun, in the torrential rain, and in the cold night.

The small, thin figure gripped a wooden sword longer than himself, slashing and thrusting again and again.

Sweat soaked through my clothes, my palms were blistered and bleeding, the web of my thumb and forefinger was cracked, and my arms were so sore and numb that I couldn't lift them.

He never stopped.

The wooden sword was replaced with an iron sword, and the iron sword was replaced with an even better sword.

He slew the first troublesome little demon and wiped out the first demon's lair, gradually gaining fame and being called "Qingping Hero".

He was exceptionally gifted, integrating the ink painting techniques passed down from his master into swordsmanship, creating his own unique style. He eventually achieved the Great Perfection of the Purple Mansion realm, and the name of the Azure Lotus Sword Immortal resounded throughout the old land.

But he never forgot that afternoon, and he never forgot his original intention in wielding the sword.

He never forgot that burning vow: "I will become the greatest swordsman in the world!"

"I will vanquish all demons and evil spirits under heaven!"

"I want to ensure that no child in this world will ever again lose their parents because of evil spirits, just like I have!"

The vow still echoes in my ears.

But it's like a joke.

The greatest swordsman in the world? Facing a True Lord, even the strongest sword is useless.

Slay all the demons and evil spirits under heaven? Beyond the old land lies a vaster world, teeming with even more and stronger demons.

Can there be no more orphans in the world? He can save one person, ten people, or a hundred people, but he can't save everyone in the world.

It turns out that I have always been so weak.

It turns out that those vows were just naive dreams of youth.

does it worth?

The sword's edge was close, and the shadow of death loomed.

In Li Baitian's blurred vision, he seemed to see again that boy, soaked in sweat, holding a wooden sword, with a stubborn look in his eyes.

The boy stood at the other end of time, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and gave him a clean and bright smile.

Li Baitian was taken aback.

Yes.

How could it not be worth it?

This trip was wonderful!

Seven hundred years of wind and rain, seven hundred years of swords.

Time has changed a lot, but some things have never changed.

I am still that young man who wants to become stronger and eliminate all injustice in the world.

A pure smile suddenly bloomed on Li Baitian's battered face.

That smile, cleansed of seven hundred years of hardship, shed all its heaviness and obsession, leaving only the sincerity and love of the first time one wielded the sword.

next moment.

The figure of the dying middle-aged swordsman overlaps with the figure of the sweating youth from seven hundred years ago in the fragments of time.

The two swords, Qingping and Taozhi, stuck in the snow, suddenly burst forth with an unprecedentedly clear and melodious sword cry.

The dim aura on the sword rekindled, shining even brighter than in its prime.

It was as if it had been ignited by the master's extremely pure sword heart.

Within Li Baitian's battered body, an indescribable and profound sword intent surged into the sky.

That sword intent was no longer the misty changes of ink painting, no longer the sharpness of duckweed, no longer the withering and flourishing of peach branches.

That is the purest, brightest, and most unyielding sword heart, stripped of all impurities and returning to its origin.

More than three hundred years later, Li Baitian returned to the state of sword heart enlightenment.