Martial Arts Secret Realm: Only I Can Know the Plot?

Blood Saber Ancestor's blade changed direction in mid-air, the back of the blade striking the sword with a crisp sound. Sun Fan's sword deflected by half an inch, grazing past Blood Saber Ancestor's sleeve and slicing off a strip of cloth.

Blood Blade Ancestor glanced down at the severed cuff, then looked at Sun Fan.

"You're not at the Meridian Opening Realm." His voice carried a hint of doubt. "Your internal strength is at the Meridian Opening Realm, but your sword isn't."

Sun Fan did not answer, but simply gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

Blood Blade Ancestor did not ask any further questions.

He pounced, his blade flashing like lightning, one strike after another, each faster than the last. Every strike carried a fierce killing intent, each aimed at Sun Fan's vitals.

Sun Fan is retiring.

He retreated with ease, each step landing on a pre-selected spot—rocks, snowdrifts, icicles. With each step, a natural shelter protected him from the Blood Blade Ancestor's blade.

Blood Blade Ancestor's blade was fast, but every time it struck cover, it would slow down for a split second. In that split second, Sun Fan could create distance and readjust his rhythm.

The more Blood Blade Ancestor fought, the more frustrated he became.

This was clearly his home turf, yet he felt like he had the strength to try but couldn't get it out.

Could this kid have grown up in these snowy mountains as well?

But I've never heard of such a person in Tibet.

He knew his internal energy was rapidly depleting. He hadn't used the Blood Burning Technique yet, but he was already considering whether or not to.

That was his trump card; he had used it once when he was besieged by three top masters.

If he were to use it again in such a short time, he himself wouldn't know whether he could survive even if he won.

But Sun Fan put a lot of pressure on him.

This young man's swordsmanship was too unorthodox—not just fast, but precise. Every strike was aimed at his most painful spots—the wound on his left shoulder, his right wrist, his knee, and his ankle, all joints and old injuries.

The reason he couldn't fully utilize his swordsmanship wasn't because he lacked internal strength, but because every time he tried to exert force, Sun Fan's sword would appear in his most awkward position.

He was being led by the nose.

Or rather, in terms of skill, what he was proud of was his precise knife technique, which allowed him to swiftly glide across the hair above his nose without harming it.

It was actually inferior to Sun Fan's seemingly leisurely swordsmanship.

Blood Blade Ancestor suddenly realized this.

He stopped, stood on the snow, and gasped for breath. The wound on his left shoulder had reopened, and blood seeped from his monk's robe, dripping onto the snow like blooming red plum blossoms.

He looked at Sun Fan, and his expression changed.

It wasn't anger, it was appreciation.

A pure appreciation between martial artists.

"Who taught you your swordsmanship?"

Sun Fan paused for a moment, then said, "A man named Yan Shisan."

Blood Saber Ancestor repeated the name, then shook his head: "Never heard of him. But his swordsmanship is excellent."

"I know."

Blood Saber Ancestor suddenly laughed.

"In my life, I've seen many swordsmen. Liu Chengfeng from Falling Flowers and Flowing Water has good swordsmanship, but it's too rigid, like embroidery. Shui Dai's swordsmanship is also good, but it's too hasty, like rushing. Your swordsmanship—unhurried, unconventional, and unpretentious, each strike is just right."

He looked into Sun Fan's eyes: "This is swordsmanship that has killed people."

Sun Fan did not deny it.

Blood Saber Ancestor's smile vanished, he gripped his ring knife tightly, and took a deep breath.

"The old monk is not playing with you anymore."

His demeanor changed.

He hadn't become stronger; he had become colder. A chill that seeped from his very bones, as if all the frigidity of the snow-capped mountain had concentrated on him. His eyes turned dark red, not from bloodshot eyes, but from the burning of his inner energy—the Blood Burning Technique.

Sun Fan's pupils contracted slightly.

He had seen something like this before. In the Dark Martial Arts Academy, Red Wolf's Boiling Blood Technique had a similar effect, but compared to Blood Blade Ancestor's Burning Blood Technique, Red Wolf's Boiling Blood Technique was like a firefly vying for the moon's brilliance.

They're not on the same level.

Blood Saber Ancestor's body began to change. His skin turned an abnormal red, as if something was burning beneath his skin.

His veins bulged, his muscles bulged, and he looked like he had grown a size larger. The wound on his left shoulder, which had already scabbed over, reopened under the stimulation of the Blood Burning Technique, and blood gushed out, but he seemed to feel no pain at all.

He looked up at Sun Fan.

There was no emotion in those dark red eyes.

There was no anger, no appreciation, no loneliness, no resentment.

Only murderous intent.

Pure, primal, beast-like killing intent.

Sun Fan gripped the sword hilt tightly.

Blood Blade Ancestor's figure vanished from the spot.

It wasn't lightness skill, but pure explosive power. His feet stomped two deep craters in the snow, and he shot towards Sun Fan like a cannonball. His monk's knife trailed behind him, its tip slicing through the snow and sending up a white spray.

Sun Fan did not retreat. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. The Blood Blade Ancestor was too fast; so fast that the moment he even had the thought of retreating, the blade was already upon him.

He raised his sword to parry.

clang--

Swords clashed, sparks flying. Sun Fan felt an overwhelming force surge from the sword, his hand went numb, and the sword nearly slipped from his grasp. His feet slid two long furrows in the snow, and he stumbled back five steps before barely regaining his footing.

Looking down, he saw that the web of his right hand, which was gripping the sword, was split open, and blood was flowing down the hilt. There was also a deep nick in the blade.

Just one cut.

With the Blood Burning Technique enhancing him, Blood Blade Ancestor's internal energy output increased by at least 30% compared to before. Although far from his peak condition, it was still an overwhelming advantage against Sun Fan, a martial artist at the Meridian Opening Realm.

No matter how exquisite Sun Fan's swordsmanship is, it still requires the support of internal energy. When the difference in internal energy becomes too great, technique becomes meaningless—just like even the sharpest dagger cannot cut through a mountain.

Blood Blade Ancestor gave him no chance to catch his breath.

The second cut has already been made.

This time it was even faster; the blade sliced ​​through the air with a sharp screech, like the howl of some wild beast. Sun Fan dodged to the side, his sword tip brushing against the blade, trying to use the force to deflect the impact. But the force was too great, too great for his sword to parry—the blade grazed his left arm, slicing off a strip of cloth and sending a spray of blood flying.

Sun Fan grunted and took several steps back.

There was a cut on my left forearm, not deep, but it wouldn't stop bleeding. The blood dripped onto the snow like blooming red plum blossoms.

"Boy, your swordsmanship is indeed impressive." The Blood Blade Ancestor's voice was hoarse, with a suppressed panting, "but your internal energy is too weak. Even if the old monk only has half his strength left, you still can't withstand it."

He took a step forward.

Sun Fan took another step back.

It wasn't that he wanted to retreat, but that he had no choice. In his current state, Blood Blade Ancestor couldn't withstand more than three moves in a head-on confrontation.

But as he retreated, his eyes were constantly observing.

The snow beneath my feet, the rocks around me, and the ice in the distance.

He was leading the Blood Blade Ancestor in one direction.

Blood Blade Ancestor saw it.

He stopped and stood on the snow, his dark red eyes fixed on Sun Fan, a cold smile playing on his lips.