Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Discord Among the Five Peaks

“Damn it!”

Zuo Lengchan was trapped within the whirlpool of swords and could not break free. Forced to go along with Yang Wenhao’s rhythm, he could only wield his sword with all his might. Yet Yang Wenhao’s pace was so relentless that Zuo Lengchan found himself teetering on the edge of defeat.

“Alliance Leader Zuo, is this all you’ve got?” Yang Wenhao’s mocking gaze was full of derision in Zuo Lengchan’s eyes.

Suddenly, Zuo Lengchan spotted a flaw in Yang Wenhao’s defense. Seizing the fleeting opportunity, he gathered his energy in his left hand, parried with his sword in his right, and then struck out with a palm imbued with chilling energy.

The Icy True Qi was Zuo Lengchan’s signature technique—if it invaded the body, it would instantly spread throughout, rendering the victim’s movements sluggish, as if frozen.

“Hmph…” Yang Wenhao’s lips curled in a faint smile, as if everything was proceeding just as he had expected.

When Zuo Lengchan saw that expression, his heart leapt in alarm. He wanted to pull back, but it was already too late.

He had made the decision to forcefully separate the two of them, for he had fallen into Yang Wenhao’s rhythm—an utterly terrifying thing. Yet, he never imagined that Yang Wenhao’s apparent opening had been a deliberate trap.

A shrill cry echoed across Victory Peak.

Everyone, whether man or woman, felt their hearts skip a beat.

“My hand… my hand…”

The hand with which Zuo Lengchan had struck at Yang Wenhao was severed.

Blood gushed forth in an endless stream, like a small creek.

Yang Wenhao’s expression was indifferent. With a flick of his sword, the blood was flung onto the ground.

“Alliance Leader Zuo, you are the head of Songshan Sect. You can’t possibly fall so easily, can you?” His words were laced with biting scorn.

All who witnessed this scene were stunned.

At the beginning, they had all believed that Zuo Lengchan would surely kill Yang Wenhao. Even after hundreds of exchanges, Zuo Lengchan still seemed to have the upper hand.

Yet in a single move, Zuo Lengchan was defeated.

They were utterly mistaken.

“Brother Yang…” Within the ranks of Mount Heng, Yilin, seated in the deputy’s position, gazed at Yang Wenhao, her eyes alight with admiration.

“Alliance Leader Zuo, let me aid you!”

A figure leaped out from the Taishan Sect’s ranks, sword in hand, charging at Yang Wenhao.

“You really think just any stray dog or cat can take my life?” Yang Wenhao sneered, swinging his sword.

In that instant, the Taishan disciple was shocked and tried to parry, but his sword was broken, and Yang Wenhao’s blade traced a long, bloody line across his chest.

“You…” The Taishan disciple’s heart was severed—he fell dead on the spot.

“Ding... Congratulations to the host for slaying Yu Yinzi of Taishan Sect. Reward: one hundred points.”

“Junior Brother!” Yu Jizi, the new head of Taishan, sprang to his feet, eyes wide with fury, glaring at Yang Wenhao.

“Slaughtering the innocent—demonic conduct! Fiend, I’ll kill you to avenge my junior brother!” Yu Jizi drew his sword and charged at Yang Wenhao, intent on vengeance.

“Your junior brother? Even if your master were here, it would make no difference.”

Once again, with a single strike, Yang Wenhao’s sword severed Yu Jizi’s heart. Taishan’s new sect leader fell dead to the ground.

“Is there anyone else who thinks I deserve to die? Step forward, and let’s test our swords.” Yang Wenhao swept his gaze over the assembly. Each person he looked at shrank back, terrified of being targeted by this demon.

“You are all righteous figures of the martial world! This man is a demonic scourge—please, slay him!” Zuo Lengchan gritted his teeth, his face pale from blood loss.

At this, Yue Buqun rose to his feet, cupping his hands to Yang Wenhao and speaking with a sly, insincere tone:

“Hero Yang, you are a disciple of Wudang. Why do you slaughter the innocent and kill our kind? If you refuse to explain yourself to us today, I fear you will not leave this place alive.”

Yue Buqun sought to assert his authority, intending to take the lead.

“What? A Wudang disciple?”

“No way, he’s actually from Wudang?”

“It’s been ages since anyone from Wudang appeared. If it’s true, then Wudang must answer for this.”

The crowd buzzed with speculation. Even Master Fangzheng from Shaolin, seated nearby, frowned in contemplation.

Yang Wenhao smiled faintly at Yue Buqun. “Master Yue, when have I ever claimed to be from Wudang?”

“You!” Yue Buqun began to retort, but then realized Yang Wenhao had never actually admitted to being a Wudang disciple—it had all been his own assumption.

“I have great admiration for Master Yue, who dares to sacrifice his manhood for the sake of unrivaled power.” Whether Yang Wenhao’s words were praise or mockery was up to the listener’s interpretation.

Yue Buqun’s face went deathly pale. Others might not grasp the implication, but he understood all too well—he had castrated himself to master the Evil-Repelling Sword Technique, hence his formidable skill.

“You seek death!” Yue Buqun snapped in fury.

“I fear nothing.” Yang Wenhao looked at him with a half-smile.

“Everyone, help me slay this man,” Yue Buqun declared. “If he is allowed to escape, the martial world will fall into chaos!”

Yue Buqun sought to rally the entire Five Mountains Sword Alliance to his cause, though whether he would succeed was another matter.

A disciple from Mount Heng spoke up: “Master Yue, you are mistaken. This young hero bears no grudge against us. If we provoke him, we invite disaster upon ourselves. Mount Heng will take no part in this.”

Yue Buqun was momentarily taken aback, then recalled Yang Wenhao’s old acquaintance with Yilin, and the recent discord over the merger of the sects. He quickly understood.

He next looked to Mr. Mo Da of Hengshan, who sat with eyes closed, hands moving as if playing an invisible erhu, lost in his own world.

Yue Buqun’s expression grew grim.

As for the older generation of Taishan, only three had come today—one had died earlier in the grand hall, and now two more had fallen. Only ordinary disciples remained, none of whom were worth much.

While Yue Buqun’s face darkened, the Songshan Sect made their move.

“Brother Yue, Songshan will aid you!” Zuo Lengchan was not yet dead—though he’d lost a hand, his hatred for Yang Wenhao burned fiercely.

He no longer cared about any grudges with Yue Buqun; he simply wanted Yang Wenhao dead.

“Brother Zuo, please rest. I will bring you this man’s head,” said Yue Buqun.

“Very well.” The pale-faced Zuo Lengchan nodded, then ordered his disciples, “Summon Lin Pingzhi to assist Brother Yue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yang Wenhao had long been aware of Lin Pingzhi’s circumstances within Songshan. He was not the only one—Yue Buqun knew as well. That Zuo Lengchan now called for Lin Pingzhi was not entirely unexpected. In times such as these, every extra pair of hands was a hope for victory.

When numbers press hard enough, even a tiger can be overwhelmed.