Chapters One to Three: Displaying Their Unique Talents

Nan Luo’s delicate silk swordsmanship was most terrifying in its sword intent—the force of his will infused in the blade. The stronger his murderous intent, the more potent the sword intent became. Sword intent could take many forms, but having been guided into its realm by the Four Killing Swords of the Celestial Daoist, Nan Luo’s sword intent was dominated by one single word: kill.

Yet, due to his nature, his killing intent was not fierce, so his sword intent only reached its peak when his desire to kill burned with exceptional intensity.

One sword would transform into a thousand silken threads; each thread severed souls and shattered spirits.

Nan Luo harbored no direct hatred toward the two before him, scarcely having met them more than a few times, but every encounter had been a battle to the death. Today, his sole purpose was to kill them both.

The multicolored mist was Nan Luo’s application of the Five Elements Dao, a conjured environment advantageous to his combat style. It was within this swirling, colorful cloud that his silken sword threads became elusive and unpredictable, ignoring all spatial and temporal distances, forcing the two supreme shamans of the Wu tribe—Xingtian and Hou Yi—into a corner with no escape.

The sword threads grew ever denser, nearly merging with the vibrant mist itself.

Xingtian let out explosive shouts, his massive axe whirling, shaking the void. He had shrunk back to his original size to reduce the surface area exposed to the assault. Hou Yi’s posture grew heavier with every movement, each step seeming to bear the weight of ten thousand pounds.

Suddenly, a streak of wind appeared above Mount Luoling. This black wind spiraled through the emptiness with a howling roar, spreading rapidly into a tornado that twisted wildly above the mountain, blotting out the sun like a dark cloud.

The churning black wind enveloped Mount Luoling but did not descend. Within the tempest, a black banner slowly materialized, followed by the imposing figure of Da Feng. Clad in an immense, flowing black robe, his childlike face framed by shoulder-length black hair, his eyes burning with venomous hatred, his presence was chillingly unnatural.

“Nan Luo, you dare oppose our Wu tribe? Today, we shall fight to the death. Kill you first, then exterminate your human race,” he vowed.

He was not alone; beside him was Quan Yin, bound by cords fashioned from the black wind.

Quan Yue, who had been brought to the entrance of Luoling Cave by Nan Luo, caught sight of her aunt and immediately cried out, “Aunt… Aunt…” Quan Yin looked down from within the black wind, moving slightly and opening her mouth, but no spiritual voice came forth.

Quan Yue called out several times, receiving no response. She then knelt down with a thud, weeping and pleading, “Senior, please save my aunt!” She bowed deeply after speaking.

Qingqing stood nearby, silent and unmoving, her brows furrowed. From her perspective, her master was besieged on all sides, barely holding the line; there was simply no way to spare a hand to rescue anyone.

Yet she also knew her master was human and would not ignore this plight.

Sure enough, an invisible force lifted Quan Yue, followed by Nan Luo’s voice echoing through the void: “I have known your aunt for over ten years. How could I stand by and watch her fall into danger?”

Qingqing immediately realized her master intended to intervene, but since he could not move and neither of his two treasured magical items were present, she called out toward Luoling Cave, “Master, Qingqing is here.”

Without waiting for a reply, she transformed the banana leaf fan in her hand into a vibrant green fan about the size of a lush banana leaf and swung it firmly toward the great wind swirling in the sky.

A fierce gale like a sharp blade surged forth, rushing to confront the tornado in the void, tearing through the air with such force that even the mountain trees seemed uprooted by the tempest.

“Ha! Playing with wind before me is a joke,” Da Feng’s hoarse voice grated like stones grinding, harsh and unpleasant.

He shook the black banner in his hand. The wild gale, which had been charging forward, suddenly shifted direction, blowing toward the distant horizon. The thick clusters of white clouds dissolved instantly, revealing the azure sky.

Qingqing’s heart leapt. Since wielding the banana leaf fan, few had escaped its power, let alone resisted it. This phenomenon of the wind being drawn away was unprecedented.

Gathering her spiritual power, she swung the fan again—a second, then a third time—raising howling gales.

Da Feng laughed boisterously. The banner he wielded also moved in rhythm. No matter how Qingqing swung, the winds were drawn away elsewhere.

The banana leaf fan was Qingqing’s sole weapon. Since leaving Kunlun Mountain, countless powerful cultivators had suffered greatly beneath its blows. Though she knew its attacks were straightforward and lacked variation, this simplicity was its strength, and it required little spiritual power to wield.

Suddenly, the gale she summoned was pulled back toward Mount Luoling, curling down like a returning wave. Qingqing hurriedly swung the fan again. The two great winds collided and spread throughout the mountain.

Though the clashing winds dissipated, their strength remained formidable, directionless and chaotic, striking from all sides. In an instant, Qingqing was lifted by the storm, struggling to maintain her footing, nearly swept into the air.

Suddenly, a mist of yellow fog enveloped her, banishing the weightless, powerless sensation. Standing firm amid the wind, her body became as steady as Mount Tai.

She glanced back at Quan Yue, who was also shrouded in the same yellow mist—light and thin, yet holding firm amidst the raging gale.

No sooner had she regained her footing than the shrill, mocking laughter of Da Feng echoed from above. Looking up, she saw a colossal hand formed of black wind slamming down toward her.

“This fan is quite good, just what I need,” he sneered.

The great hand, though loose in form, churned with strands of black wind like blades tearing through the void. Qingqing intended to swing her fan again, but it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, the giant hand descended. The overwhelming pressure and supreme authority left her gasping for breath.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she cried out, “Master…” even she did not know why the word escaped her lips. At her shout, a magnificent multicolored great sword materialized in the void.

The sword was ethereal, wreathed in shimmering five-colored mist. Barely formed, it struck fiercely at the black wind hand.

Gale scattered in all directions, a roar like ocean waves crashing upon the shore.

The black wind hand shattered instantly, and the multicolored great sword vanished into thin air.

This multicolored great sword was Nan Luo’s application of the Five Elements Dao’s mimetic art, much like the earth push he had previously summoned. This time, however, it was infused with sword intent. Though it was the first time using this technique, it was enough to sever Da Feng’s black wind hand.

“Well, I hear you inherited the Five Elements Dao from Kong Xuan. Today, let’s see how much you have truly learned,” Da Feng’s hoarse voice tore through the void. Before the words faded, the Soul-Binding Banner in his hand shook violently.

One tendril, two strands… black gentle winds spiraled forth from the banner.

These were but the visible forms; countless invisible shadows of wind also drifted through the void.

Suddenly, a shadow flickered beside Da Feng. It was Peng Meng. His face was pale, his pupils red, as if ready to devour any target. The arm severed by Qingyan’s sword had already been restored, as had his red-and-black cloak.

He fixed his gaze on Luoling Cave, wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, and vanished into the void.

An elusive ghost with countless hidden powers concealed within that cloak—so long as the cloak remained, he possessed myriad means at his disposal.