Chapter Forty-Two: Passing Down the Art

After a night of torrential rain, the corpse had swollen, its blood completely drained, staining the soil beneath it a dark purple-black. Lin Feng frowned deeply. He didn’t need to give orders—at his silent signal, the two guards swung their blades, cutting open the dead man’s robes to examine him carefully.

“Commander, look here!” Liu Yun pointed with the tip of his knife three inches below the man’s left armpit. There, barely visible, was a tiny, sharp needle, so fine it was easy to miss without close inspection.

Zuo Qingcheng knit his thick brows, scrutinizing the mark for a long while without recognition before shaking his head and turning to Lin Feng.

“I have no idea what this sign means either,” Lin Feng replied with a wry smile. “Brother Liu, see if there are any other items on him.”

Other than a few scraps of silver, some gold ingots, and a handful of sleeve-darts, nothing else was found on the assassin. Liu Yun and Liao Kai dug a pit in the wild and buried the body. Disguised, the party set out northeast along the main road.

The wilderness proved uneventful. Two days later, they arrived at a village where they bought a cart and dressed as country folk, heading toward the realm of Qiuchi. Liu Yun and Liao Kai took turns driving; Zuo Qingcheng played the role of an old servant, Ye Ziyin appeared as a young rural master, and Lin Feng became his scholarly attendant. Alongside them trotted a large dog. Thus disguised, they passed through several towns without attracting the slightest suspicion.

That night, their cart stopped at an inn in Gaoshang Town. The group split up to buy food and wine. Lin Feng and Ye Ziyin entered their room, looked around, and then sat together at the small table.

“Ziyin, I have a sword technique here. Would you like to learn it?” Lin Feng asked with a gentle smile.

“Brother Lin, do you really think I could learn the sword?” Ye Ziyin’s eyes lit up with delight. Throughout the journey, he had witnessed much bloodshed without being able to help. The former prince, anxious and powerless, was eager to change.

Lin Feng rose, laughing. “Of course. Among the martial arts of the world, swordsmanship is not difficult to learn—much easier than my spear techniques. Your arms are long and slender, perfect for the sword. If you’re ever in danger, you’ll be able to defend yourself.”

Over the days of travel, Lin Feng had come to understand these companions a little better. Though Ye Ziyin appeared delicate, his character was proud and solitary, in some ways much like Lin Feng himself. After much thought, Lin Feng decided to teach him the “Illusory Cloud Sword Manual.” Though Elder Ye Kun had said it should not be passed to outsiders, Ye Ziyin was of his own bloodline, so it should not count as a betrayal.

Late that night, beneath a bright moon, Lin Feng and Ye Ziyin went out behind the inn to a secluded grove, with Wuzhui trailing behind.

“I never imagined you had such a prodigious memory, Ziyin. To let that talent go to waste would be a shame. This sword manual was handed down to me by an esteemed elder. It’s called the Illusory Cloud Sword Manual—its power is extraordinary, its changes unfathomable. When facing an enemy, even spirits and gods find it unpredictable. You must truly grasp its essence.” Since cultivating the Overlord’s Vigor, Lin Feng’s understanding of martial arts had deepened. The Illusory Cloud Sword Manual was created by Elder Ye Kun through meditating on the mists of Fallen Immortal Valley; its mysteries were profound beyond words.

Ye Ziyin had grown up deep within the palace walls, versed only in literature and calligraphy, with no experience of weapons. The wooden sword he used was a hasty carving by Zuo Qingcheng, and wielding it proved extremely difficult. Lin Feng was forced to recall everything he had learned over the years, guiding him with patience, practicing every move and stance together.

“Brother Lin, why can’t I feel the essence you’re speaking of?” After two hours of practice, they paused for a rest. Ye Ziyin kept going through the sword forms in his hands.

“Don’t be impatient. No one masters a martial art in a day. When I first studied just one move, it took me half a month. If I hadn’t faced life and death, I would never have understood its secret.” Lin Feng smiled.

“Is that so? Brother Lin, could you demonstrate your ultimate technique for me?”

Lin Feng laughed. “All right!” He stepped beneath a tree, raised his wine gourd, and took a deep swig. The liquor—fiery and foreign—filled him with energy.

“Ziyin, this move is called ‘Dominating the World Alone!’”

With a thunderous roar, he unleashed a punch. A gale howled forth, the air exploding in a rapid chain of booms. Trees snapped and crashed all around them. As Ye Ziyin turned to look again, Lin Feng’s entire aura had changed; standing there, he resembled a wild, primordial beast, poised to strike.

In the palace’s Lion Enclosure, Ye Ziyin had once seen the rare Snow Mastiff Lion from Jiyu—a fierce beast kept only by the royal family, capable of ripping apart tigers and leopards. Even the mountain monsters dared not approach it. Whether sitting or standing, it exuded the air of a king. At that moment, Lin Feng was just like that furious mastiff lion.

“Haha! Fascinating, fascinating! ‘Dominating the World Alone’—hmm? That name rings a bell…” Suddenly, peals of laughter echoed all around, metallic and resounding in the darkness. Both men’s faces changed dramatically. Wuzhui, who had been calmly meditating, suddenly howled, its fur bristling.

“Who’s there? Enough games! Come out!” Lin Feng seized his weapon, shielding Ye Ziyin behind him.

“Haha, boy! Take my punch!” A voice, but no figure—just as Lin Feng thought the enemy was bluffing, a blast of force erupted from ahead, swift as thunder, impossible to dodge.

“Hah!” In that critical instant, he staked everything, channeling all his spiritual power—Overlord’s Vigor surged forth! Fierce, blazing energy, the overwhelming might of “Dominating the World Alone,” crashed out to meet the oncoming force.

Boom! The impact sent Lin Feng flying dozens of yards, slamming him into a tree, which shattered with a crack.

“Brother Lin!” Ye Ziyin was stunned. That deadly blow—how could Lin Feng have survived?

“Cough…” Spitting out a mouthful of dust, Lin Feng staggered to his feet. No blood, no broken bones—he was entirely intact, even he could hardly believe it!

“Not bad, boy! You’ve got guts, daring to take on my Shadow-Stealing Divine Palm. But unfortunately, I didn’t even use a tenth of my strength. Try this one: ‘Sovereign’s Descent!’”

A colossal fist shadow swept down from the night sky, blotting out the heavens. From its center, hurricane winds blasted in all directions. Trees splintered, leaves whirled in a mad storm—the end of the world seemed at hand.

Beneath that fist shadow, all resistance was futile. Not only Lin Feng, but Ye Ziyin and Wuzhui too, felt a deep, crushing despair. Not even the thought of escape arose.

Compared to this “Sovereign’s Descent,” Lin Feng’s “Dominating the World Alone” was a mere jest.

The terrible fist plummeted toward Lin Feng. Even before it struck, the soil around him split and shattered, the earth exploding beneath the suffocating force—death was inevitable.

“Ah—!” Enveloped by the fist’s force, Lin Feng had nowhere to run. Rage and frustration welled up with nowhere to go; he threw his head back and roared.

His cry echoed across the land, resounding through the entire town. As death neared, a surge of white spiritual energy burst from within him, coalescing into the shadow of a dragon that soared defiantly upward!

A dragon’s cry shook the world, colliding with the invisible fist with a thunderous crash.

A blinding white light drowned out all else.

After the deafening explosion, silence fell. Not a sound could be heard in the forest.

Darkness returned, veiling the world. The three figures there seemed to have lost all sense, unmoving for a long while.

“Waaah! Damn it! You brat, you actually used your innate source power! Are you trying to die? Come, let’s go again!” The voice rang out once more, then paused, as if realizing something. “Wait… how could a cultivator have innate source power? He’s not…”

Amid this muttered confusion, a towering black figure suddenly appeared in the forest. Moving as though eyes grew beneath his feet, he glided over the broken branches and debris, his movements smooth as flowing water, without the slightest hindrance. In a blink, he stood before Lin Feng.

“What do you want?” Ye Ziyin, suddenly regaining his wits, shouted angrily, hand trembling on his wooden sword.

“Stay your hand!” From outside the woods, three figures rushed in—Zuo Qingcheng and the others, drawn by the commotion.

“Ignorant fools!” The black figure snorted. Instantly, everyone’s vision dimmed, their blood surging chaotically; all struggled to stay upright.

Lin Feng, silent until now, groaned and spat out a mouthful of dark blood, then slowly stood.

Staring at the figure before him, a furious fire blazed in Lin Feng’s heart.

“Die!” His knuckles whitened on his spear, face twisted with rage.

With a sweep of his wide sleeve, the black figure bound Lin Feng tight with a burst of energy—he was utterly unable to move. Before everyone’s eyes, a wild wind swept up, and both figures vanished without a trace.

“Where did our benefactor go? Quickly, scatter and search!” Zuo Qingcheng was aghast. Not only had the stranger whisked away Lin Feng, but even Wuzhui, a dozen yards away, had been taken. Such power—was he not a god?

On a nameless mountaintop, Lin Feng and the mysterious man stood facing the wind, with the Moon-Howling Wolf sprawled at their feet, pinned by a pressure so great it couldn’t lift its head.

“I have no wish to kill you. You, brat, went all out the moment you saw me! And you—don’t think I don’t know what’s on your mind,” the stranger said, half amused, turning to point at Wuzhui.

By moonlight, Lin Feng could finally see him clearly: exceptionally tall, with snow-white brows, eyes bright as stars, a round, rosy face with a faint smile. He looked to be fifty or sixty, but his real age was impossible to guess—he was utterly inscrutable.

“You—I have no enmity with you. Why did you attack me so viciously?” Lin Feng forced his eyes open, trying to read something from the man’s face. But that unconscious strike had drained all his spiritual energy; even speaking was an effort.

“Hahaha, boy, if I’d wanted to kill you, would you still be standing here talking nonsense? Are you from the Hundred Flowers Sect of Mount Qiyun?” The man’s tone was that of an ancient master, yet his manner was as playful as a child.

“How did you know?” Lin Feng met his gaze.

“I, Che Zhonglou, have traveled all corners of the world—how could I not know your origins? But tell me, what was that technique just now? How do you possess a dragon soul’s protection?”

“Dragon soul’s protection?” Lin Feng echoed, astonished.