Chapter 25: Zhao Qinghe

"Form up! Form the sword formation, quickly!" Zhao Qinghe finally came to his senses, bellowing the order.

Clang — he drew the longsword from his back, though the hand gripping it trembled ever so slightly.

The other disciples were jolted awake by his shout and scrambled to reposition themselves, trying to coalesce the sword formation.

But it was already too late.

The moment Zhao Qinghe drew his sword, Si Chen's figure vanished from where he stood.

Thunder Smite Flash!

In the next instant, he appeared directly before the square-faced disciple who had been shouting the loudest.

The square-faced disciple felt his vision blur, and then a sharp, handsome face was right in front of him — close enough to touch.

He recoiled in terror, desperately trying to raise his sword in a block.

But Si Chen had already lifted his hand, pressing a single finger to the center of the disciple's brow.

"Thud!"

The back of his skull exploded outward. His body remained frozen in its sword-gripping posture as it toppled straight backward, kicking up a faint cloud of dust.

At the center of his brow, there was only a small, scorched hole, still crackling with faint arcs of electricity.

An instant kill.

One exchange — a Foundation Establishment Stage Cultivator, dead.

Fast. Too fast.

So fast that the others had barely assumed their opening stances for the sword formation, without even having time to circulate their spiritual energy!

Zhao Qinghe's eyes nearly split with grief and fury: "Junior Brother!!"

"Brother Wang!"

Cries of alarm erupted on all sides. The other disciples stared at the companion who had been alive just a moment ago, now a corpse — every face drained of color.

The crowd watching from outside the door was equally stunned. The scene fell into absolute silence.

This… what kind of power was this?!

A Foundation Establishment Stage Cultivator — before him, no more durable than paper?

The battle that followed shattered their understanding of the world entirely.

Every time his silhouette flickered and shifted, a streak of white lightning accompanied it.

Every time he materialized, a faint rumble of thunder followed.

Every time he struck, a Liuyun Sword Sect disciple fell.

Sometimes it was a simple finger, pressed to the brow.

Sometimes a casual fist, driven into the chest.

Sometimes he merely brushed past someone, and the lightning he trailed was enough to leave them collapsing, their bodies charred black.

The so-called sword formation, faced with such absolute speed and power, never had the chance to take shape before it crumbled.

Seeing this, Zhao Qinghe's heart ached, and he knew that forming a proper formation was now impossible. He could only cry out hoarsely: "All together! Surround him!"

The remaining disciples forced down their terror and charged at Si Chen like madmen, sword light pouring in from every direction.

Yet what happened next made every onlooker draw a sharp breath.

Faced with those gleaming spirit swords, Si Chen made no move to dodge or evade.

"Clang!" A longsword struck his arm — leaving only a faint white mark.

"Clang!" A sword tip thrust at his back — and was deflected outright.

"Boom!" Someone brought their full strength down on his neck — and only made his body pause for the briefest moment.

His physical body could actually withstand Artifacts head-on!

They were only low-grade Artifacts, yes — but they were still Artifacts! What ordinary Foundation Establishment Stage Cultivator would dare take such blows with their bare body?

The sword techniques of Zhao Qinghe and his fellow disciples were utterly incapable of dealing any meaningful damage.

Despair, like icy floodwaters, swiftly swallowed them whole.

The battle had become a one-sided slaughter.

When Si Chen's figure flickered for the last time and came to rest before the Junior Sister named Zhang Wan — her face drained to a ghostly white with fright — she could barely keep her grip on her sword.

"No… please, no…" she trembled, tears spilling from her eyes.

Si Chen looked at her, his gaze still utterly unmoved.

He did not pause because of her fear and pleading, just as he had not grown angry at her earlier arrogance.

Zhao Qinghe let out a desperate, anguished cry: "No——!"

But Si Chen's finger had already struck.

The terror in Zhang Wan's eyes froze in an instant, and her slight frame crumpled softly to the ground.

Now, of all the Liuyun Sword Sect disciples, only Zhao Qinghe remained standing.

He leaned on his sword, staring at the bodies of his fellow sect members strewn across the ground, his eyes hollow — every last light within them extinguished.

Anger, fear, grief… and regret.

He knew that he had no chance of surviving this day.

But he was, after all, the Senior Brother of the Liuyun Sword Sect.

Faced with this absolute desperation, Zhao Qinghe's heart grew strangely calm.

He drew a long breath, held his longsword horizontally before him, and let his left hand glide slowly along the flat of the blade — a gesture like a farewell.

He looked toward Si Chen. His gaze held no more fear; his breathing had steadied. Then, slowly, he spoke:

"Liuyun Sword Sect, Inner Sect Disciple — Zhao Qinghe."

This was the ending he had chosen for himself, as a Sword Cultivator.

Si Chen stilled his movements and watched him quietly, making no move to strike. He could sense that this man was somehow different from the disciples before him.

And so, facing Zhao Qinghe, he clasped his hands in a solemn salute and gave a slight bow.

"Rogue Cultivator — Si Chen."

Hearing that reply, a complicated smile crossed Zhao Qinghe's face.

His opponent had granted him a proper, dignified end — one befitting his identity as a Sword Cultivator.

"Please… receive my sword!"

Zhao Qinghe roared, and man and blade became one, transforming into a dazzling streak of flowing light.

This strike was the strongest, fastest sword he had ever unleashed in his entire cultivation career!

The sword moved like a startled swan — its speed even surpassing the limits of his own body — carrying with it an absolute, all-or-nothing resolve, thrusting straight for Si Chen's throat!

For the first time, a faint flicker of surprise appeared in Si Chen's eyes, for this Foundation Establishment physical body of his could not keep pace with his own reactions.

"Shhk——"

The blade grazed past his neck, leaving a faint chill in its wake, breaking the skin.

Si Chen raised his hand and lightly touched his own neck. A trace of genuine surprise showed in his eyes.

Since coming to this world and inhabiting this body, this was the first time he had truly been wounded by a human Cultivator.

It was only a surface wound — one that healed in an instant beneath the surging vitality of wood and life — yet this sword had, without question, drawn his blood.

He asked: "What is this sword technique called?"

On the other side, Zhao Qinghe — having poured everything into that one strike beyond his own limits — seemed to have had every last drop of strength wrung from him. His face was as pale as paper; his body swayed, and only by planting his sword into the ground did he barely manage to stay upright.

Hearing Si Chen's question, Zhao Qinghe slowly raised his head, a glimmer of pride flashing in his eyes: "Chasing the Moon."

He knew he had given everything he had, and that he had reached the end of his road.

He turned away, no longer looking at Si Chen, and instead straightened his spine with great effort, gazing into the distance in the direction of his sect. Slowly, he sheathed his sword.

"Zheng——"

The longsword slid home with a clear, resonant ring — a final note drawn across the brief score of his life.

"A fine sword."

Si Chen gave a single nod, raised his right hand, and a bolt of lightning, refined to its purest essence, flashed through the air — piercing Zhao Qinghe's brow in an instant.

He respected the other man's choice, and was willing to grant him the dignity he deserved.

Zhao Qinghe's body shuddered faintly, then pitched forward — yet his face carried a trace of release.

His death was swift, with little pain, and he kept, to the very last, the dignity of a Sword Cultivator.

Zhao Qinghe — Si Chen committed that name to memory.

He also committed to memory the sword technique known as "Chasing the Moon."

With that, the Liuyun Sword Sect's contingent of disciples in Wanggu City had been annihilated to the last.