Chapter Forty-Four: The Second Holy Son

This was a place reminiscent of a battlefield from ancient times. The land was stained crimson, devastation stretching as far as the eye could see. Massive trees were shattered into segments, and the ground was scarred with countless ravines. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, blood flowed for miles, and the earth was rent by vast, gaping fissures.

In the distance, a mighty figure stood suspended in the void, wielding a long blade and cutting down foes in all directions. From time to time, a blade light hundreds of feet long would cleave down from the air, striking the ground with a thunderous crash. In an instant, mountains crumbled and the earth caved in.

The man’s long blade swept through the void with grand, sweeping arcs, a blazing trail ravaging the skies. From high above, broken bodies would sometimes fall, blood raining down like a storm.

Behind him stood a gentle woman with long hair cascading over her shoulders. Elsewhere, battle raged like a surging inferno, but where she waited, it was as if a paradise untouched by chaos had emerged amid the turmoil, utterly unscathed.

“Endless battle, ceaseless slaughter. I wage war not for all the world, but only to guard a pure land for you.”

In the void, Ye Feng’s ethereal form, nearly indistinguishable from the air itself, watched in silence.

The moment he and the monkey entered the fairy garden, a powerful force had torn Ye Feng’s spirit away and flung him into this place. Faced with this apocalyptic scene, and that towering figure, Ye Feng’s eyes grew moist.

This—this was what it meant to protect. Not war for the sake of the world, but to guard a patch of pure land for the one you love.

No one knew how long the slaughter raged before, at last, the densely packed, locust-like ranks of powerful foes unleashed an aura so terrifying it swallowed up that mighty figure.

Looking at that unwavering, resolute body, a nameless sorrow welled up in Ye Feng’s heart, heavy as a ten-thousand-pound boulder, leaving him breathless.

It felt as if he had experienced it himself—a dirge for the end of days, bidding farewell to a fading hero.

“You slay your foes with blade in hand; I shall play the zither, my fate rising and falling with yours!”

Ye Feng murmured to himself. These were the woman’s final, eternal words—the hero standing against the end, blade in hand, his beloved refusing to abandon him, her fate bound to his.

You guard my pure land; I will follow you through life and death.

Ye Feng threw his head back in a long, anguished cry, tears streaming down his face like rain. He could not stop, could not be still.

“To protect—even at the cost of my life, even if faced with ten thousand enemies—as long as I draw breath, you shall be safe!” Ye Feng cried to the heavens.

At that moment, the bottleneck that had trapped him for so long instantly shattered and vanished without a trace.

In the City of Shrouded Heavens, within the Arena of Fierce Battle—

Now, the arena was silent. Many cultivators gazed in near despair at the refined young man standing atop the platform, then turned to look at the elite camp of the capital, saying nothing.

Within that camp, the wild, barbaric aura of the Demon of Slaughter had waned; blood dripped from his lips, staining his collar—his wounds were grave.

“So this is your so-called peak strength? It is nothing special!” The handsome man on stage turned and spoke calmly.

He had the same long black hair as the young man of the Martial Empire, but his eyes were an uncanny blue. This was the Second Holy Son of the Sacred Land.

It was he who, when the Sacred Land’s champions were all but suppressed, turned the tide by defeating five of the capital’s elites in succession, and finally vanquished the Demon of Slaughter, who had already stepped into the Spirit King realm, within ten moves.

“Is there anyone else who wishes to fight? If I cannot defeat you within ten moves, I will concede the match.”

“The Second Holy Son of the Sacred Land… one of the most outstanding among the younger generation. Why has he come here?”

Low murmurs and sharp intakes of breath rippled through the crowd. Clearly, many were displeased by such arrogance, but none dared underestimate his strength.

“Is there no one willing to face me? Where is all your earlier bluster? Is the Martial Empire’s young generation so bereft of talent that only that barbarian can stand out?” The Second Holy Son was brazen beyond compare, drawing cold, disgruntled snorts from many.

Yet none dared face him openly; even the Demon of Slaughter, now a Spirit King, had suffered miserable defeat. In the City of Shrouded Heavens, the Second Holy Son was nearly invincible.

“Let me try!” In a corner, Galo slowly set down his teacup, took up his iron sword in both hands, and strode out from the crowd.

Onstage, the Second Holy Son smiled. “You must be Galo, the so-called Sword Demon? The one who has defeated several of our Sacred Land’s top experts…”

Galo said nothing. The iron sword he had previously held in an embrace now rested firmly in his grasp. With one hand on the hilt, he gently ran his other hand along the blade, gazing at it with an intensity that bordered on obsession—as if the sword were his lover.

“Invincible and selfless—excellent! An apt title, Sword Demon.” The Second Holy Son laughed coldly, then turned, saying, “If I do not defeat you within one hundred moves, I will admit defeat.”

Facing the Second Holy Son, Galo replied coldly, “You have fought multiple bouts in a row. Rest a quarter hour before we begin.”

“Thank you for your concern, but it’s not necessary.”

Even as the words left his lips, the Second Holy Son sprang forward. His body spun like a drill, whirling skyward, spiritual power swirling around him. In an instant, a sword of purple spiritual energy coalesced in his hand and crashed down in a vertical slash.

“Since they call you Sword Demon, I shall meet sword with sword!”

Below, Galo stood as steady as a mountain, unmoving, though fury flashed in his eyes.

“Insult me if you must—but insult the Way of the Sword, and I will cut you down!”

This time, Galo did not hold back. Moving as heart willed, his long sword traced a mysterious arc through the air.

The Sword of Supreme Freedom!

Boom—

Like a comet crashing to earth, Galo’s iron sword drew a dazzling streak, lancing into the void and colliding with the purple sword light with a ringing crash.

He did not move often, but when he did, he soared to the heavens.

Galo shot upward, and in an instant, his iron sword clashed with the Second Holy Son’s blade a hundred times in rapid succession. In the sky, purple spiritual energy and invisible sword qi crisscrossed, and even the faintest ripples from their battle left the onlookers pale with shock.

Boom—

After a mighty collision, both men landed back on the ground.

The very next moment, Galo took the initiative, charging forward with his iron sword to cleave at the Second Holy Son.

Sword qi raged in all directions; even the arena, built of the sturdiest material, was scarred by deep fissures.

Only now did the crowd truly grasp how terrifying these two combatants were.

On the other side, the Second Holy Son met the onslaught without fear. His sword of spiritual power swept out, sending purple sword light, several yards long, howling through the air to meet the true sword qi blow for blow.

Clang!

At last, Galo’s sword met the purple spiritual blade head-on, sparks flying as if the purple sword were tangible steel.

The Mark of the Kunpeng!

In the end, the Second Holy Son broke his earlier promise, dismissing his spiritual sword. Forming seals with both hands, he let out a cry like the screech of a mythical bird. Suddenly, a giant raptor, nearly ten meters long, materialized in midair and dove at Galo.

“This… this is a spiritual technique imbued with a hint of divine power!” Below, the baby-faced He Tao gazed in shock at the enormous bird-form above.