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

Chapter 126 Sword's Lament (Fifth Update)

"My path is complete—"

Li Baitian murmured softly.

The voice was no longer hoarse, but instead carried a strange calmness and ethereal quality.

He raised his almost broken arm and made a grasping motion towards the two natal swords in the distance.

As if summoned, the two swords, Qingping and Taozhi, transformed into two streams of light, merging into one in the air and becoming a "final sword".

The "Final Sword" fell into his hand, its blade humming in sync with his heartbeat.

The sweaty boy, holding a wooden sword, reached out his hand to him.

The boy grinned, revealing a set of white teeth: "Let's go together."

Li Baitian nodded.

"it is good."

He raised his sword.

The boy also raised his sword.

The two swords, spanning seven hundred years, have now become one.

Seven hundred years of vicissitudes, millions of days and nights of wielding the sword, all the sword intent, sword moves, and sword spirit merge into one at this moment.

This is not swordsmanship.

This is "me".

Then, facing the impending, purplish-black sword light imbued with the true meaning of annihilation, he unleashed the last sword strike of his life.

It will also be the strongest sword strike.

There is no ink painting evolution, no sword energy running rampant.

There was only one ray of light.

A sword light that is pure to the extreme, bright to the extreme, as if it has gathered all the time, sweat, beliefs, and passion of seven hundred years.

This sword strike spans seven hundred years, embodies the dedication of a million sword swings, and carries the lifelong pursuit and dream of a sword cultivator.

Where the sword light shone, time and space seemed to freeze.

The next moment—

boom.

An indescribable roar shook the entire Yifan Plain.

The blinding light engulfed everything, instantly blinding all the spectators. The violent energy storm spread wildly outward in a ring from the point of impact, carving a terrifying ravine hundreds of feet deep and over a thousand feet wide into the earth.

As the snow evaporated and the permafrost crumbled, the dark black rock layers beneath were revealed.

The light and smoke lasted for a full ten breaths before slowly dissipating.

Everyone eagerly focused their attention on the center of the collision.

The third purple-black sword beam, powerful enough to kill any Grand Perfection cultivator, had vanished without a trace.

Where the swordsman in the green robe had stood, only one figure remained, unmoved.

It's Li Baitian.

He remained standing, motionless.

The blue robe he wore, already tattered, was soaked in blood and frozen into a hard shell in the extreme cold.

The exposed skin had a horrifying bluish-purple hue, covered with spiderweb-like cracks, resembling an ice sculpture about to shatter.

His face was covered in blood, obscuring his expression. Only his eyes remained open, gazing at the gray sky with an indescribable calmness, even a hint of relief.

The sword that he had been holding was now stuck alone in the snow in front of him, its blue tassel fluttering sadly in the wind and snow.

The brilliant sword light that had previously burst forth on the sword had long since faded, its spirituality dimmed, and it was even covered with fine cracks, just like its master, who had reached the end of his life.

That sword strike, that strike that burned with all life, all will, and all sincere love for the way of the sword, did indeed annihilate the True Lord's third sword beam.

But that's about it.

The price was everything the swordsman in the green robe lost.

His Purple Mansion completely collapsed, his Dao Foundation utterly disintegrated, his meridians were severed, and his primordial spirit dissipated.

There was no trace of life left in that broken body.

The swordsman in green robes, with his Purple Mansion form, withstood three sword strikes from the Golden Core True Monarch.

At the cost of his life, he achieved a moment of clarity in his sword mind, and in return, he accomplished this unprecedented feat worthy of being recorded in history.

"Sword Master Xuan—he really did it—" A white-haired old monster's voice was dry and trembling with disbelief.

"To stand firm despite receiving three swords from the True Lord—though dead, he is still glorious." Another old monster murmured, his eyes filled with both shock and deep regret.

The passing of such a brilliant swordsman is a great loss to the cultivation world.

"Sword Heart Clarity—that's the realm that countless sword cultivators dream of—he actually achieved it before his death—" someone exclaimed, their tone complex.

If he knew that Li Baitian had briefly entered the realm of sword heart enlightenment more than three hundred years ago, I wonder what he would think.

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

Although Li Baitian's death was his own fault, he was, after all, a direct disciple of Fu Shui Zhenjun.

This matter is unlikely to end well.

They all simultaneously cast their own light towards the dark figure in the air.

Zuo Qingqiu stood in the void, the Purple Lightning Sword already hidden in his sleeve.

She gazed silently at the unyielding "ice sculpture" below, her cold eyes revealing no joy or anger, only a deep, still tranquility.

She saw the brilliance of Li Baitian's final sword strike, and the pure passion burning within his sword.

That is the ultimate pursuit of the Great Way, a fleeting moment of brilliance fueled by life itself.

Admirable, but that's all.

The path of righteousness is walked alone; life and death are one's own responsibility.

Having chosen to become the Sword Inquiry True Monarch, one should be prepared for the possibility of death and the annihilation of one's cultivation.

She gently raised her hand and gestured towards the snowfield below.

The sword stuck in the snow seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, trembled slightly, broke free from the snow's restraints, and disintegrated in the air, turning into two streams of light, one to the left and one to the right, which flew into Zuo Qingqiu's palms respectively.

The two swords were icy cold in my hands.

The sword trembled slightly, emitting a low, mournful sound, as if weeping for its former master.

At this moment, perhaps the broken shell had finally come to an end. The lonely "ice sculpture" was blown away by the cold wind and turned into tiny dust, scattering into the world.

Dust to dust, dust to dust.

Zuo Qingqiu closed her eyes.

She slowly opened her eyes after a moment, put the two immortal swords together, and then gently waved her hand.

The two famous swords seemed to be lifted by a gentle breeze, slowly flying towards Jiang Shaoling, the sect leader, who was watching from afar.

Jiang Shaoling instinctively reached out and caught it.

It felt heavy in my hand, the hilt was cold, and it still carried the bloodstains and last warmth of Li Baitian.

"Return these two swords to the Fu Shui Xian Sect." Zuo Qingqiu's voice rang out, still calm and composed, yet carrying an undeniable air of authority. "Tell them that Sword Profound True Man Li Baitian challenged me to three sword moves, and died from exhaustion. His swordsmanship is commendable, and his will is pitiable. Return the swords to his sect as a sign of respect."

Jiang Shaoling was startled and quickly bowed, replying, "Disciple obeys."

He held the two swords, stained with their master's blood and last glory, in his hands, feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

These are not just two swords, but also a hot potato, evidence of the fall of a True Lord's personally taught disciple, and—the potential rift between the two True Lords as a result.

He understood what Zuo Qingqiu meant.

Returning the two swords is a matter of courtesy, an announcement, and a statement. I was the one who killed him, but there were reasons for it. I'm returning the swords to you; let's set aside our grudges for now.

But putting that aside for now, how long can it last?

Jiang Shaoling was worried, but dared not show it at all.

Just then—

A sudden change occurred.

Without warning, the entire world suddenly trembled.

It wasn't an earthquake, but rather as if the very foundation of the world was shaken by some unimaginable force.

Immediately afterwards, everyone looked up at the same time.

The sky, which was originally leaden gray, suddenly darkened without warning.

It wasn't the gathering of dark clouds, nor the arrival of night.

Instead, it is a more eerie and unsettling kind of "darkness"—as if an endless, extremely thick curtain is slowly pressing down from an infinite height.

Someone muttered to themselves, "The sky has fallen—"

It's not that the sky is falling.

It was a sight more terrifying and unbelievable than the sky collapsing—

A vast, boundless, and indescribably expansive phantom of a continent hung upside down, slowly pressing down from the heavens.