"Clang..."
With a sharp ring, Anya struck first. [Six Blades] appeared to unsheathe simultaneously, but White Fang, locked under their sharp gaze, knew that once [Six Blades] had drawn steel, the situation had already shifted. Though it seemed like an attack of only six directions, in truth, countless variations had formed between the rising and falling blades. Entirely new blades could manifest from unexpected angles, making it impossible to grasp the direction of the assault—impossible to defend against.
Faced with this relentless first wave, White Fang appeared to be struggling for survival in a raging storm. Not a sliver of hope remained. It seemed like the next moment would see him pierced through by countless sword blades.
"Hehehe."
Just as the blades were about to strike flesh, White Fang smiled calmly and finally unsheathed the Blade of Indifference.
He spun the blade around himself with overwhelming spiraling force, creating a miraculous whirlwind net that scattered the incoming strikes. Then, with a single, straight thrust, White Fang aimed directly at the strongest point in [Sword Force] of [Six Blades]. With just two simple movements—first a rotation, then a thrust; one defense, one counterattack—his sword techniques flowed as freely as a sky horse in flight, leaving no trace behind, like a bird vanishing into the horizon. There was no trace of struggle, as if he were simply strolling through a garden.
[Six Blades] could only retreat, merging into a single shield to block the strike.
"Good," Anya said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. How many years had passed? Finally, someone had given him pressure in swordsmanship. He could only say—truly worthy of being his teacher. He himself had grown stronger, and so had Master. After a life-and-death cycle, White Fang's swordsmanship had become completely natural.
White Fang's voice carried disappointment: "Ever since you developed the Phantom Sword Art, I knew you liked taking shortcuts. This [Sword Manipulation Art] pushes laziness to the extreme. Against weaker opponents, it works fine. But once you face an opponent of equal strength, or worse, someone stronger than you, this sword art becomes utterly laughable."
"Haha," Anya didn't take offense, laughing instead. "Teacher speaks truly. Now, I shall be serious."
Grasping the Supreme Blade, he released it completely, revealing over a thousand blades. Each was thin as a cicada's wing, light and nimble like a feather. Previously exuding a deep black luster, now they radiated a soft jade-like glow. Unless witnessed firsthand, it would be hard to believe anyone could control such a vast number of blades simultaneously as a means of attack.
White Fang furrowed his brows slightly: "You again?"
"Go."
Anya's blades transformed into hundreds of sword beams, once more enveloping White Fang and his sword in a storm. Unlike the previous wide-area attack, this time, the blades exhibited far greater variation midair. Centered around [Six Blades], traces of other sword arts could be seen within the assault. Most terrifying was the central slash aimed directly at the throat—it clearly bore the mark of the Breaking the Blade technique.
"I see."
White Fang immediately realized his mistake, understanding he had underestimated Anya. Under his control, [Sword Manipulation Art] was no longer merely a long-range attack—it had integrated various sword techniques into itself. It felt as though a thousand Anyas were simultaneously attacking with different sword arts. This sword technique was unfathomable, impossible to grasp. He truly had no idea how Anya had managed to learn it.
The howling blade winds surrounded him from all directions. White Fang gritted his teeth. At this life-or-death moment, he simply closed his eyes, relying purely on instinct to sense Anya's killing intent. Though the attack appeared massive, only a few points were truly fatal. No one could unleash such an overwhelmingly vast sword technique simultaneously—the grand scale was likely just an illusion created by the Phantom Sword Art hidden within.
White Fang wasn't fazed by illusions. Gripping the Blade of Indifference, he simplified complexity into clarity. His body followed his blade as he suddenly slashed toward a specific spot.
"Ding!"
A crisp ringing sound echoed out, then blue and black lights clashed continuously midair. The Blade of Indifference in White Fang's hand moved like a dragon weaving through water, blocking the endless waves of blades launched by Anya. Untraceable, relentless waves of blades surged forth, forcing White Fang to sweat profusely as he clenched his teeth and endured.
After this entire round of attacks ended, the blades returned once more to Anya's hands, and the two resumed their initial standoff.
White Fang was no longer as composed as he had been at the beginning. His right hand, still gripping the sword, trembled slightly, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Yet his eyes glowed even brighter, now filled with admiration and a trace of nostalgia.
"Master," he said with a calm smile, "that way you fought just now was definitely cheating."
Rushing alone into the storm of blades—indeed, it was the classic strategy: place yourself in deadly danger before seizing survival, the fastest way to break through Sword Manipulation Art. However, if Anya had truly intended to kill, he could have abandoned defense entirely, disregarded his own spirit form, and unleashed all blades at once. Even if White Fang could break through that technique, his body would surely be riddled with wounds, likely gravely injured or even killed.
Yet White Fang firmly believed Anya wouldn't actually kill him, hence choosing the most aggressive approach.
Naturally, he understood perfectly well. He smiled casually and said, "We already agreed beforehand—to speak only through swords. Even if you had the chance to kill me just now, your spirit form would have perished. Judging purely from the level of sword arts, I still won."
Anya sighed in admiration, "No wonder you're my Master. This student has truly learned much."
White Fang warned, "Your spirit form has become quite insubstantial already. You probably only have one last strike left."
Anya's gaze shone fiercely, his fighting spirit rising. Ever since the Third Battle ended, he hadn't felt such a rush of excitement in combat.
[Six Blades] danced in his hands like piano keys, then gradually soared upward into the sky. But instead of attacking White Fang immediately, they disintegrated midair, beginning to flow swiftly. As more blades joined, the speed of this movement increased.
Dragon summons clouds, tiger stirs winds. Dragon roars and tiger growls filled the air between these blades.
From an initially nonchalant state, White Fang turned alert, then deeply alarmed. Under this rushing current of blades, his entire body felt suppressed; even drawing his sword became difficult—as if the very instant he unsheathed it, those blades would descend upon him.
What kind of sword art was this? He couldn't afford to wait any longer. If he delayed until this blade formation fully matured, he would surely lose.
This time, White Fang chose to take the initiative. No matter how powerful these blades were, no matter how brilliant the sword techniques appeared, ultimately, they remained controlled by a person. So long as he succeeded in cutting down the mastermind behind them, victory would be his.
In a duel of sword arts, the art of seizing the moment is everything.
White Fang's eyes widened in shock, his sharp gaze narrowing into a thin slit. Like a piercing arrow, he locked onto Anya. He slashed his blade forward, unleashing a spiraling, cylindrical Blade Aura that twisted toward her like a deadly drill.
Faced with White Fang's fierce attack, Anya showed neither joy nor sorrow. She snapped her fingers rapidly, calling forth a storm of countless blades that rained down like steel hail. Layer upon layer, they clashed violently against White Fang's Blade Aura.
As they clashed, the blade-filled sky exploded for a moment — but the storm reformed instantly, refusing to disperse. In an instant, it was impossible to tell where the fighters stood or where the blades truly were...
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