Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Might of Feimo

Moshan sensed an anomaly in the blade and looked down, his expression shifting drastically. He strained his arm, attempting to wrench the Shanchuan Sword free.

Sensing a numbing sensation radiating from the Shanchuan Sword, Lin Kuang made a split-second decision. He lifted his right foot and kicked toward Moshan.

The kick arrived in an instant, striking Moshan’s stomach with the force of a massive iron barrel. Moshan’s body recoiled, bowing into an arch, yet he gripped his right arm tight; the Shanchuan Sword seemed to come alive in his hand, spinning with a life of its own.

Lin Kuang, feeling a sharp pain as his bones ground against the Shanchuan Sword—as if they had struck something formidable—instantly retreated to his original position. He clutched his wound with his left hand and scrambled away from Moshan.

Deprived of its anchor, Moshan’s body was sent flying by the force of the kick. He skidded back a full meter before managing to steady himself, gasping for air as his chest heaved. The Shanchuan Sword trembled slightly in his grip. Moshan’s gaze sharpened; this battle was far more complex than he had anticipated. If even the Shanchuan Sword could not pierce his opponent’s defense, he would have to target the vulnerable flesh of his head.

"That was close! It almost went in—thank goodness for my quick reaction," Lin Kuang thought to himself.

True energy flowed through his hands, and as he held his sword, Feimo, vertically before his chest, it began to turn black. The aura that emerged in that fleeting moment felt hauntingly familiar. It was the same move Lin Kuang had failed to complete earlier—the one that could blot out the sky. This time, having learned his lesson, he channeled his power much faster; the blade turned pitch black almost instantaneously. Even the wound previously opened by the Shanchuan Sword began to close, leaving no trace of injury behind.

Lin Kuang’s breathing turned inward, and the aura of the Feimo sword surged violently. He let out a thunderous roar.

"Ink Ruler!"

Dust from the surroundings billowed, immediately coating the Feimo sword and causing it to expand slowly until it reached nearly twenty feet in length. Looking up, it seemed to pierce the pitch-black sky, descending in an instant toward Moshan.

Violent winds whipped around them, centered on Moshan. His clothes fluttered wildly, and as he stood with his arm raised, holding his sword, he possessed the true air of a master. This powerful technique had manifested in a heartbeat, locking onto Moshan. Moshan tried to move, but found himself paralyzed; a crushing pressure surrounded him, leaving him no room to dodge.

Moshan froze. It seemed that preventing him from using this technique earlier had been a wise choice indeed.

Watching the Feimo sword descend from the heavens, Moshan steeled his heart. With a surge of strength in his ankles, he swung the Shanchuan Sword to meet the ink-black blade. From a distance, it looked like a lone, fragile figure attempting to hold back a gargantuan shadow. For a brief, brilliant moment, the small figure was struck down to the ground without resistance.

Moshan knelt on one knee, his right hand holding his sword horizontally beneath the massive shadow of the blade. His arm trembled; perhaps in the next second, the blow would cleave him in two.

"How could I be defeated by a weakling human like you? Even in my most diminished state, you are nothing!" Moshan’s face twisted as he spat out the words, refusing to concede.

"Even now, you still mock me! Is my strength truly not enough to force you to go all out?" Lin Kuang pondered.

"Am I really so worthy of your contempt? In this world, only the strong remain standing! It has been so since ancient times!" Lin Kuang roared, pouring a continuous stream of true energy through his arm into the Feimo sword.

A sharp cracking sound erupted from Moshan’s legs as they struggled to support him—the sound of bone straining under pressure. His grip on the sword loosened slightly, and the Shanchuan Sword, no longer held firmly by Moshan beneath the colossal blade, began to spin in place.

The Shanchuan Sword erupted in dazzling lightning, which surged directly into the ink-black shadow. The dark silhouette began to crumble from the top down, losing its form entirely. Seeing this, Lin Kuang let out a cold snort, as if he had anticipated this outcome. He sighed softly.

"Ink Sorrow!"

The collapsing sword shadow abruptly stopped its disintegration, splitting into two halves. The hilt vanished, while the other half surged toward Moshan with blinding speed.

Moshan’s brows furrowed, and he rolled to the left. The shadow flew past, but as his ears twitched, he realized the blade was curving back! He scrambled to move in the opposite direction.

"Ink Edge!"

No sooner had the words left his lips than the shadow returned directly to Lin Kuang’s hand. With a flicker of movement, he appeared before the kneeling Moshan. The Feimo blade widened instantly, its sharp edge biting into flesh. One more inch, and it would have pierced his heart. A closer look revealed that the wound was identical to the one Moshan had inflicted on Lin Kuang just moments ago.

"A mere Postnatal martial artist, lacking in cultivation, yet resorting to life-draining forbidden arts—you have enough to be proud of for lasting this long against me," Lin Kuang said, looking down at Moshan with arrogant eyes.

"I can feel your soul trembling at this very moment. I suspect you can no longer remain possessed within this vessel!"

"My strength has suffered a grievous blow! I possess not even a tenth of my former power. Had this been the past, a mere flick of my finger would have left you utterly defenseless!" Moshan replied coldly, his grip still firm on the Shanchuan Sword.

"Ha!" Lin Kuang threw his head back in arrogant laughter, the Feimo sword embedded in Moshan’s body trembling along with him. "I am not that naive brat Lin Feng, easily lured away by a simple taunt!"

"I can tell you are no ordinary person! Do you know? Those who might one day stand at the pinnacle of power are all extraordinary—they are never ordinary!" Lin Kuang whispered suddenly.

"And then?" Moshan asked calmly.

"And so! You must die!" Lin Kuang’s face contorted instantly, the Feimo sword poised to pierce Moshan’s heart.

"Wait!"

A whistling sound tore through the air from the east, reminiscent of a gale and the sharp ringing of a blade.

Lin Kuang’s expression changed instantly. Gazing at the incoming sword, his arrogance evaporated. He withdrew the Feimo sword in a flash and retreated backward.

The sword shadow streaked past Moshan’s eyes. He felt a sense of déjà vu. He turned his gaze toward the east, where a black silhouette was rapidly growing larger, charging toward him at breakneck speed. It was the person he hated with a strange, inexplicable intensity—the one with whom he had traded blood-stained blows just yesterday, yet who now came to his rescue.

"Haopo?"