Chương 485: Judge, Jury, Executioner (II)

It began with a crack of thunder. Song Jing watched the sky split open as light poured down in the shape of the sword. The hum of Dao was so beautiful that it stilled his heart; the sword tore through the world and descended upon the bulwark of shadows that he had just been battling. That impenetrable fortress that he couldn't even put a dent in... scattered. The sword pierced through cleanly, shadows and light mingling for a moment before the latter shattered them all.

The man in the black mask roared as his figure unfurled from the darkness; opposite of him floated the unassuming, borderline average-looking man, who extended his right arm, whereupon a sword made out of pure light appeared.... it was heavenly. Song Jing gasped as his eyes widened--though the sword was mostly made out of Qi, there were traces of Dao within.

"AAGHHHH!!! HOW DARE YOU GET IN MY WAY?!!! ALL OF YOU!! ALL OF YOU INCOMPETENT, PATHETIC, SNIVELING VERMIN!! FINE!! LET ME SHOW YOU THE MIGHT OF AN EMPEROR!!" The masked figure splayed his limbs as Qi rushed out like an explosion out of him; tens of thousands of tendrils of shadows scattered every which way, transforming the new daylight back into the night. Tendrils extended into a canopy that seemed to encompass all things living--yet it did not seem to deter the man cloaked in simple, white robes.

He swung the sword aggressively, cutting through the vestigial shadows and appearing directly in front of the masked figure; the latter retaliated, conjuring dozens of shadow-cast blades that collided with the light sword. The ensuing explosion scattered both of them backwards, though they quickly recovered; the masked figure summoned a curling vortex above his head, which spat out hundreds of spear-tipped plumes of shadows, firing them off directly toward the light sword-wielding man.

The latter retaliated, using his left hand to twist and contort his fingers in a strange manner; the void itself seemed to curve alongside his fingers, as a maw appeared behind him. A hum rang out like the sound of a heavenly bell--thousands upon thousands of motes of light shot out freely, rapidly converging toward the shadow spears and annihilating them. It seemed less and less like a battle of cultivators and more like that of light and darkness.

The aftershocks came barreling down, causing Song Jing to use what little Qi he had left to shield those behind him. At the same time, he watched the masked man spin forward, his entire body wrapped in shadows, cutting and slicing with building-sized blades. The light-wielding man used his left hand yet again, twisting his fingers, but this time around, tens of thousands of twilight-colored tendrils appeared from seemingly nowhere, lashing out and grabbing the masked figure. Reading on this site?

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"H-huh?! WHAT IS THIS?!! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!!" Song Jing exclaimed in shock as he watched the masked figure be tossed backwards like a wooden log, stabilizing only about a mile of travel later. Seemingly even more angered, he paused--the red eyes under the mask shone resplendently as shadows began to gather around him.

"... very well." The words were no longer words; they seemed to carry the weight of something far greater in them. The voice was like the sound of law--one that required absolute obedience. Shadows turned corporeal, the entire sky spanning tens of thousands of miles turning ashen and bleak. All light disappeared.

"... where are you going?" a mellow voice spoke out from the darkness as Song Jing watched a singular blade of beautiful, breathtaking light tear down the wall of darkness and embed itself right in front of him. Just as he was about to yelp, the figure of the old woman came into his view, emerging from darkness. The sword tore directly through her dantian, leaving her crippled instantaneously. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted, but struggle as she may, she could not make a sound.

The battle above resumed right after, though Song Jing was only privy to small flashes of it--darkness was everywhere, all-consuming, terrible, and heavy. He could only pray in his soul that the light-wielding man would find a way to win. ** Long Tao was certain he was dreaming. He had to be. It was either that or his Master's body got taken over by someone else, not unlike Long Tao himself, who took over this body. There was no other way to rationalize what he was witnessing.

The man he called Master, the man he treated as merely slightly stronger than a mortal, was fighting someone at a quasi-Imperial Realm on even footing. Even as the masked man unleashed the full might of a Nirvanic Domain--the greatest separator of martial artists before the Imperial Realm--his Master... endured. But beyond that, that sword... Long Tao recognized it. How could he not recognize it? The very reason why he was titled 'Divine Blade' was that very sword--the one made out of light so pure it seemed holy.

Nobody else was able to replicate it, and even he, as he was at the moment, stood no chance of manifesting it. And yet, his Master did it. There was no doubt--the man knew who Long Tao was, but how did he know how to conjure the blade? How did he know how to wield it? How did he know to sing and hum the Dao of Sword, how to split the heavens and create miracles?

His Master's body rippled oddly, as though splitting in multitudes; it never did, however, though it did cause about a hundred tendrils of shadows to scatter through him rather than at him. At the same time, he swung the divine blade and created some distance between the two before raising the sword above his head and the left palm in front of his chest. Long Tao recognized the movement. How could he not? He made it. Heavenly Severing--his penultimate creation, one that he used to dominate the Imperial Expanse.

He was seeing it yet again, though not of his own make.... and it was perfect. Every movement. Every breath. Every pull of Qi. The masked man was too late--the moment he let his Master create the distance, it was too late. Heavenly Severing had a massive prerequisite that only Long Tao was aware of--there were precisely sixty-seven movements that had to be executed beforehand, though the order in which they were executed was irrelevant. He was far too shocked to even realize that was what his Master was doing.

Long Tao shuddered as he felt it--he felt fear crawl up against his skin as the sword soul in him dug further back in, terrified of the sheer pressure. Winds began to blow violently, trees torn up from their roots and flung, mountains themselves shaking. The sword thus descended, carrying with it the final judgment.