Outside the bamboo building, the stench of blood mingled with the fragrance of damp earth after the rain.
Li Xingyun's breathing had long lost its rhythm. Every inhalation brought the rusty, sweet metallic taste of blood into his mouth, and every exhalation felt as if it were draining the last ounce of strength from his lungs.
On the blade of the Longquan Sword, beads of blood slowly slid down the spine, dripping into the moist soil at his feet, where a small pool of dark crimson had already gathered.
The Huayang Needle in his hand emitted a faint golden glow under the urging of his internal energy, yet it appeared so incredibly feeble.
He could no longer execute the exquisite techniques of the Tiangang Art and the Longquan Seven Stars Art. At this moment, he could only rely on muscle memory and instinct to attack and defend.
There were simply too many enemies.
His red martial attire had long been slashed open in several places, revealing deep wounds that cut straight to the bone. Blood soaked through his clothes, clinging tightly to his skin—sticky and freezing cold.
Li Xingyun could only feel the last remnants of his internal energy frantically draining from his body.
Waves of needle-like pain pulsed through his meridians, and his dantian was completely hollow.
"His internal energy is depleted! Let's attack together and kill him!"
On the periphery, the fake Li Xingyun's subordinates shouted.
The Witch King's men charged forward, but they didn't swarm him all at once. Instead, they continued to launch relentless, harassing attacks from every tricky angle imaginable.
A poisoned dart grazed Li Xingyun's cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.
A treacherous hidden sleeve arrow shot toward his blind spot, forcing him into a desperate, ungraceful roll to dodge.
These attacks were not fatal, but they disrupted his focus, pushing his already taut nerves to the breaking point.
What made him even more anxious was that a portion of the enemies had already bypassed his defensive perimeter.
"Stop them!"
Zhang Zifan's low roar came from a short distance away, carrying a trace of irrepressible panic.
With a flick of his folding fan, sharp streams of qi shot out, knocking back an enemy attempting to approach the bamboo building.
However, due to the massive amount of internal energy he had expended treating Ji Ruxue, his face was equally pale. It was obvious he was also struggling to hold on.
Lu Linxuan unleashed the Green Lotus Sword Art. The sword in her hand transformed into a flurry of cyan shadows as she fought desperately to guard the front of the bamboo building.
Her hair bun had come undone, and several strands of black hair, soaked in sweat, clung to her bloodless cheeks. Yet, there was not a single ounce of hesitation in her movements.
However, the enemy's numerical advantage was overwhelming.
A burly man wielding a massive axe ignored Zhang Zifan's attack, forcefully enduring a palm strike as he slammed his entire body into the bamboo building.
"Boom—"
A deafening crash echoed.
The fragile bamboo wall shattered under the sheer force of his impact.
Countless bamboo splinters mixed with dust exploded into the room.
Piercing sunlight instantly penetrated the broken wall, dispelling the dimness inside.
Hou Qing, who was in the middle of casting his art, jerked violently.
The intrusion of sunlight and the invasion of dust instantly shattered the stable, lightless environment required for the blood transfusion ritual.
The ambient qi in the air was also affected, becoming chaotic and turbulent.
Ji Ruxue, lying on the bamboo bed, whose life force had been relatively stable, now resembled a candle in the wind. Her vitality began to drain rapidly at a visible rate.
Her originally pale face now took on an eerie, deathly gray hue.
This scene, seen clearly through the shattered wall, reflected directly into Li Xingyun's eyes.
His mind buzzed, and his heart seemed to stop. That suffocating sensation made him completely forget about attacking or defending.
"Xue'er!"
With his mind in utter chaos, a fatal flaw appeared in his swordplay.
Several experts who had been prowling nearby seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Three scimitars and two longswords thrust viciously into his body from different directions at almost the exact same time.
"Pfft—"
Li Xingyun's body trembled violently.
He lowered his head, able to see the cold tips of the blades piercing through his chest and abdomen.
A mouthful of boiling hot blood could no longer be suppressed, spraying wildly from his mouth and scattering into the air.
His knees gave way, and he fell to one knee. He plunged the Longquan Sword heavily into the dirt, using it to prop up his tottering body.
"Excellent!"
Seeing this, the fake Li Xingyun's subordinates instantly became even more frenzied and aggressive. Every subsequent strike was aimed mercilessly at Li Xingyun's vital spots.
Victory seemed to be in the bag.
Li Xingyun's life was hanging by a thread.
Meanwhile, on a hillside far away from the clamor of the battlefield, everything appeared incredibly peaceful.
Ian turned his head, looking at Li Bai beside him. The poet's soul form was unstable, nearly dissipating from sheer anxiety.
He suddenly spoke, asking a completely unrelated question.
"Brother Li, you have composed thousands of poems in your lifetime. If you had to choose the one that left the deepest impression on you, which would it be?"
"Ah?"
Li Bai was staring at the battle below with burning anxiety. Hearing this, he was taken aback, completely failing to understand why the immortal would ask such a question at a time like this.
But he still answered subconsciously.
"Why does the Immortal ask this..."
"If you ask what leaves the deepest impression on me at this very moment, it would be the final poem I wrote in my twilight years, 'Song on the Road'..."
His voice grew low, carrying an unresolvable sorrow and desolation.
"The Great Peng soars to the eight corners, broken in mid-heaven as its strength fails..."
That was not just a line of poetry.
It was the lament of Li Taibai's unfulfilled ambitions throughout his life—a cry of having a heart that wished to save the world but nowhere to apply it. It was the tragic sigh of a hero in his twilight, powerless in his old age.
"Oh? It's actually that one?"
Ian's smile became profoundly meaningful.
"Very well."
"Brother Li, watch closely."
Before his words even faded.
Down in the battlefield, at the exact moment several sharp blades were about to pierce Li Xingyun's skull and heart.
A distant yet crystal-clear voice rang out from an unknown source, echoing directly in the depths of everyone's soul.
The voice seemed to descend from the highest heavens, carefree yet brimming with majesty.
"The Great Peng soars to the eight corners—"
The moment the words fell, the sky darkened without any warning.
It was as if dark clouds had blotted out the sun.
Whether it was the attacking enemies or Zhang Zifan and the others struggling to hold on, everyone halted their movements.
As if by prior agreement, they all raised their heads to look at the sky that had suddenly been shrouded in darkness.
Then, they witnessed a sight they would never forget for the rest of their lives.
High above the firmament, a shadow so massive it defied description had appeared at some unknown point.
It appeared to be a gigantic bird.
Looking closely, one could see that its body was composed of countless sharp swords.
Its feathers were billions of peerlessly sharp longswords.
Its eyes were two sword wheels radiating a chilling, imposing sword intent.
Its wings spread wide, blotting out the entire sky. Only the faintest slivers of light managed to pierce through the sword formation and scatter down.
Accompanied by a storm of sword intent, a pressure as heavy as physical matter descended from the heavens.
Everyone present, regardless of their cultivation level, felt an indescribable sense of suffocation.
They felt as if their very souls were about to be torn to shreds by the omnipresent, razor-sharp aura.
The battlefield plunged into deathly silence.
Everyone was so terrified by the anomaly in the sky that they didn't dare move an inch.
Every single detail of that Kunpeng formed of swords was clearly visible.
Every sword making up its body exuded a terrifying aura.
In the distance, the smug smile on the face of the fake Li Xingyun, who had been watching the battle from a high vantage point, had long since frozen. In its place was nothing but pure terror.
His body trembled uncontrollably, his lips quivering, yet he couldn't utter a single word.
How could such a powerhouse exist in this world? Even the Boss was far inferior to this.
The heavily injured and dying Li Xingyun also forgot the agonizing pain wracking his body.
He stared blankly up at the sky, feeling that power which seemed capable of destroying the entire world.
He had never imagined that human strength could truly reach such an apocalyptic level.
This kind of power... perhaps even Yuan Tiangang, the Commander of the Buliangren who had been hailed as the number one in the world for three hundred years, could not even begin to compare.
Just as the crowd was consumed by absolute horror.
That voice, seemingly from beyond the heavens, rang out once more.
This time, the voice carried a trace of regret and sorrow that seemed to span across eternity.
"Broken in mid-heaven as its strength fails—"
As the words fell.
The sword Kunpeng in the sky let out a mournful cry that resounded through the clouds.
Then, its colossal body that blotted out the heavens suddenly disintegrated, transforming into an endless rain of swords that plummeted straight down.