Wei Heshuo smacked his lips, but then regretfully said:
"However, this kid doesn't have much insight..."
"The guy opposite, although spouting nonsense, isn't an easy Jianghu guest to dismiss."
As this thought crossed his mind, he lowered his head and took a fierce bite of the flatbread, which might have been overcooked on the fire as it was rather tough to chew. Just then, he suddenly heard a clear ringing of sword cry and his neck hairs stood on end. He abruptly lifted his head to look, still with the flatbread in his mouth, yet his right hand was already on the handle of his knife, his eyes gleaming.
God damned, the fight's starting!
Wei Heshuo's eyes widened, staring intently at the movement over there. In this State City, as long as someone made a move, they, the constables, had a perfectly legitimate reason to intervene. Seeing Mr. Chang so displeased, he silently thanked the youth who had just passed by and was about to jump down.
But just then, he saw the youth lift his hand and pull out a wooden sword, thrusting it forward.
The speed of the sword wasn't fast, but it precisely targeted Chang Yongyan's sword, letting out a clear sword cry. In the blink of an eye, they had exchanged seven or eight moves. Chang Yongyan, famous for his Flying Cloud Swordsmanship, seemed like a moth trapped in a web, his movements hindered, unable to display even sixty percent of his sword skill.
Seeing this, Wei Heshuo was shaken and couldn't help but stand frozen on the spot, unwilling to interrupt.
Wang Anfeng's sword moved inadvertently carrying a hint of the Sword Saint's style.
He and Jiu Zizai had both entered a crossroad.
Sword Saint's swordsmanship, naturally, could turn the weak to the victorious.
But Wang Anfeng had not yet mastered it, how could he integrate this swordsmanship with all he had learned to contend with Jiu Zizai, who was predominately suppressing him? At this time, Chang Yongyan was the perfect opponent. His mind clear and his moves swift, he unexpectedly left traces of afterimages in the air, pulling Chang Yongyan into his own rhythm of swordsmanship.
The sword momentum gradually built up, like rivers converging to the sea. Wang Anfeng had a revelation deep in his heart that this stroke would certainly take Chang Yongyan's life. Instantly, he raised his longsword, held back the sword momentum, and fought with his left hand, using Shaolin Fist technique. After a few exchanges, he smashed a fist onto his opponent's sword-wielding wrist, and the Flying Cloud Sword clanged as it hit the ground.
Mr. Zhao, slightly tipsy, saw this and his heart skipped a beat, feeling that his side was losing, and instinctively cried out:
"Fellow heroes, I plead for your aid!"
The crowd, already reckless, had consumed quite a bit of strong liquor. It was unclear who drew their weapon first, but soon only the continuous clanging could be heard, making people's scalps tingle. Seeing this, Wei Heshuo's heart skipped a beat.
Just now, he had been mesmerized by the swordplay, never considering that the situation might spiral out of control.
Anxious, he was about to shout out loud.
At that moment, Wang Anfeng's sword momentum and vigorous Qi had accumulated to the limit. Those martial artists got up, pulled by the Qi mechanism, and with the movement of his longsword, the accumulated vigorous Qi spread along the blade, and although it was a wooden sword, it emitted a long, clear hum of the sword.
An invisible Sword Qi swept across.
Those martial artists felt a piercing chill and became momentarily paralyzed, daring not to move.
Wang Anfeng followed through, sheathing his sword back into the scabbard, and because he had unleashed Sword Qi, he was now slightly lacking in inner strength. While soothing his inner breath, he slowly retracted the Eight-Sided Han Sword inch by inch into the scabbard, a move born from necessity, but in the eyes of these martial artists, it appeared profoundly unfathomable.
The clear sound rang as the sword returned to its scabbard.
The sword guard hit the scabbard, sending out a wave of invisible sound waves in the air.
Just then, those martial artists felt a lightness in their right hand; the weapons they held up broke all at once, clinking as they fell to the ground.
Because the Sword Qi was not yet controllable and stable, some black hair floated down from the air. These martial artists then realized a chill on their heads and were slightly startled.
They then looked down at the broken weapons on the ground, feeling a chill rising from the bottom of their hearts up to the crown of their head, sobering up significantly in a moment, staring dumbfounded at the young martial artist whose palm was still on the sword handle, then scurried several steps backward, their faces filled with terror.
Although there were many martial artists in the world, they had never heard of anyone who could wield Sword Qi purely through swordsmanship. They assumed that although the young man in front of them was of a tender age, he must be an Eighth Rank martial artist.
Wang Anfeng exhaled, looked up at these martial artists, and said softly:
"Today, I draw my sword on behalf of Elder Sun."
"If you are not blind, you should not judge others by what you hear, let alone such an elderly man."
PS: The second update… I couldn't hold back, so I decided to finish this section before posting, hence the delay.