Chapter Eighteen: Du Qingfeng, the Sword Sage in White

Boom...

Minpo crashed down like a black meteor! Yu Fei’s headless corpse collapsed with a thud. Leng Tian ceased the circulation of his mystical energy, the golden light returning to his flesh, his body reverting to its normal state.

He glanced down at the black mark of a giant peak on his chest, and a smile curled at the corner of his lips. "Mountain Force"—that was the name of the black peak's imprint.

Leng Tian had never imagined his own physique would awaken such a unique bloodline! He found it odd; he’d encountered similar situations before, yet never had his bloodline awakened. He pondered for a long while, unable to find the reason, and decided not to dwell on it. In this unfamiliar space, watching the giant evolve his martial arts had benefited him greatly, and he now inexplicably knew he possessed the "Heavenly Saint Body."

"Mountain Force" was the supreme secret art granted by this awakened physique, capable of seizing the creation of heaven and earth. Leng Tian dismissed his thoughts, knowing it could only be advantageous; he would let things take their natural course.

He activated the Ninefold Heaven-Shaking Strength, and a layer of multicolored energy shielded his entire body, its brilliance dazzling to the eye. This replaced the original golden energy—it was the "Seven-Colored Divine Shield," derived from his bloodline's secret method.

He had not broken through to the Platinum Saint Body, but the gains were immense. Leng Tian could feel that with sheer physical strength, he could now easily shatter the protective energy of a Xuan Martial practitioner. The Seven-Colored Divine Shield, though currently only three-colored, was several times more powerful than Yu Fei’s defensive aura.

He glanced at Yu Fei's corpse, thinking to himself: "Those who kill will themselves be killed; eliminating a villain is a deed of merit." Turning, he walked to where the ancient treasure Minpo had crashed—a sizable pit. The rusted, battered Minpo lay within. Leng Tian reached out and snatched it from the air, then without a second glance, stowed it in his storage ring.

A thought stirred in his mind. "Roar!" Max, massive as a mountain, appeared in the void. He had been nearby the whole time, arriving as Yu Fei and Leng Tian fought, but since Leng Tian did not summon him to assist, Max had merely circled high overhead, awaiting his master's call.

Leng Tian leaped onto Max’s back. "To the border. We must regroup with Xiao Wu and the others!"

At the border between Skylark and the Azure Empire...

Ye Xiang lay in a pool of blood, one arm missing, crimson soaking the ground beneath him. Not far away, Chen Feng’s throat had been slit—he had been dead for some time.

"Run! Why aren’t you running?" Blooddrinker shouted menacingly, gripping a blood-stained curved blade.

Ye Xiang’s face was drained of color, his lips trembling from the agony, glaring furiously at Blooddrinker, unable to utter a word.

Blooddrinker licked the blood from his blade, a cruel smile twisting his face. He stepped before Ye Xiang, sneering, "To die by my blade will spare you pain. Your head is my ticket to the upper ranks—so… die!"

Ye Xiang’s eyes were bloodshot, staring at the raised blade, his voice hoarse with rage and despair: "The Ye family will never forgive you. The Bloodsworn Alliance will be destroyed!"

Blooddrinker laughed wildly. "Don’t worry, your family will avenge you. This is precisely why we sow chaos—otherwise, how could we seize our opportunity?"

He brought the curved blade down decisively. Ye Xiang’s furious, despairing gaze was fixed upon it; he did not want to die—not like this, not before his ambitions were fulfilled. The blade drew near, and he thought, "This is the end!"

The cold, sharp blade crossed the short distance to Ye Xiang’s throat.

As his death seemed imminent, a clear, icy voice descended from above: "Bloodsworn Alliance, your sins are countless. Today, you shall be slain!" In that instant, a beam of sword light struck Blooddrinker’s blade, snapping it in two.

"Who’s there?" Blooddrinker’s face twisted in terror. His weapon destroyed by sword energy, he knew a powerful stranger had intervened. Instinctively, he retreated from the spot as his blade was shattered.

Even as he retreated, another sword beam fell from the sky. Blooddrinker’s expression tightened; in desperation, he unleashed three sword energies toward the descending beam, then tumbled clumsily, rolling dozens of meters to evade the strike.

"Hmph!"

"In my presence, do you think you can escape with your life?" Blooddrinker’s expression flickered between anger and fear, gazing upward. "It’s him! The White-Robed Sword Saint, Du Qingfeng!"

He had seen portraits of Du Qingfeng in the alliance; the upper echelons had decreed that this man was not to be provoked—alongside Pursuer of Dreams Yan Nanfei—under no circumstances should the alliance cross paths with these two.

Though formidable, they alone weren’t enough to instill fear in the Bloodsworn Alliance; what truly worried them were the forces backing these two. The alliance could only vaguely surmise that they hailed from ancient, terrifying places—mysterious realms predating history itself. Even the alliance master, who had attained the Holy Transformation, had issued a strict ban: wherever these two appeared, no assassinations were to be attempted.

"Damn it!" Blooddrinker cursed inwardly. The timing of this lord’s arrival was uncanny; with him here, killing Ye Xiang was impossible today—he’d be lucky to escape with his own life.

Du Qingfeng, the White-Robed Sword Saint, stood midair, hands clasped behind his back, his handsome, pale face now masked in icy frost. His star-like eyes glared at Blooddrinker, suffused with murderous intent.

"Senior, thank you for your rescue," Ye Xiang said, regaining his composure after escaping death. He knew his savior was a powerful master. Though Du Qingfeng appeared young, in the world of martial arts, strength took precedence; calling him "Senior" was only appropriate. "I beg you, do not spare the Bloodsworn Alliance’s assassins—they all deserve death!"

"He cannot escape while I am here," Du Qingfeng replied coldly.

Blooddrinker, as the two conversed, frantically weighed his options. To fight was suicide, but inaction would only seal his fate—Du Qingfeng’s demeanor made that clear.

"What should I do?" Blooddrinker, arrogant as he was, was not foolish. He steeled himself: so long as he survived, he could always surpass Du Qingfeng in the future.

Decision made, he quietly mobilized his internal energy, pouring it madly into the ancient treasure, Bloodshadow.

Du Qingfeng’s brow twitched; he noticed Blooddrinker’s subtle movements and let slip a mocking smile.

A crimson light flashed beneath Blooddrinker’s feet, and in an instant he transformed into a streak of blood, fleeing toward the Red Butterfly Forest.

Martial Peak 18, Chapter Eighteen: The White-Robed Sword Saint Du Qingfeng—complete.