Chapter 71: The Demon God's Descent, Breathless Silence
The Evil-Repelling Sword Technique was something Yang Wenhao also knew. When Yang Wenhao used it to block his sword moves, Yue Buqun was instantly dumbfounded.
“How did you learn the Evil-Repelling Sword Technique?”
Yang Wenhao pushed Yue Buqun away, looking at him coolly. “Have you forgotten what happened that day?”
“You!” Yue Buqun stared at Yang Wenhao, his eyes blazing with rage. “You deliberately placed the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual before me.”
“Haha!” Yang Wenhao laughed loudly. “How does it feel, knowing this technique severs one’s lineage?”
“You! You’re courting death!” Yue Buqun, furious beyond measure, thrust his sword at Yang Wenhao, the blade flashing coldly.
Yang Wenhao’s sword gleamed with silver light as his steps blurred into phantoms, deftly avoiding Yue Buqun’s attack. He then countered, swinging his sword back at Yue Buqun.
“It’s over now!”
Yang Wenhao’s blade struck like an unparalleled edge, cleaving toward Yue Buqun. Yue Buqun was shocked, hastily raising his sword to block.
“Break for me!”
Yang Wenhao shouted as his sword struck Yue Buqun’s blade. Just as Yue Buqun thought he’d managed to block, a shattering sound echoed.
“This is bad!”
Though Yue Buqun reacted quickly, trying to throw aside his weapon and dodge, it was still too late. Yang Wenhao’s alloy sword, sharp as if forged by the gods, sliced through Yue Buqun’s sword and shattered it, sending fragments toward him.
A spurt of blood—
Yue Buqun was struck across the chest and thrown back. He clutched his chest, but the blood pouring from his wound was far beyond what one hand could staunch. It dripped from his blue robe onto the ground.
“Yue Buqun, it’s over, isn’t it?”
Yang Wenhao walked up to Yue Buqun, his sword pointing at Yue Buqun’s throat. The tip was barely a few centimeters away. With the slightest push, Yue Buqun would die, suffocated by a pierced throat.
Yue Buqun panted heavily, looking at Yang Wenhao. “Young Master Yang, when possible, show mercy…”
“Oh?” Yang Wenhao’s smile was half-mocking. “Weren’t you calling me a demon just moments ago? What’s this—an upright man begging a demon for mercy?”
Yue Buqun spoke gravely. “If you persist, Young Master Yang, you’ll bring calamity upon the world. You will become the scourge of the martial arts world, hunted by every sect. I beg you to turn back.”
“You talk too much.”
Yang Wenhao swung his sword.
Seeing this, Ning Zhongze cried out from afar, “No! Senior Brother!”
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“Father!” Yue Lingshan also exclaimed.
Clang!
Yang Wenhao swung his sword to repel the attacker. He frowned at the one who had intervened. “Lin Pingzhi, do you wish to die as well?”
“Yue Buqun may be guilty of countless crimes,” Lin Pingzhi said calmly, “but he is still my father-in-law. As a son-in-law, I cannot simply watch him die before my eyes.”
“Hmph…false righteousness.” Yang Wenhao sneered. “I’ll kill him first—what can you do to stop me?”
Suddenly, Yang Wenhao struck, sending a razor-sharp edge straight toward Yue Buqun.
Lin Pingzhi moved swiftly, his sword flashing into a blur as he blocked Yang Wenhao’s attack.
Yang Wenhao did not press further, merely looking at Lin Pingzhi. “Lin Pingzhi, I’ve already told you—Yue Buqun is doomed.”
As Lin Pingzhi looked on, puzzled, Yue Buqun’s face suddenly twisted in agony. Clutching his chest, his eyes bulged.
“I…am not willing!”
His eyes glazed over, and with a thud, he collapsed, his breath gone.
Witnessing this, Lin Pingzhi was shocked, then turned to Yang Wenhao. “You poisoned him!”
“I told you Yue Buqun was bound to die,” Yang Wenhao said coolly, “and not only him—you will die as well.”
“Hand over your life!” Lin Pingzhi tried to attack, but Yue Lingshan rushed to pull him back.
“Pingzhi, stop.” Yue Lingshan then looked at Yang Wenhao. “Yang Wenhao, I beg you—please stop. My father is already dead. Must you kill Pingzhi too?”
Yang Wenhao gazed at Yue Lingshan, unmoved. At this moment, Ning Zhongze approached.
“Xiao Yang, you’ve already killed my senior brother—surely that is enough.” Ning Zhongze’s eyes were reddened, the pain of Yue Buqun’s death evident.
That she did not confront Yang Wenhao with force was the best outcome. That she could speak to him with gentle words was already a mark of respect.
Yang Wenhao said nothing, sheathing his sword.
Though he did not answer, his actions spoke for themselves.
Passing Ning Zhongze and the others, Yang Wenhao walked step by step toward where Zuo Lengchan stood.
“What…what do you want!” Zuo Lengchan stared in terror at Yang Wenhao, seeing him as a harbinger of doom, come to claim his life.
“Chief of the Five Mountains Sword Sect Alliance, Zuo Lengchan.”
A scream rang out, making everyone’s heart jump.
“You…give back my senior brother’s life…”
Before the words were finished, Zuo Lengchan fell beneath Yang Wenhao’s sword, dying with hatred.
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“Where do you people get your arrogance from?”
Yang Wenhao’s gaze was icy as he looked around at those present.
All the elders of the Songshan Sect were dead, as were those of the Taishan and Hengshan Sects. Yue Buqun of Huashan had been slain by Yang Wenhao. Mr. Mo of Hengshan seemed still lost in his world of erhu music, unable to extricate himself.
Yang Wenhao knew that Mo was acting detached only to repay past favors. This suited Yang Wenhao best.
At this moment, aside from the main quest, everything else had been accomplished.
Standing atop the main platform, Yang Wenhao was now immensely wealthy, with two thousand points.
He sheathed his sword. The remaining people had no ties or grievances with him; Yang Wenhao had no intention of acting against them.
If he truly wished to become that demon, he could slaughter them all—yet he chose not to.
Cultivation was about following one’s heart. If one killed too much, the mind could be lost, and one might become a demonic cultivator.
Demonic cultivation opposed orthodox cultivation; the demonic path despised human life and killed indiscriminately.
True cultivation was about refining the heart, fundamentally different from the demonic way.
Yang Wenhao put away his sword and walked slowly down the mountain, as if strolling leisurely in a garden.
No one atop the mountain dared breathe; all held their breath, watching this demon god depart.
Halfway down the mountain, Yang Wenhao stopped.
“Brother Yang…”
The gentle, soft voice was unmistakable.
Yang Wenhao turned. “Yilin, go back.”
“Brother Yang, I…” Yilin hesitated, her expression full of longing.
But Yang Wenhao had no such thoughts. “Yilin, I’ll be leaving soon. Stay and cultivate well on Hengshan.”
“Leaving? Brother Yang, where are you going—Yilin…”
“That place is far away, and only I can go.”
(End of this chapter)
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