The two peaks, shaped like colossal swords, jutted skyward in sheer, unclimbable steepness—as if two divine blades of titanic scale had been plunged straight into the earth and heavens. No handhold or path existed for any mortal to scale them.
At the very summit of each sword-peak, less than a hundred meters separated the stone from the endless sea of clouds above. Thin mist coiled around the tops, blurring their contours into a soft, hazy veil. Yet even through the fog, two figures could be seen standing motionless atop the peaks, still as stone statues. Only the wild wind stirred, whipping their robes and hair into wild, silent dance.
One was a young man, no older than twenty. His features were flawlessly handsome, unrivaled beneath the heavens—the kind of beauty that could ensnare the heart of any young woman. His eyes, though calm and unremarkable at first glance, held a strange, hypnotic allure, as if they could steal one's very soul.
He had long black hair that fell to his waist, unrestrained and flowing freely behind him, wild in the gale. Strapped to his back was a longsword, its blade wrapped in thick white cloth. Only an exquisitely crafted hilt was visible, upon which two characters were clearly carved: Gentle Breeze. Strangely, no rope or binding held the sword in place. It clung to his back as if magnetized, never slipping free—a sight that defied all reason.
This young man was Jian Chen. The undisputed number-one expert of the martial world, hailed by all as the Sword Deity—a grandmaster of the blade whose swift swordsmanship had reached an otherworldly, peerless pinnacle. Yet he was barely in his twenties.
Little was known of Jian Chen's origins. Beyond the fact that he was an orphan, with no clan or sect to his name, the world knew nothing. His past was a mystery. No one could fathom where he had learned his fearsome martial arts or his exquisite sword techniques.
A hundred meters away, atop the other sword-peak, stood a tall, imposing figure in a black robe, facing Jian Chen from afar. He was an elder, around fifty or sixty years of age, silver-haired yet youthful-faced, his eyes sharp and brilliant, radiating a piercing light like a unsheathed sword—so intense that few dared meet his gaze. In his hand rested a massive, broad black greatsword. Uncannily, its edge was unsharpened.
This elder was Dugu Qiubai—a legendary figure who had vanished from the martial world for over a century. Dugu Qiubai was merely his title; no one knew his true name or identity. A hundred years prior, he had already roamed the world invincible. Today, scarcely anyone who remembered his tales still lived. Yet his glorious legacy had been passed down through generations—and his power now far surpassed what it had once been. No soul alive could guess just how strong Dugu Qiubai had become.
His eyes locked onto the twenty-something swordsman a hundred meters away, sharp and cold, murderous glints flashing within them.
"Jian Chen," he rumbled, his voice deceptively calm yet thick with bone-chilling killing intent. "At your age, you wield power equal to mine. Your attainment in the sword… even I cannot hope to match. But you killed my only disciple. This debt I must repay. Today, I will see justice done for my fallen apprentice."
Jian Chen's expression remained serene. His gaze rested lightly on Dugu Qiubai, his white robes billowing in the wind, his waist-length hair whirling wildly—an image of effortless grace.
"You cannot blame me," he said softly, his lips moving faintly. "Your disciple provoked me first. To die by my sword… he only has his own lack of skill to blame."
Dugu Qiubai laughed bitterly, anger seeping through his tone. "Fine. Fine words, 'lack of skill.' Then let me test you today. Let us see if you are powerful enough to strike me down with that Gentle Breeze Sword of yours."
With that, Dugu Qiubai swung his Black Iron Greatsword. An overwhelming wave of sword aura burst forth, streaking toward Jian Chen at lightning speed.
Jian Chen did not flinch.
A clear, ringing sound of steel leaving its sheath cut through the wind. In an instant, the sword on his back was in his hand. The slender, four-foot-long, two-finger-wide blade blazed with silvery-white light. He thrust forward, and a devastating sword aura erupted from his weapon—so fast it was invisible to the naked eye—slamming into the incoming attack.
BOOM!
The two auras collided in a deafening explosion. Violent ripples of true essence spread outward in all directions, scattering the mist around them.
Jian Chen and Dugu Qiubai launched themselves into the air at the same time, leaving their peaks behind to clash violently in the sky between them.
Their movements were blindingly fast. The clash and scrape of steel echoed endlessly. Blades of sword aura shot outward in every direction, blasting huge craters into the surrounding mountains. Countless rocks tumbled toward the ground thousands of meters below.
In mere breaths, the two had exchanged hundreds of blows. When they finally landed back atop their respective peaks, both were disheveled. Their once-pristine robes were torn and tattered.
Dugu Qiubai stared at Jian Chen, his face grave.
"Your sword is incomparably fast," he said solemnly. "No wonder none in the martial world can stand against you. But you still cannot defeat me." He paused. "This fight will drag on without end. Let us end it with one final strike. One move to decide victory or defeat."
In an instant, his aura exploded upward, like a colossal sword piercing the clouds.
Jian Chen's expression tightened. He too unleashed a monstrous aura, every bit as overwhelming as Dugu Qiubai's.
Their powers rose higher and higher, engulfing the entire sky. Combined, their presence blanketed mountains stretching tens of thousands of miles. Even the clouds above were torn open into a massive hole, rapidly dissipating. The wind shrieked like vengeful spirits. All across the wilderness, birds and beasts cried out in terror, fleeing for their lives. On the peaks, the two swordsmen continued gathering their strength, forging their ultimate attack.
Crack! Snap!
Small trees in the nearby forest could not withstand the crushing pressure. They snapped in half, then were swept high into the sky by the raging aura.
A violent vortex of true essence swirled around each man. Flowers and shrubs bowed low; ancient trees shook violently.
Jian Chen's Gentle Breeze Sword blazed with brilliant white light. Dugu Qiubai's Black Iron Greatsword glowed with deep, inky black.
Their auras peaked. Jian Chen was enveloped in pure white radiance; Dugu Qiubai in shadowy black. Their forms vanished, leaving only two opposing orbs of blinding light hanging in the air.
Ring!
Jian Chen's sword trembled lightly, radiating a fearsome, soul-stirring sword intent. His black hair whipped wildly, his white robe flowing. He hovered in midair, like an undefeatable war god.
When their power reached its zenith, both let out earth-shaking roars—thunderous, deafening.
A brilliant white streak and a pitch-black dark blade shot toward each other at lightning speed, crossing paths in an instant…
There was no second collision.
When the world fell silent, Jian Chen and Dugu Qiubai had switched places, once again standing a hundred meters apart atop their peaks. Both were deathly pale.
Bright red blood gushed from Jian Chen's chest, staining his white robe crimson. In that single, blinding exchange, Dugu Qiubai had pierced his heart.
As for Dugu Qiubai—his entire right arm was gone.
Without his arm, he could no longer hold his sword. The Black Iron Greatsword slipped from his grasp, plummeting toward the thousand-meter cliff below. In the same moment he had run Jian Chen through, he too had lost a limb.
Jian Chen stood quietly on the peak. Blood trickled slowly from his lips. His face paled rapidly, until it was as white as paper. His heart pierced, his fate was sealed—he would surely die.
"Hahaha…"
Laughter erupted suddenly from the opposite peak. Dugu Qiubai laughed wildly.
"Jian Chen! With your talent, given a few more years, you would have surpassed me. What a pity. What a tragedy! Even now, your power rivals mine… yet in the end, you still fell by my hand." He sighed softly. "Alas… to snuff out such a genius. It is truly regrettable. But for my disciple… I had no choice."
As his life force slipped away, Jian Chen slowly closed his eyes. He felt strangely calm. Life and death had long since ceased to mean much to him. After years wandering the martial world, taking countless lives, he had grown detached from such things. His only regret: he would never again get to chase the ultimate pinnacle of the sword.
And then, as he drifted into a state of perfect peace, free of joy or sorrow, a strange sensation flooded his mind.
At this moment of death, his soul fused with the sword in his hand.
He was the sword. The sword was him.
No longer two beings, but one. The blade had become part of his very soul.
At the same time, threads of pure, mighty heavenly energy descended from the sky, seeping into his mind, merging flawlessly with his soul. Jian Chen could feel his spirit expanding at an inconceivable rate. His soul seemed to break free from his body, spreading across the endless wilderness. Every detail within ten miles appeared clearly in his mind—even the tiniest insects crawling on the ground.
At the brink of death…
He had broken through.