The Sword Elder retreated urgently, his Ancient Qingming Sword dancing wildly to deflect the returning sword energy. He laughed loudly: “Wind Hidden in Sleeves, Spring Wind’s Triumph! When your father used it, it was with such elegant freedom. But when you use it, it feels constrained. Where is the spring wind? Where is the triumph?”

Su Muyu’s sleeves were instantly torn. He gritted his teeth, glancing at the sword thrust in the ground, but still didn’t move to draw it. Instead, he shouted and swept his hand: “Sword Energy, Thunder’s Roar!”

A thunderous sound erupted as Su Muyu pointed a finger, unleashing sword energy that kicked up dust and sand as it rushed toward the Sword Elder.

“What magnificent Thunder-Roaring Sword Energy.” The Sword Elder cleaved with his sword. “If you wish to defeat me without drawing your sword, I’ll ensure you never have the chance to draw it again!”

On the back mountain of Wushuang City.

An elderly man approaching seventy emerged from the Sword Pavilion, frowning slightly as he gazed into the distance: “Such powerful sword energy.”

The black-clad swordsman had reached the lakeside and, seeing the elder standing there, quickly bowed: “Former City Lord.”

“We have a guest?” the elder asked.

“One who comes bearing a sword,” the black-clad swordsman replied.

The elder nodded: “From where?”

The black-clad swordsman spoke gravely: “The Tianxia Sword-less City.”

“Sword-less City?” The elder started, then after a long pause spoke slowly, “Some of them… still live?”

“He claims to be Young City Lord Zhuo Yue’an of the Sword-less City,” the black-clad swordsman replied.

“That child…” the elder said softly, “I never thought he would survive.”

“The Sword Elder has gone to face him,” the black-clad swordsman continued. “He asked me to inform you.”

“Sword Mountain.” The elder looked to the distance again. “He cannot stop this sword.”

“Master, there’s thunder,” Wushuang covered his ears as they rushed toward the city gate. “It’s going to rain soon—shouldn’t we get an umbrella?”

“Thunder? That’s sword energy,” Song Yanhui said helplessly. “Such thunderous sword energy—who could it be? Could it be… no, her sword was always bitter cold, never this ostentatious. Perhaps the swordsman from the Thunder Gate?”

“Master, what are you mumbling about?” Wushuang asked curiously.

“As long as it’s not related to Xueyue City,” Song Yanhui continued muttering.

“Master? Master?” Wushuang poked Song Yanhui’s waist. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing.” By now, Song Yanhui had brought Wushuang to the city gate. Looking down, he saw a masked figure with a paper umbrella—a young man by his build. Song Yanhui sighed in relief, but when he turned to look at the Sword Elder, he saw him in a wretched state—clothes torn, body bloodied, hands trembling as they gripped the Ancient Qingming Sword.

“You’re already defeated,” Su Muyu said calmly.

The Sword Elder gnashed his teeth: “Even your father, standing here years ago, wouldn’t dare speak to me like this!”

“How many times have you mentioned my father now?” Su Muyu looked up. “Third time? I wonder, what right do you have to speak of him?”

The Sword Elder had lost all his earlier dignity and authority. He’d thought his strength far exceeded this younger generation, but now his opponent had driven him to the brink without even drawing his sword. He raised his blade and raged: “Don’t force me to kill you.”

“Kill me?” Su Muyu leaped forward, quick as lightning.

The Sword Elder was startled—Su Muyu’s movement technique had completely changed, now like a ghost stalking the night, eerily threatening. The Elder retreated, his Ancient Qingming Sword humming as he raised it overhead with both hands, gathering power.

“Finally, he uses it. Teacher’s Mountain Peak Sword Technique!” Xiu Ru exclaimed excitedly. “This move will surely turn the tide!”

“My father once spoke of you,” Su Muyu said. “In your youth, you were full of pride, sword in hand, horse beneath you, believing you could climb the mountain of swordsmanship and look down upon all others. So you created this Mountain Peak Sword Technique. Your swordsmanship wasn’t first-rate, but your sword energy was unmatched. Now I see.” Su Muyu flashed before the Sword Elder. “The mountain remains, but the man has aged. Your person no longer matches your sword, worthy of the technique you created in your youth.” His fist struck the Sword Elder’s chest before the elder could complete his strike.

The punch didn’t shatter the Sword Elder’s heart.

But it shattered his sword heart completely.

The Sword Elder grunted, spitting blood, his Ancient Qingming Sword falling from his grip. Su Muyu caught it and raised it overhead: “You climbed the peak to look down on all mountains! But above the mountains lies the sky—if you stop climbing, you must eventually descend! Die!”

Su Muyu swung down, mimicking perfectly the sword energy the Sword Elder had tried to summon.

The Mountain Peak Sword Technique!

“Stop!” A furious command rang out.

Just as Su Muyu was about to behead the Sword Elder, a flash of cold light intercepted, blocking his path. Su Muyu’s borrowed Ancient Qingming Sword clashed with the new blade. He immediately retreated, tossing aside the ancient sword and moving back to the Crane Feather Sword, gripping its hilt.

Today’s word challenge had finally found someone worthy of drawing his blade.

Wushuang City Lord, Song Yanhui.

Song Yanhui traced a flourish with his sword and bowed slightly: “From Wushuang City, Song Yanhui.”

“From the Tianxia Sword-less City, Zhuo Yue’an.” Su Muyu glanced at Song Yanhui’s sword. “The Autumn Water Sword?”

Song Yanhui nodded: “Indeed.”

“City Lord.” The Sword Elder wiped blood from his mouth, his voice exhausted. After today, the martial world would likely no longer speak of Sword Mountain.

Song Yanhui felt somewhat pleased—Sword Mountain had always thrown his weight around in Wushuang City, using his seniority to subtly challenge the City Lord’s authority. After today’s battle, the Martial Hall would need a new Grand Elder. He flicked his sword, sending the Ancient Qingming Sword back: “Elder, you may return. I’ll handle this.”

“Is that Wushuang City Lord Song Yanhui?”

“The Young Lord of the Sword-less City’s challenge has drawn out Song Yanhui himself?”

“If he loses, will Wushuang City still deserve its place in the martial world?”

As the crowd whispered, Song Yanhui felt some regret: why had he acted so impulsively? There were still many other elders who could have faced this challenge.

Su Muyu drew the Crane Feather Sword—his first time unsheathing it today.

The ruby on its hilt sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.

He smiled: “This is the Crane Feather Sword’s first appearance in the martial world. You’re a worthy opponent.”