Chapter 68: The Sword Demon, Not of This World

"I want your life!" Yin Tianfang's eyes burned crimson, fixed unwaveringly on the young man who had just arrived, a murderous frenzy flickering within their depths. With a thunderous roar, a tremendous force erupted from his body; his white spiritual energy turned pitch black, radiating an icy aura. The very air trembled, heaven and earth’s energies roiling together. Overwhelmed by grief, Yin Tianfang broke through in that moment to the sixth level of the Qi Condensation Realm.

His jet-black hair turned snow-white in patches, billowing around him as he stamped the ground, his figure darting forward like lightning toward the culprit before him.

"Hmph. You’re spent. Even if you break through to the sixth level now, it’s useless!" The young man facing him felt no fear, despite Yin Tianfang’s breakthrough, for he too stood at the sixth level of Qi Condensation, his strength at its zenith.

"Flame Dragon Art!" The youth formed a seal with his hands. A dragon’s roar resounded as a massive fire dragon surged forth, searing heat rolling off its bronze-like eyes, which fixed upon Yin Tianfang, charging at him.

With a mighty swing, Yin Tianfang’s fist, wreathed in black energy, smashed into the fire dragon with unstoppable force—no flourish, only raw, unyielding power. The enormous fire dragon shattered explosively under his blow, sparks scattering and igniting the surrounding forest.

Yin Tianfang’s expression was as cold as ice as he pressed his assault, hurtling toward his opponent.

"How is this possible?" The young man’s face blanched in shock, horror filling his eyes. Cultivators were not beasts; how could a human body possess such strength? Even as cultivation advanced and the body was nourished by spiritual power, it should never reach this level.

Yet now, Yin Tianfang, shrouded in black energy, had achieved a physical might that defied comprehension.

"Die!"

As the young man reeled in disbelief, Yin Tianfang was already upon him, his fist crashing down with brutal force. Alarmed, the young man hastily formed a seal, conjuring a shield of light before him.

With a savage boom, Yin Tianfang’s fist struck the shield, which instantly cracked, then exploded into fragments. Still, this bought the young man enough time to retreat.

"Don’t be afraid, Senior Brother Zhao! I’m coming!" Another youth charged forward, his longsword flaring with dazzling light. Sword energy filled the air, surging and weaving, enveloping Yin Tianfang.

"Begone!" Yin Tianfang whirled, his hand clenching; the myriad sword auras vanished in an instant. Gravity Manipulation, an art he’d mastered long ago, now amplified by his new realm.

"Slash!" A sword light, almost tangible, tore through the air, aiming straight for Yin Tianfang’s head.

Simultaneously, Senior Brother Zhao attacked, his longsword shooting forth. As he formed a seal, lightning coiled around the blade, striking toward Yin Tianfang.

With a swift tap on his storage pouch, Yin Tianfang summoned his own longsword, snatching it mid-air. With a sweep of his hand, black flames erupted along the blade.

"Go!" He hurled the sword, fire licking along its length, straight at Zhao’s flying sword.

The two swords collided in mid-air with a resonant clang, sparks raining down as black fire tangled with lightning. In a sudden explosion, both swords shattered.

In that moment, Yin Tianfang flashed aside, evading the sword light. His white hair flying, he raised his head and let out a furious howl, more black mist pouring from within him, his aura intensifying. The force gathered around him, forming swirling gales.

With a thunderous palm strike, a giant black handprint, pulsing with power, slammed toward Zhao. Zhao’s face turned pale as dread seized his heart. He stomped the ground, retreating without hesitation.

But the black handprint pursued relentlessly, swift and oppressive, filling Zhao with a sense of impending doom.

Gritting his teeth, Zhao produced a yellow talisman, forming a seal as he chanted. The talisman spontaneously combusted, conjuring a barrier before him.

The black handprint crashed into the barrier, shattering it instantly.

"Go!" Zhao’s face shifted again as he slapped his storage pouch, retrieving a jade slip. As he activated it, a phantom figure emerged, waving its hand. The black handprint paused, then exploded.

A crack split the jade slip as the phantom vanished, and Zhao, heart aching, returned the slip to his pouch. He had acquired it during a previous expedition in an ancient ruin; the slip possessed formidable defensive power, but it was consumable and could withstand only three uses.

Though it pained him, life and death allowed no hesitation. Having blocked that fatal strike, Zhao wiped cold sweat from his brow, eyeing the pale-faced Yin Tianfang.

"Let’s see how much longer you can last! Junior Brother, let’s finish him together!" Zhao called to his companion. With a spit, he released a silver sword the size of a needle, which grew in the wind into a massive longsword, radiating power as it slashed toward Yin Tianfang.

At the same time, the other youth attacked, sending forth a pitch-black seal that shot into the sky and expanded to several meters across, descending to crush Yin Tianfang.

Under the weight of the black seal, Yin Tianfang felt as though mired in a swamp, his movements slowed. The oppressive seal seemed to freeze the very air around him.

The giant sword swept across, aiming straight for his head. Seeing this, both youths allowed themselves a hint of a smile. In their eyes, Yin Tianfang was doomed.

"Let’s finish this with our strongest techniques. Boy, you should die without regrets," Zhao sneered.

But just then, a blazing sword light tore through the void, smashing into the black seal.

With a clear chime, the black seal was sent flying, and Yin Tianfang, freed from his bonds, darted aside and narrowly evaded the giant sword.

The sword crashed down, carving a deep fissure in the earth.

"Who’s there?"

A calm voice answered, "I am the Sword Ghost—no ordinary man." The sword light faded, revealing a figure descending lightly atop a sword, a wine gourd in hand. He tipped his head back, took a drink, and spoke with casual ease.