Chapter 68: The Battle (Part Two)

Liu Ping did not lower his guard. The Daoist of Xuanshen had warned him: this magical item could inflict severe injuries, but could not kill. It was not an empty claim. Drawing the Azure Sù Sword, Liu Ping stood ready, composed and unhurried. He waited a while, but nothing stirred, surprising him.

"Could it be dead? The sword alone can't kill, but my sword intent was mingled within—perhaps it did, perhaps not," Liu Ping murmured, weighing the possibilities.

At that moment, a sudden and ominous premonition arose within him. Something was wrong… terribly wrong. Why had the monster not appeared? It couldn’t have been dispatched so easily. He rushed forward and discovered, among the ruins, a deep and bottomless pit.

Even the cleverest of beasts have three burrows; how could this malignant entity, lurking within the Wang family, not have an escape route? The abyss was dark, its depths unknown, and nowhere could he find Roy’s corpse. Instantly, Liu Ping understood: the creature had fled.

"Injured so badly, I shall see where you can escape!" Liu Ping snorted coldly and, without hesitation, jumped down.

The pit was not deep—only fifteen meters—but upon landing, he beheld a network of tunnels, large and small, tangled in every direction, countless as the roots of an ancient tree.

He could not help but be astounded, exclaiming, "This evil spirit dug so many holes beneath the Wang household—what is it, a rat?!"

His heart suddenly skipped; the foreboding sense that had wrapped around his soul grew stronger. As his chest loosened, Bai Zhi poked her head out and spoke, "Young master, I can smell the stench of the fiend. Let me guide you!"

Liu Ping was delighted. "Excellent!"

He pursued, guided by Bai Zhi’s keen senses, and soon circled back above ground. He emerged, blinking, to find himself in the very chamber where Wang Hong slept.

At the doorway lay two servant girls, dead in wretched fashion—blood streaming from all their orifices, faces twisted in terror.

The main door stood open. Liu Ping rushed in, and the scene within made his scalp explode; a surge of uncontrollable fury erupted, his hair bristling, teeth clenched. "Die!" he roared.

Inside, Roy’s body was scorched and battered, his aura weak, clearly gravely wounded. At that moment, Roy had slain Wang Hong, extracted his heart, and was devouring it, mouth smeared with blood, face twisted and savage. He savored each bite, expression of deep satisfaction, and with every mouthful, his strength revived. Suddenly, seeing Liu Ping enter with sword drawn, Roy was startled; the blade’s shrill song rose, and panic flashed across his mind—a sense of mortal peril overwhelming him. He retreated at once.

"Die, die, die!" Liu Ping saw Wang Hong murdered and was consumed by rage. Had he been more cautious and asked Wang Hong’s father to take him away, this tragedy might have been avoided. His eyes reddened with grief and fury; his sword raised, sword intent billowing, he targeted Roy’s head.

Unable to resist, Roy burst through the door. The household servants, drawn by the screams of the maids, saw the creature and were paralyzed with terror, collapsing in fright.

Not far off, the master of the house, Wang Bin, felt an ominous dread—a father’s intuition. He hurried over, and upon seeing the monster burst from his son's chamber, his heart went cold, staggering as disbelief filled his eyes. "My son! My son cannot be lost!"

With a hiss, Liu Ping followed, fury blazing, and with a single stroke, he severed Roy’s entire arm.

Roy screamed in agony, fleeing, unwilling to face him directly.

The severed arm sprayed green blood, sizzling as it hit the floor—corrosive and acidic.

"Die!" Liu Ping pressed the attack, pursuing relentlessly, sword poised to finish Roy.

At that moment, Roy’s gaze hardened, his expression fierce. "Liu Ping! I will kill you!" he snarled.

With that, Roy bit down on his tongue, spitting a torrent of vital blood. Though he had gained some life by consuming Wang Hong’s heart, his aura now collapsed once more. In that instant, a hundred years of cultivation burned away, his realm fell from the verge of demon commander back to the mid-stage demon general, but his presence swelled, demonic energy billowing.

Throughout the Wang household, save for Master Wang Bin, everyone shook as though seized by fever, faces pale with terror.

Liu Ping remained unafraid, confronting Roy head-on, sword intent surging. He employed no elaborate moves, just a single, decisive strike.

The sword fell, fierce and imbued with grand aura, as if it could sever anything.

To Liu Ping’s surprise, Roy did not fight back, but turned and fled.

"He sacrificed his vital essence, burned his cultivation, just to escape?" Liu Ping laughed in anger, swift as the wind, intercepting Roy.

"Tch!" Roy’s face twisted, unleashing his full strength.

Dark smoke billowed, sinister and thick, like a black dragon surging forth.

Unmoved, Liu Ping struck with his sword, cleaving the smoke in two, and pressed on.

Roy’s wariness deepened; with a flick of his palm, more black smoke surged forward.

Another sword flash split it apart.

But as the mist parted, Roy was gone. Liu Ping sensed a sudden danger behind him, chills racing up his spine—the fiend had somehow circled to his back.

He tried to turn and parry, but Roy’s claws slashed down; hurriedly, Liu Ping raised his sword just in time.

A sharp clang rang out as the Azure Sù Sword bent under the force. The blow was hastily blocked, not with full power, while Roy’s ambush was executed with all his might. Overwhelmed, Liu Ping was hurled backwards like a cannonball, crashing into a house.

"Ugh!" He could no longer restrain himself—blood spurted from his mouth, pain threatening to make him faint. Since arriving in this world, he had never suffered such grievous injuries.

Bai Zhi sprang from his arms, clearly shaken as well, her face pale but not so badly as Liu Ping. She looked at him, worry and sorrow in her eyes. "Young master, are you all right?"

"I told you, I will kill you!" Roy’s voice sounded from outside, closing in. Catching sight of Bai Zhi, his eyes gleamed. "Heh, a little fox as well—such pure blood. It’s been ages since I tasted such delicacy. Let me savor it."

Bai Zhi shuddered with fear, preparing to act, but was interrupted by a furious shout.

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Liu Ping swallowed the fresh blood rising in his throat, face twisted with rage. He sprang up, raised his sword, and struck.

Though his sword intent was powerful, it needed to hit to be effective. Roy, wary, dodged swiftly, and the blow missed.

"Is that all?" Roy sneered, easily evading the attack. "With such feeble strength, you think you can kill me?"

Grinding his teeth, Liu Ping swung again. "Faster, faster still. Stronger, even stronger!"

Roy dodged once more, prepared to mock him and counterattack, but his expression suddenly changed. He sensed something was wrong—a premonition of disaster rising in his heart. How could it be? Liu Ping was at the end of his rope; how could he still evoke such dread?

"I will kill you!" Enlightened by fury, Liu Ping shouted, "Strike the midstream, level the heavens with one sword!"

The first form of the Grand Sword: Level the Heavens!

He had spent a month in the heavens, lost in gentle dreams, but he was no man without ambition. Though his realm could not break through, his swordsmanship had been refined with bitter toil. He had continually pondered and practiced the Grand Sword’s intent, creating this move—though it was imperfect, not yet freely usable, and conceived in a spiritual state, his mortal body struggled to manifest it. Yet, through repeated battle with Roy, his sword intent surged, familiarity grew. Now, rage overwhelmed his heart, and the move was finally perfected.

One sword—just one—plunged Roy into icy despair, his eyes wide with disbelief and hopelessness.

Before he could react, with a sharp sound, his body was split in two. The surging sword intent shredded his soul entirely, annihilating him, leaving nothing behind. Roy vanished from the world forever.

Having slain his formidable foe, Liu Ping could not rejoice. He collapsed where he stood, gasping for breath, recovering his strength.

"Young master!" Bai Zhi hurried to him.

Though the malignant spirit was dead, Wang Hong was gone as well. Soon, the Wang household was filled with weeping.

In the mourning hall, a dozen members of the Wang family knelt, the air heavy with sorrow.

Murong Zizhu lay sobbing before Wang Hong’s corpse, heartbroken, nearly fainting from grief. "No, no, no! Wang Hong, you cannot leave me!"

Liu Ping stood before the body, full of remorse. "I am sorry," he said.

"It is nothing. This is my due, fate decreed it. You avenged me, Liu brother; how could I blame you?" Wang Hong’s soul stood nearby, speaking.

Liu Ping shook his head, words failing him.

"We can only be brothers in the next life," Wang Hong said, regretful, casting a glance at Murong Zizhu, a strange look flashing in his eyes. "Zizhu, forgive me. I was bewitched by that evil spirit and broke your heart..."

Murong Zizhu seemed to hear something, suddenly raising her head and looking around.

"He heard?" Wang Hong asked.

"Perhaps—a bond of hearts," Liu Ping murmured.

Murong Zizhu abruptly stood, knelt before Liu Ping, and pleaded, "Master Liu, please save my cousin!"

Common wisdom says the dead cannot return to life. What could be done for one who had passed? Murong Zizhu’s sudden plea stunned everyone, all eyes turning to Liu Ping.

"I will try," Liu Ping replied, nodding.