At that moment, Beggar Sect Chief Fei Jin once more raised his voice, his words ringing like iron, echoing across the field:
"This old beggar will give you one final reminder:When friends come, we offer wine.When wolves come, we offer blades!Refuse the wine, and you shall be forced to drink the wine of punishment!"
His voice was solemn and commanding, his gaze sharp as a blazing torch as it swept across the Western coalition. Though he spoke without rage, his presence carried a natural majesty that few could withstand.
Yet Ye Yan of Tuyuhun, the sly henchman of Tibet, was not a man to be swayed. Treacherous and venomous by nature, he scoffed coldly:"Old beggar, don't think that just because your skill is strong you may lord it over us! The martial ways of the Central Plains may be vaunted, but no pair of fists can withstand four hands. Today we will strike you four against one. Let's see how long you can endure before your old body collapses!"
The Western warriors burst into laughter, approving his words. It was a shameless plan, a war of attrition through numbers—but a practical one nonetheless.
Fei Jin frowned slightly. This old beggar has spoken reason enough, yet these Western brutes will not turn back until they dash themselves against the wall. Truly stubborn beyond cure!Then his spirit blazed anew, and he roared with laughter:"Ha ha ha! Not merely four of you—even if the entire Western coalition came against me, this old beggar would not flinch! A true man gives his life for righteousness, fearing no death—his name endures through the ages! Why should I be afraid?"
These words, bold and unbending, rang through heaven and earth like clashing steel. The heroes of the Central Plains felt their blood ignite, awe and respect swelling in every heart. Indeed, this is the true leader of the martial world—righteous, gallant, a man of iron and loyalty!
Even within the Western ranks, many warriors were moved. They had thought this beggar chief nothing but a ragged old man, never dreaming he was a hero of such spirit, fearless and magnificent. Though he was their foe, many secretly conceded: This old beggar is worthy of the name "hero."
But Ye Yan's face darkened. He knew that if Fei Jin's words continued, morale might falter. He barked:"Enough talk! Everyone—attack!"
At his order, four figures leapt forth, blades flashing coldly as they closed in on Fei Jin. A thunderous battle was about to erupt.
The Central Plains heroes nodded gravely, murmuring: "So must a true man be!"
The four Western masters glanced at one another, then launched together, fists and palms surging in unison. Fei Jin thought grimly: I have spoken all reason, but they answer only with violence. If I do not crush these fiends here, they will bring endless chaos upon the martial world. To spare them would be to aid the wicked!
With that, he abandoned all restraint. One move—"Forward Unto Death"—swept out toward Koglu and Jiaoge'er. Their palms met his, but they staggered under his overwhelming power, forced back in disarray. Yelijiang and Ye Yan darted in to cover, weaving their strikes. All four circled him, hoping to grind him down.
But after only a few exchanges, they realized with dread that Fei Jin's skill was far beyond their reckoning. His qi surged through bone and marrow, purple-blue vapor rising faintly from his crown. The Four were aghast—He is about to unleash his ultimate art!
With a thunderous roar, Fei Jin's figure blurred like the wind. His palms swept out in blinding succession. Koglu and Jiaoge'er, caught off guard, were hurled back with twin crashes. Without pause, his steps shifted, striking at Yelijiang and Ye Yan. Blow after blow hammered them; moments later, both were flung aside as well.
The four lay sprawled in the snow, motionless.
The assembly was stunned. Never had they witnessed such dominance. Cries of admiration thundered from the Central Plains ranks.
Fei Jin calmly lowered his palms, then raised his voice again, stern and unyielding:"If any remain unconvinced, I, Fei Jin, await your challenge. This old beggar will show no mercy!"
The Western coalition, seeing their champions broken, stared in horror. Without a word, men began to slip back, then one after another turned their mounts and galloped off. In moments, the sound of hooves faded into the distance. The warriors of the Western nations had melted away, leaving only the Tibetan forces—stunned, abandoned, their campaign now faltering.
Master Geleba and the Grand Dharma King Kunbu quarreled bitterly in their own tongue. At last Kunbu bellowed, his voice like rolling thunder:"If so, then we have no choice but the blade. Kill them all!"
At once, Tibetan warriors drew their sabers, murderous intent flooding the air. The atmosphere grew taut as steel, the very air frozen by killing aura.
Wu Tong stepped forward in a single bound, raising the Wolong Saber. Its edge gleamed coldly in the moonlight as he cried:"Do not be arrogant! Wu Tong of the Hall of Loyalty is here!"
He stood in the center like an unshakable pillar, his spirit vast, unmovable.
Kunbu's eyes narrowed. With a flick of his gaze, a towering Tibetan strode out—muscular, fierce-eyed, lips curled in a cruel smile."I am a Kham warrior, named Gongbu. They call me the Demon Blade King of Tibet. I've come to test your skill!"
Wu Tong laughed coldly, lifting his blade across his chest, its light ringing like a dragon's cry."Good. This saber cuts down demons. If you would thrust yourself forward, do not blame me for striking without mercy."
Gongbu sneered:"Ignorant whelp! There is always someone greater, always a higher sky. Today I'll finish you with one stroke!"
With a roar, his demon blade erupted in cold light, qi surging so strongly that snow around him burst into flight.
Wu Tong's gaze burned like fire. His voice was steady:"Every man must die—some deaths weigh as a mountain, others as light as a feather. I, Wu Tong, will die for righteousness if I must. If I fall to your blade, then I have sought benevolence and attained it. What regret would I have? Strike!"
As Mencius said: "Life is what I desire; righteousness is what I desire. If the two cannot be had together, I will give up life to choose righteousness."
Gongbu's eyes hardened. With a howl he drew his blade, leaping like lightning. The cut descended with thunderous might, a force like heaven's wrath.
Wu Tong did not flinch. In a flash the Wolong Saber swept out, light dazzling, his wrist turning as his step surged forward. His stroke dissolved the Demon Blade's assault. Blades collided with a ringing clang, qi bursting outward as the two became locked in deadly combat.
Under the moon's cold glow, their blades crossed, edge against edge, each stroke sharp as lightning. Gongbu howled, blade stabbing with lightning speed toward Wu Tong's chest. But Wu Tong's movement was ghostly, evading with ease. Gongbu thrust again and again, yet struck only empty air.
Then Wu Tong struck back—"Clouds Rise, Rain Falls!" His blade cascaded like a sudden storm, dazzling and overwhelming. Gongbu reeled, barely raising his weapon to block, retreating in disorder.
Wu Tong's eyes narrowed. Now is no time for mercy. His saber flared again—"Blade Rides the Thunder!" The tip locked upon Gongbu's throat, flashing like lightning, merciless and swift. Gongbu staggered back in terror, barely parrying, his defense collapsing under Wu Tong's relentless storm of strikes.
Finally Wu Tong unleashed "Single Blade Pierces Through!" His saber blazed like a rainbow, plunging for Gongbu's chest, its hum resounding like a storm shaking the valley. Gongbu's face blanched, cold sweat pouring, retreating step by step in dread.
Kunbu the Dharma King scowled, signaling sharply. Four Tibetan monks leapt forth with drawn blades to besiege Wu Tong.
Wu Tong only sneered. With a turn of his saber he unleashed "Three Blades Against Two Sides!" The saber storm swept outward, twelve dazzling strikes in a blink, each aimed at a vital point, each swift as lightning.
The monks recoiled in horror, hastily parrying as they stumbled back, leaping out of range, unwilling to press further.
Wu Tong's gaze swept the field. Perhaps there is still room for mercy…
At that thought, his saber stilled. With a graceful turn he slid the blade back into its scabbard, the motion fluid, seamless, like flowing clouds and water.
Silence fell. Both Central Plains and Tibetan warriors alike stood stunned by the sheer mastery displayed. Hearts trembled with awe. This saber art—surely unmatched beneath heaven!
Kunbu's face darkened, fists clenched tight, unwilling to admit defeat. But Wu Tong stood steady as stone, calm yet radiating a towering presence. Though his blade was sheathed, his momentum still pressed upon all present.
This battle had shaken the Western warriors to their core, and the fame of the Hall of Loyalty soared ever higher across the martial world. Yet all knew—the struggle was far from over…