A Heart Without Fear

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The two hurried back, and despite persistent questioning from their fellow disciples, they remained silent. Wu Zhi refused to yield, and Song Linjie was ready to draw his sword and confront Zhang, but before Duan Tian could be passively unsheathed, as if guided by an unseen force, it sought another master.

Song Linjie spread his legs wide in a bow stance, sinking into the rain-soaked grass, embedding the scabbard deeply into the ground. Duan Tian revealed a faint glint of its blade, and if not for Song Linjie’s strong pressure, it would have burst forth like a comet shooting into the sky.

A crimson mirage of energy blossomed fiercely around Song Linjie’s body. The two companions nearby were forced to take a step back under this overwhelming aura. In broad daylight, someone dared to seize his sword—how could he not be enraged? Song Linjie roared hoarsely, “Get back!”

Only when Song Linjie’s imposing presence sufficiently subdued the sudden blade’s intent did Duan Tian’s spirit calm and settle.

The two who seldom wielded swords remained unaware, but Song Linjie had already guessed: in this entire world, only two could achieve such a feat—one was his grandfather, and the other was the Northern Domain’s Blade Sage, Du Haifanxin. Song Linjie exhaled deeply and whispered, “He’s here.”

No sooner had Song Linjie spoken than they all looked up sharply. A figure was approaching, wielding a sword, accompanied by nine small flying knives. Unlike the domineering aura of Sword King Song Qingtian, this man exuded the refined elegance of a Confucian sage, so much so that one could not help but call him a celestial being.

Indeed, the Blade Sage lived up to his immortal appearance. At this season, gardenias bloomed throughout the academy’s mountain paths. Du Haifanxin’s arrival made the flowers vie for brilliance, yet only the gardenias shone brightest, their fragrance pure and rich, naturally overshadowing all other blossoms. This was linked to his mastery of the blade, earning him the epithet “Flower God.”

Du Haifanxin strode past the many disciples on the rugged mountain trail, heading straight for the summit, calling out loudly, “Brother Song, I have come as promised. I ask for a duel.”

His voice resonated through the air, stirring the disciples into a hurried ascent. Even passersby lingering at the mountain’s base heard the words like thunder. According to Song Qingtian’s usual rules, anyone challenging on the mountain could be watched from the mid-mountain, prompting eager crowds to rush upward, hoping to secure a good vantage point to witness the masters’ duel.

At this moment, only the secluded headmaster, Jing Wuchen, and the stoic figure on the fifteenth floor of the academy’s main building remained unmoved. Yang Shanshu, guarding the mountain gate, had already forgotten the heavenly visitor and muttered, “Wow, that man’s incredible—no way to stop him. Should I intervene or not?”

The three at the mountain’s base, previously quarrelling, arrived and, unwilling to waste time, displayed their badges. Wu Zhi reminded, “Hey, big guy, aren’t you coming to watch? A grandmaster duel isn’t something you see every day.”

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Yang Shanshu shook his head: “No, I have to guard the mountain gate.”

The three shook their heads and ignored the old fool, racing up to the summit at full speed.

As the academy’s disciples gathered en masse, the passersby halfway up the mountain halted upon seeing Yang Shanshu guarding the gate. In the past, some had angrily attempted to force their way up by strength, only to be swiftly stopped and crushed by Yang Shanshu’s towering frame wielding a staff. Since then, people learned to be sensible. Occasionally, skilled visitors would arrive but understood the unspoken rules of the martial world—not to injure him but to pass alone. Yet by today’s standards, such skill was scarce.

On the empty Yao Mountain, the Blade Sage slowly descended, sheathing his sword and standing silently, awaiting Brother Song’s appearance.

After Du Haifanxin landed, Zhang Ling finally saw the Blade Sage’s face clearly. Though he was similar in age to Director Song, he appeared as a mature scholar, well-preserved and dignified.

For most academy disciples, this was their first encounter with the Blade Sage. Only Li Jingqiu, a disciple of the Sword King and grandfather, had once traveled the martial world with his master and had seen the sage’s true visage.

They exchanged silent glances, waiting two or three hours before the director finally appeared.

Song Qingtian walked slowly forward, shedding his usual domineering demeanor to reveal a calm expression. Du Haifanxin was surprised and worried, asking, “Brother Song, what has happened? Is your injury still not healed?”

Song Qingtian’s imposing aura returned with force as he spoke in a firm voice, “It matters not. As promised today, I, Song Qingtian, a grandmaster of this generation, will not break my word.”

Sensing the imminent clash between the two grandmasters, the crowd quickly dispersed. The nine flying knives that had landed rose again, hovering motionless beside Du Haifanxin. Those at the mountain’s midsection felt the tension as well. The bored onlookers sitting on the ground suddenly sprang up, all gazing toward the summit. Alas, nothing could yet be seen, and they wondered whether the combat would descend the mountain—otherwise, this journey might be in vain.

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Song Qingtian bent low, wielding a great blade. Though it was not among the world’s top ten famous swords, nor as renowned as Du Haifanxin’s third-ranked “Ice Blossom” blade, in his hands it transcended countless divine weapons. The finest weapon was not simply the best but the one most suited to its wielder. Just as the two were about to draw swords, Song Linjie stepped forward, drawing his blade to stand before his grandfather. His voice was firm: “Senior Du Haifanxin, my grandfather was injured saving me and thus delayed this duel until now. Yet you come with great momentum to compete for the title of the world’s greatest swordsman while my grandfather has not fully recovered. I do not intend to stop this battle—I lack the ability—but I wish to take the first strike in my grandfather’s stead.”

Du Haifanxin recalled the story—he had heard of this event: the blade’s power nurtured for five years was used to save the grandson, leaving the wielder injured. Surprised by the severity of the injury, he asked, “Are you Song Linjie?”

Song Linjie’s eyes were resolute and unmoved. He nodded. Du Haifanxin smiled gently, “Very well. I have long wished to see just how formidable the grandson saved at such great cost truly is.”

Song Qingtian stepped back a few paces, his face unchanged but filled with quiet satisfaction.

Without hesitation, Song Linjie showed his respect to the grandmaster without fear. He sheathed the Duan Tian blade into the earth, activating its secret technique. His energy surged to its peak, even surpassing last night’s level. The crimson mirage and flames extended outward by a full yard. His legs cracked the bluestone path as he channeled all his energy into Duan Tian. The stone beneath the blade splintered with intricate, sprawling fractures. After a long moment, faint red fire patterns solidified. Song Linjie’s strength was nearly spent.

At the perfect moment, Duan Tian burst free from the ground, blasting a crater into the bluestone. The rejuvenated blade ignited with a dazzling ethereal flame, brilliant and radiant.

Song Linjie began stepping forward, as if dragging a mountain, each step leaving a deep mark. When five yards from Du Haifanxin, he leapt up and struck down mercilessly, with no flashy variations—only the same domineering power as Song Qingtian—aiming straight at the other’s forehead.

Du Haifanxin remained calm and composed. With a light flick, he sent a flying knife named “Red Tassel” spinning forward. The blade seemed alive, responding to the command as it surged to meet the strike.

The two vastly different swords clashed with a low, sharp hum, locked in a tense stalemate midair.