Chapter 117 Death with eyes open (1/2)

Words : 2057 Updated : Sep 23rd, 2025

Swords clashed with a blade.The sword was a narrow demon blade, still stained with blood, while the other was nothing more than a plain wooden sword. When the two dissonant blades collided in the night, they emitted a clash as if evenly matched. Murong Tong curled up inside the wagon, shivering uncontrollably. The stall owner and the coachman were frozen in place, afraid to move. Their faces were deathly pale, feeling a sharp pain between their eyebrows, exceptionally distinct. So distinct it seemed as if, in the next moment, a long sword would fall upon them. The nearby streets were lined with large mansions. The whistling noise grew louder and louder. Yet, the surroundings became even more deathly silent, like a ghost town devoid of people. The swords continued to collide, clearly sparking fire with each contact. The moves of the long sword were strangely mysterious and ruthlessly unforgiving, displaying full force, leaving no way out for either the opponent or the wielder. If an ordinary martial artist were to face such a frenzied assault, they might not be able to stabilize their own mindset and moves. Combat between martial artists wasn't merely a comparison of force. However, Wang Anfeng, well-seasoned in battle and having once received tutelage in swordsmanship from the Sword Saint himself, wielded his longsword with concise and measured moves, neither too much nor too little in his actions, always just right. Although he employed 72 moves to break through the enemy's guard, he never fully unleashed his sword momentum. It was like a master painter in action, always retaining control and keeping reserves. Though the assassin was slightly more skilled and his moves drastically merciless, he found himself consistently restrained, like an insect trapped in a web. Realizing something was amiss, his strikes became even more frantic. Nevertheless, as he increased his force, the youth's swordsmanship also evolved in response, becoming complex and seemingly endless. The multitude of sword moves, as seen through the young man's experienced eyes, still allowed him to hold back his urge to pursue victory aggressively. His sword strikes remained smooth, maintaining and managing his offensive without haste. Exactly because of this restraint, the essence of his swordsmanship unexpectedly ascended another level. With serene features and moves naturally forming a boundary, although only an Eighth Rank in martial arts, he showed glimpses of a grandmaster's demeanor in his sword technique alone. Mixed feelings of surprise and anger emerged in the young man's heart. Trapped in a dire situation, he had slid nearly into madness, yet now regained some sanity, aware that continuing this duel would not just prevent him from defeating his opponent but would also lead to his own death under the young man's sword. His breath slightly hurried, yet he maintained his composure, gradually calming his once frenetic blade work. Sounds of an artist leaping through the air were soon detected nearby. Formidable enemies ahead. Pursuers behind. Standing alone, looking all around. Certain death ahead. The young man's eyes crazed, suddenly he burst into mad laughter, stepping back while lifting his right arm. His muscles tensed, like a strong bow fully drawn on the Great Qin's frontier. The next moment, that narrow straight sword whistled as it spun towards the wagon, while his entire body, raising both fists, charged at Wang Anfeng like a lone wolf cornered into desperation. In his eyes, there was only madness. He was gambling. Gambling that Wang Anfeng would choose to throw his sword to save the two people in the wagon. He was gambling. Gambling that the young man before him was a heroic knight. Without the slightest hesitation, the Eight-Sided Han Sword flew from Wang Anfeng's hand, tinged with thunder, instantly deflecting the straight sword away. The young man's mouth twisted, revealing his ghastly white teeth. He had bet correctly. As an assassin, he had already abandoned his sword, and as an assassin, he was surrounded with no glimpses of survival. In such a situation, no other thoughts occupied his mind but to drag the rising star of the Fufeng book guardian down to purgatory with him before he died himself. Embracing a deadly resolve, devoid of any desire to live, he was entirely focused at this moment. He poured all his inner strength, all his mental focus, and all his resolute intent to kill into his punch, feeling his mind growing clearer, his strength surging through his body. His fist force pierced the air, targeting the astonished young man. In that instant, he resembled a Taoist sitting in meditation, his heart devoid of joy or sorrow. Quietly watching his fist move forward. Watching his right hand break through the opponent's defense. Watching... Snap. A palm enveloped his fist, pulled it back, and dissipated the force of the impact. The stone beneath the young man's feet shattered, sending fine cracks spreading to either side. Seeing the young man's face, which didn't even bear a hint of paleness, the young man realized his plan might have gone awry. The Fufeng book guardian, known for weak external cultivation. In that moment, his thoughts slowed down, falling from the Empty Bright Realm back to the mortal world; he felt the chilly autumn breeze of the night, and the bone-chilling intent to kill. The young man's expression was solemn. Suddenly a loud shout erupted. In the blink of an eye, the fierce punches and palms submerged him completely, like a vast ocean. By the time Yang Jingming and other patrol martial artists hurried over, the young man was already lying on the ground like a lump of mud; Wang Anfeng's breath was smooth as he pulled out his wooden sword from the wall, flicked the sword edge, and sheathed the longsword back on his back. Yang Jingming stopped in his tracks with his right hand already on the weapon at his waist. When he saw the fierce-looking martial artist on the ground and recognized his distinctive facial features that were unique to those from Danfeng Valley, along with the traces of the scuffle around him, he had a sudden understanding. Murong Tong and another person also stepped down from the carriage, faces pale, yet the blush on their cheeks made them look rather bizarre. Seeing that matters had calmed down, the young coachman hurried over to offer support. Murong Tong kicked out and cursed: "You just remembered to come over?" "You just remembered? Your young master almost lost his life!" Yang Jingming scoffed in disdain, having no fondness for this disciple of the noble clan. One constable went to ask about the incident at the vendor's stall, while he and Wu Xiong approached Wang Anfeng. The young man was currently holding that narrow demon blade, pulling it out from the wall. Under the moonlight, observing the blade revealed intricate patterns oozing a chilling air, indicating its extraordinary nature. Yang Jingming stopped three steps behind him and greeted him with a fist-bow and a smile: "I am Yang Jingming, currently the city's patrol officer. I must thank the young hero for capturing this scoundrel, otherwise, today might have seen innocent blood spilled." Wang Anfeng turned to see the patrol attire on the two men and returned the gesture, saying: "No need for such courtesy, Officer Yang. I merely happened upon the scene..." "Oh, and this straight blade was used by the assassin; should it be considered evidence?" He then passed the handle of the longsword to the latter. Yang Jingming did not recognize the identity of the young man before him, but deduced from the slightest clues that he was a martial artist of high caliber. Seeing his amiable speech and proper conduct, he felt spontaneously more favorable toward him, took the long sword, and engaged in a friendly conversation. Meanwhile, a patrol officer had already lifted the assassin, shackling his limbs with black iron chains. It was only then that the officer noticed fresh blood dripping from the corner of the assassin's mouth. His teeth had been completely smashed, making it impossible for him to bite his tongue in suicide, let alone secret any poison there, which slightly altered his expression, adding a layer of understanding toward the amiable young man in blue. As they prepared to take the criminal away, they heard a low mutter: "Hey... do you want to know who is behind all this?" The patrol officer hesitated briefly, and in that moment, the martial artist from Danfeng Valley, though shackled, suddenly surged with vigorous qi and circulating internal strength, breaking free from the restraints meant for a Ninth Rank Martial Artist, and stormed toward Wang Anfeng like a dying beast, his mouth wide open, emitting an indistinct and frenzied roar. The murderous intent closed in. Wang Anfeng almost instinctively reacted, his right hand gripping the handle of his longsword; he drew his sword in an instant, causing the assassin to shudder and freeze on the spot. His neck had been penetrated directly by Wang Anfeng's wooden sword. Life ceased. After he drew his sword, Wang Anfeng only then recovered his senses, but it was already too late. The young man didn't dodge or evade, taking the blow squarely. In the next moment, his meridians shattered, gushing out a great amount of blood. It was evident that he had used a secret technique to stimulate the internal strength in his body, enduring great pain to shatter his Dantian's cultivation as the cost of exerting force. But he was not Wang Anfeng's match before, let alone now with severe injuries? Wang Anfeng instinctively sheathed his sword, looking at the assassin before him without a trace of pity, only feeling that this person deserved death, even feeling a sense of cathartic relief from revenge, yet he was unsure why he had acted this way. He slightly furrowed his brow and said: "Why did he seek death?" Yang Jingming, holding his sword defensively, sneered in response: "Ha, seems he knew what he had done, knew his own fate." "Suicide out of fear of crime, nothing new." "But dying like this is indeed too easy for such an inhuman beast!" Wang Anfeng nodded, did not speak, but took out a cloth to gently wipe the blood from his sword. The martial artist from Danfeng Valley opened his mouth but could not make a sound, only thick blood flowing out. His dimming vision slowly turned to see Wang Anfeng and Yang Jingming's faces gradually becoming meaningless shades, growing dimmer, then merging into the deepest memory he had. The sun was bright, the sky was blue. Back then, he was six years old. Playing with mud in his family's yard when a tall, skinny young stranger beckoned him from outside the gate. He went over... A voice from a month ago echoed in his ears. "We've found your old home, your mother, she's still alive..." "But back then, well, having lost her son, she cried her eyes blind, though her health is still good." "So this time..." The middle-aged man in front of him touched his nose, smiling warmly. "Abandoned child, will you go or not?" "Of course, you have a choice, after all, we're all family here, and you know I'm always good to people in Jianghu, everything is negotiable." "...I, will go." The malevolence in the assassin's heart slowly dispersed, his scarred face twisted. With his throat pierced, he opened his mouth, making only a faint, indistinct sound that only he understood. "Sorry, Mom..." "I should have listened back then." "I was wrong." The young man's body swayed, falling forward to the ground, but not completely collapsing; instead, he fell in a kneeling position. From his posture, life had utterly left him, but his eyes were unwillingly wide open, shedding tears of blood. His life of sin, deserving death, the blood on his hands, even dying a thousand times over couldn't cleanse his guilt. In Jianghu, no one is without grievances. S~eaʀᴄh the NôvelFire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. PS: First update served. Thanks for the generous donation from another flying saucer, ah, it's Sunday tomorrow, extra update...

Chapter 117 Death with eyes open (1/2)

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