Chapter 63: Human-Shaped Lightning, Paving the Way for Martial Arts

The Grandmasters were annihilated, the feudal lords slain, and nearly all the masters were wiped out. Even among the innate, only a handful remained—those left were no longer a threat.

“I’m heading north!” Jiang Ming left behind these words, stepped onto his long sword, and soared toward the northern horizon.

He flew through the vast sky, far swifter than any bird. The exhilarating sensation of such unrestrained flight intoxicated even Jiang Ming himself. The wind howled in his ears, and he rode alongside the white clouds.

“The only drawback is the immense consumption,” he mused.

Within the time it took an incense stick to burn, the expenditure of true energy was already equivalent to the total reserves of an ordinary Grandmaster. Moreover, he had to constantly maintain his spiritual intent, which greatly taxed his mind.

At the same time, he drove his focused spiritual power, imbuing the long sword beneath his feet with additional force.

It was thanks to these myriad terrifying abilities that Jiang Ming, who by rights should not have been able to fly, managed to traverse the heavens as he pleased. Yet, with time, even such freedom grew monotonous.

Fortunately, sword-flight was fast enough.

By sunset, outside the northern frontier, Jiang Ming beheld the endless armies—voices clamoring, warhorses whinnying—they had already made all preparations for their assault.

The gates of Zhenshan Pass were tightly shut, the walls lined with vigilant soldiers, all eyes fixed warily beyond the fortress.

Upon a mountain peak, a handful of figures stood.

They were all burly, their auras fierce and untamed.

“Who could have imagined that Jiang Ming, a prodigy more terrifying than the old Daoist Zhang, turned out to be a demon from beyond our realm? It’s fortunate he is such a demon—now that all the world’s martial artists unite against him, otherwise, who knows how long we’d have to wait to conquer the fertile lands of the Great Yan Dynasty?”

“Indeed, now is our chance! After this great war, the Great Yan will be gravely wounded. It’s the perfect moment for our invasion!”

“We’ll trample their lands, enslave their people, toy with their women, subjugate their spirits, and feast upon their delicacies. Just imagining it makes my blood boil with excitement.”

“What we should be concerned about is—why does fate interfere? If heaven has will, is it still heaven? If heaven has intent, then what are we? Why does it feel as if we’re mere cattle penned in a yard?”

“Who cares about all that? All I know is, soon I’ll have endless delicacies, endless fine clothes, endless fertile soil, endless beauties, endless pleasures!”

“You have a point! Still, I should lead some men into Great Yan for a look. If Jiang Ming survives, I’ll take the chance to kill him; if he dies, then we’ll wipe out the remaining strongmen, Zhang the old Daoist included.”

“Grand Preceptor, why bother with such trouble? No matter who wins or loses over there, we’ll simply sweep through with our armies—none will escape annihilation.”

Suddenly, they all saw a stream of light approaching.

“Sword flight? Grand Preceptor, am I seeing things?”

“No, my king, your eyes aren’t deceived. That’s sword flight. And so young—it must be Jiang Ming. How could he be here? He must have already resolved the trouble on the other side. We’re doomed, Your Majesty! We must flee!”

“Flee? Now that I have arrived, there is no longer any place in this world for you!”

It was none other than Jiang Ming. He had overheard their conversation as he approached.

Floating in mid-air, he pressed his palm downward, true energy surging as mountain winds froze. A colossal handprint, a hundred yards across, manifested instantly—yin and yang energies flowing within, an oppressive might suffusing the heavens.

Beneath the palm, a terrifying suppressive force took shape, thickening the very air.

Even the two Grandmasters among them found it almost impossible to move.

This was none other than the Heaven-Shrouding Palm of Yin and Yang.

“Jiang Ming, stop! Stop!” the Grand Preceptor roared, hurling a fist into the sky.

The others attacked in unison, power surging forth, but they could not break the descending palm.

Boom—

With a thunderous crash, the mountaintop was smashed down by half.

No life remained beneath.

All perished.

Jiang Ming turned and charged toward the Northern Barbarian army.

The Sky-Splitting Sword sang free from its scabbard, the intent of slaughter erupting. He darted back and forth, countless sword auras transforming into the scythes of death, harvesting lives without mercy.

“Killing intent!”

Jiang Ming faintly sensed a Dao resonance even more profound than the intent of slaughter, but it was as elusive as a palace in the clouds—blurred and intangible, let alone within his grasp.

With a single powerful stroke, the void twisted, chains of crisscrossing lines appeared once more. He yearned to take another step forward but was inexplicably seized by a sense of impending doom.

“Slaughter, death!”

Jiang Ming descended to the ground.

With one display of the Myriad Swords Return to Sect, everything within a hundred yards was slaughtered. His movements were as swift as lightning, ceaselessly shifting, ever seeking to comprehend the Dao hidden within carnage.

A strange power rippled from his body.

“The Intent of Death!”

His aura changed—Jiang Ming seemed to lose all vitality, becoming like a corpse.

“Where there is life, there must also be death, so that order prevails in the world.”

“Where there is death, there must also be life, so that the cycle never ends.”

“Life and death are like yin and yang—mutually dependent, mutually opposed, ever in cycle. Such is the ultimate truth of the world!”

Vitality surged alongside the aura of death.

On his left, life; on his right, death; then, they merged into one—becoming life and death intertwined.

The Intent of Life and Death—achieved!

A look of joy appeared on Jiang Ming’s face.

Not long after, another Dao resonance began to flow from him, filled with the wild power of destruction.

This was the Sword Intent of Destruction.

Slaughter, destruction, death, life and death…

A long time passed.

Night fell.

A profound exhaustion settled upon him—one that reached into his soul.

At last, he transformed into a streak of sword light and vanished. As he looked back over the vast land outside the city, it was nothing but shattered limbs and ruined bodies. Of the half-million-strong army, fewer than ten thousand survived.

And those survivors were all driven mad.

Under the night sky, Jiang Ming settled atop a mountain peak, sitting cross-legged, contemplating the new insights he had attained and quietly dissolving the violence within his heart.

The next day.

Jiang Ming returned to the imperial capital and gathered with his companions. When he announced that he had wiped out the army of fifty thousand, everyone was shocked anew.

“At least twenty years of peace for the martial world,” someone said.

In the world of martial arts, twenty years is a full cycle.

“The Northern Barbarians won’t dare cross our borders for at least fifty years—no, a hundred!” added the old Daoist Zhang.

“A hundred years? No, they face only two outcomes: either annihilation, or total absorption into the Empire!” This was Yan Feng’s bold resolve.

In the days that followed, she wielded Jiang Ming’s supreme prestige to govern the realm, launching thorough reforms and sweeping aside all opposition.

Jiang Ming, however, paid no heed—he was wholly absorbed in his cultivation, occasionally gathering with Zhang and the others.

“To comprehend true intent, to liquefy true energy—only then can one truly break through to the Grandmaster’s realm. In my world, this would be Martial Dao’s fourth tier.”

In his leisure, Jiang Ming explained to them the realms beyond Grandmaster.

To them, the revelation of a true path was tantamount to receiving the ultimate teaching.

The world was in turmoil.

Yan Feng was now firmly established upon the throne.

The name of Jiang, the Martial Sage, resounded throughout the land. Especially after the battles at Changping and in the north, his title as Martial Sage was unshakable.

Some even said he was an immortal descended to earth.

Across the land, the people offered sacrifices to him.

Upon hearing this, Jiang Ming could only smile wryly.

Unwittingly, the three-year period drew near.

Beyond the Gate of Heaven, at Changping.

Jiang Ming returned once more.

He hovered in mid-air, his aura piercing the heavens, his terrifying might twisting the void. Above his head, a vortex formed.

“Today, I will verify something.”

As he spoke, he punched through the void, opening a black hole.

Inside, countless lines appeared, then snapped apart one by one. In the next moment, lightning flashed and blasted him back.

Then, the countless lines and lightning fused together, transforming into a bolt of lightning—no, a figure composed of lightning.

In that instant, Jiang Ming understood.

“Haha! I see now! Yan Feng, I shall open the path of Martial Dao for you all!”

He could not help but throw his head back and laugh.