“Most people in this world are consumed by delusion, overestimating themselves.”

The Sect Master’s gaze drifted slowly from the Jingzhe Blade, settling on the two figures behind him — Cao Lie and Cen Xiaoxiao.

When Cao Lie had attacked earlier, he had slashed at the Sect Master’s right arm.

Not only did he fail, but the Sect Master had snapped his sword and then used the broken blade to wound Cen Xiaoxiao.

After Cen Xiaoxiao shoved Cao Lie aside, Cao Lie had barely risen when the Sect Master was already before him. With no weapon left in hand, Cao Lie drove a fist forward.

The Sect Master ducked beneath Cao Lie’s punch, and his elbow rose sharply, catching Cao Lie squarely under the jaw. One strike, and Cao Lie crashed violently backward — never to rise again.

Then the Sect Master kicked Cen Xiaoxiao in the ribs, sending him skidding across the floor and slamming into the wall — unconscious at once.

With these two as hostages, the Sect Master appeared even more without restraint.

Both of those strikes could have been lethal, but he had chosen to spare them. So they still breathed.

In the very moment he turned, Little Zhang Zhenren swept in through the window, driving a sword thrust toward the Sect Master’s back.

The Sect Master swept a cut backward with his blade — as though he had eyes in the back of his head, aware of Little Zhang Zhenren’s every movement.

That cut came with the blade still in its sheath.

The scabbard sent Little Zhang Zhenren’s sword flying. Then the Sect Master kicked backward, landing squarely in Little Zhang Zhenren’s chest — and Little Zhang Zhenren flew back the way he had come, crashing against the window frame he had entered through.

From start to finish, the Sect Master had not once turned to look at him.

Little Zhang Zhenren’s back struck the windowsill — his spine felt as though it had snapped — and he slumped to the floor, unable to muster the strength to stand again.

He sat there gasping in great gulps of air, his eyes filled with a terror he had never known.

In that moment, Little Zhang Zhenren finally understood his error. The gap between people was even greater than he had imagined.

“You are all the same kind of people.”

The Sect Master’s gaze swept the room with contempt: “Limbs intact, none of you outright foolish — yet your practice of martial arts is a desecration of the art. The vast majority of people in this world who practice martial arts are a desecration to it.”

He let out a quiet breath: “Born as people, yet not even knowing how the strength of a person ought to be used. Looking at all of you, I understand where that erroneous belief comes from.”

“I don’t know who was the first to say it, but the claim that the raw power of beasts far surpasses that of humans, and that humanity’s dominion over the world rests upon intellect — this absurd nonsense was spoken, and yet people have taken it as truth.”

“Humanity was given the most perfectly proportioned physique by heaven. A person with even a slightly capable mind can make use of this perfect body. With three-tenths of human strength, a person can match a tiger or a leopard — and the people standing here are exactly like you: you have only learned the surface.”

The Sect Master looked toward Yan Beicheng: “You are the only one among them with even a slightly better understanding of how to apply force.”

A twitch came to the corner of Yan Beicheng’s mouth — it was anger, and it was also terror.

Just then, a white blur swept in from outside the door. While still airborne, both sleeves surged into a sweeping torrent.

The Sect Master’s eyes lit up briefly.

Yet he still did not draw his blade. His left hand extended, drawing a circle before him — those two great sleeves were coiled up by a single arm.

“Break.”

The Sect Master uttered a quiet command.

Mr. Ye’s two sleeves, which had billowed like ship sails, were torn apart — the fabric shredded and scattered. Mr. Ye’s right hand became a palm and struck along the Sect Master’s arm toward his chest.

Facing Mr. Ye’s imposing and domineering strike, the Sect Master neither dodged nor retreated — he pushed his chest forward to meet it.

Mr. Ye’s palm landed fully and squarely on the Sect Master’s chest. The floorboards beneath the Sect Master cracked and his body sank.

Yet Mr. Ye was sent flying back by the rebounding force, landing once more near the entrance.

Below this ground floor was a hidden underground chamber; the Sect Master broke through the floorboards and dropped partway — yet still his expression held no change whatsoever, that face as still as an undisturbed well.

Halfway down, the Sect Master pressed one hand against the floor, and his body floated back up with ease.

He drifted down to the center of the hall and looked at Mr. Ye: “That day at the entrance of the prefectural yamen, I saw you, and I knew you were a person who knows how to use force.”

Mr. Ye said nothing, brow furrowed. That palm strike had not only failed to injure his opponent, but the rebound had left his arm deeply numb — his right arm temporarily felt as though all its channels had been sealed, impossible to raise.

The Sect Master stepped toward Mr. Ye: “Human force has its limits — yet you do not know: when human force is fully spent, what in all the world can stand against it? And what in all the world is worthy of human force being spent to its fullest?”

Mr. Ye still said nothing. He drew a deep breath to compose himself, then stepped forward as well.

The Sect Master seemed to find this kind of courage in Mr. Ye worthy of some admiration. Unlike the contemptuous look he gave the others — as though regarding mere ants — when he looked at Mr. Ye, it was as though he regarded something merely a degree below himself.

Mr. Ye extended his left hand forward. Four fingers pressed together, thrusting toward the Sect Master’s heart.

The Sect Master brought his right hand behind his back, then swept upward from below with his left — the two palms met, and Mr. Ye’s brow creased again.

In that very moment, Mr. Wu arrived.

Mr. Wu drew his sword directly.

This was the first time in all of Mr. Wu’s life he had ever drawn his sword first. The first time in all his years that he had actively pulled steel.

In this world, the people who could make Mr. Wu use his sword had always been few.

The long sword was like a startled swan.

The Sect Master’s expression, for the first time, grew noticeably heavy.

He actually stepped backward half a pace. His right hand came back from behind him, and with the Jingzhe Blade still in its sheath, he chopped outward.

Clang.

Mr. Wu’s sword was sent flying — spiraling rapidly away through the window — and Mr. Wu himself was driven backward by the force emanating from that sheathed blade.

The Sect Master looked at Mr. Wu: “A woman’s sword? You’re using it wrong.”

A graceful, nimble figure swept in from outside the window, and in mid-air caught the sword with one hand.

Sword like a startled swan, person like a startled swan.

The Sect Master’s eyes went wide. He stepped back — a full large step — and in a searing blaze, the Jingzhe Blade cleared its sheath.

A clear ring of metal, and the Jingzhe Blade met that incomparable sword thrust head on.

That sword already carried seven-tenths of an immortal’s intent, with only three-tenths remaining in the mortal world.

This sword thrust was the most earnest strike Su Xiaoshu had ever made in all her years of living.

And so the Sect Master had drawn his blade.

“Now. This is right.”

The Sect Master looked at Su Xiaoshu as she withdrew, and two or three parts of recognition entered his eyes.

“The world is not entirely composed of the foolish — there are still those who know how to use the strength of the body.”

He looked at the slightly pale-faced Su Xiaoshu: “Your swordsmanship is formidable, but your sword is inadequate. Had your sword been of higher quality, you would already have held a three-in-seven chance of defeating me.”

Su Xiaoshu looked down at the sword in her hand. It had not broken, but cracks were already visible along the blade.

The Sect Master said in an even tone: “A woman, with a body naturally weaker than a man’s, is the strongest among all of you. If it came to an arm-wrestling match, she would certainly lose to any one of you — yet in terms of martial technique, you all fall far short of her.”

He asked Su Xiaoshu: “Who taught you?”

Su Xiaoshu gave no answer.

The Sect Master said: “I have no interest in continuing to fight you. Among all of you, your strongest has already lost the capacity to strike another sword like that one.”

He walked unhurriedly to Cao Lie and Cen Xiaoxiao’s side, tapping his blade toward Cen Xiaoxiao: “You should send someone to invite Prince Ning here quickly. Otherwise, I will begin by killing one.”

Mr. Wu stepped forward again.

But Su Xiaoshu had already pushed off the ground, surging forward past Mr. Wu, and drove a sword thrust at the Sect Master’s throat.

The Sect Master’s long blade swept a full circle of radiance before him. Clang. Su Xiaoshu’s sword snapped.

The Sect Master looked at the retreating Su Xiaoshu: “I told you — that sword was the strongest you have ever struck in your life; a sword you can only ever strike once, because your opponent is me, and it is I who forced out your full potential. Now your resolve has already collapsed — how can the sword not collapse with it?”

After that sword thrust, Su Xiaoshu already knew she was not this person’s match.

What the Sect Master said about her resolve having collapsed — that too was the truth.

Once a person becomes aware that they are insufficient, they can no longer have perfect courage.

Not knowing fear is sometimes not only a term of reproach.

Yet Su Xiaoshu still stepped forward once more, her expression utterly solemn, and with the broken sword in her hand thrust again.

The Sect Master gave a faint sigh.

The Jingzhe Blade swept outward — the broken sword was broken further.

After sweeping the long sword apart, the blade continued toward Su Xiaoshu’s throat with undiminished force. But in that moment Su Xiaoshu raised her left hand, middle finger and index finger pressed together, two fingers like a sword pointing directly at the Jingzhe Blade.

Clang!

The Sect Master’s eyes snapped open.

His blade had been deflected.

Su Xiaoshu’s gaze sharpened. Without pause, those two fingers thrust toward the Sect Master’s chest.

The Sect Master’s blade had clearly been deflected — yet it seemed as though some inexplicable force held it in place, and in an instant the blade swung back and swept toward Su Xiaoshu’s neck.

His blade would undoubtedly be faster than Su Xiaoshu’s two fingers.

In an instant —

A figure appeared between the blade and Su Xiaoshu.

Li Chi’s left hand pushed Su Xiaoshu aside. His right hand, with the Minghong Blade, deflected outward.

Clang!

Another crisp sound.

In the Sect Master’s startled gaze — his blade had actually been blocked by Li Chi.

The two blades ground and scraped against each other, sending out a singing ring of steel — like two dragons meeting in the sky, locked in contest, and that sound was the dragon’s cry above the cloud layer.

“Hm?”

The Sect Master’s surprise lasted only a moment before he exerted force with one hand.

The Jingzhe Blade scraped along the Minghong Blade in a shower of brilliant sparks, and Li Chi could not hold against it. In his mind, Fang Zhuhou’s words from before suddenly surfaced.

Rational.

Just these two words — and Li Chi’s mind blazed clear in an instant.

He relaxed his grip on the blade. That Minghong Blade, so heavy, would naturally carry the force of its own descent.

Borrowing the force of the Sect Master’s stroke, borrowing the downward force of the Minghong Blade, Li Chi crouched as his body spun a full revolution, evading the blade’s edge.

Then borrowing the inertia of the Minghong Blade’s rotation, he angled upward and struck from low to high.

This blade — swept from below, upward.

A glint of surprise entered the Sect Master’s eyes.

He immediately retreated — and the Minghong Blade swept past before his chest, the tip passing less than two fingers’ breadth from him.

In the next breath, after the Sect Master’s feet touched down, his arm swept in a full revolution behind him and swung forward again — the Jingzhe Blade completing the same revolution.

The tip dragged across the floorboards, which shattered in an instant.

That blade also swept upward from below, cutting toward Li Chi’s chest.

In that moment, Li Chi gripped the hilt with both hands. His eyes went suddenly red. In a single instant, the muscles along his arms bulged violently — his sleeves split apart.

Both hands gripping the Minghong Blade drove it downward, and the Sect Master’s upward force crashed into that downward force headlong.

Into every ear came first a sharp clang, then a deep resonant hum, then rolling thunder reverberating through the mind.

Li Chi’s body was sent flying backward — his grip on the Minghong Blade failed entirely, the blade spinning away behind him.

And the Sect Master was driven backward by the force of that blow — six or seven steps before barely steadying himself — and instinctively looked down at the Jingzhe Blade in his hand.

Li Chi hit the ground hard. His face had gone white in a way that frightened those watching.

He too looked back instinctively — his Minghong Blade had flown out through the door.

A soft sound — like something being caught in a firm grip outside. The sound was light, but steady as a mountain.

A figure in a plain blue robe stepped through the door.

In his left hand — the Minghong Blade. In his right — the Armor-Breaking Sword.