Page 11

The tension in the clearing snapped like an overtaut bowstring. One moment, there was the fragile standoff—the next, explosive movement as both sides abandoned words for action.

Feng Juechen struck first, his massive axe cleaving through the air with a sound like tearing silk. The weapon, far heavier than any ordinary mortal could wield, moved with frightening speed toward Liang Chen's head. "Die, pretty boy!"

Liang Chen's response was a blur of motion—his sword clearing its sheath in a flash of polished steel, meeting the descending axe with a resounding clash that sent sparks cascading into the night air. The impact created a shockwave that rippled outward, flattening the grass in a perfect circle around the combatants.

"You'll have to do better than that," Liang Chen taunted, his handsome features set in fierce concentration as he pushed back against the larger man's strength.

Around them, the clearing erupted into chaos as the rest of the bandits charged forward, weapons raised and battle cries tearing from their throats. The peaceful campsite transformed into a battlefield in heartbeats, the crackling campfire casting wild, dancing shadows that made the combat seem even more frenzied.

Li Meixia faced two attackers simultaneously—a thin man wielding twin daggers and a burlier opponent with a spiked mace. She stood perfectly balanced, her white traveling robes somehow remaining immaculate despite the dusty ground beneath her feet. As the dagger-wielder lunged, she pivoted gracefully, her movement reminiscent of a willow bending in the wind.

"Flowing Water Sword Art," she intoned, her voice calm despite the danger. Her hands traced complex patterns in the air, spiritual energy coalescing around her fingers before extending outward in the shape of a translucent blade.

The spiritual sword, though lacking physical substance, cut through the air with deadly precision. It intercepted the dagger-wielder mid-lunge, slicing across his shoulder and drawing a howl of pain. Blood blossomed on his animal-skin garment, the wound burning with the spiritual energy that had caused it.

Before he could recover, Li Meixia was already addressing her second attacker. She dropped into a low stance, her spiritual sword tracing a complex pattern that seemed to leave afterimages in the air. "Crescent Moon Slash!"

The mace-wielder brought his weapon up defensively, but the spiritual blade curved around his guard, striking his side with enough force to send him staggering. He recovered quickly, however, his cultivation base allowing him to shrug off what would have been a debilitating blow to an ordinary person.

"You'll pay for that, woman!" he snarled, his mace beginning to glow with infused Qi as he prepared a technique of his own.

Across the clearing, Tong Xin faced her own opponents with cold efficiency. Unlike Li Meixia's flowing movements, Tong Xin's style was direct and economical—no wasted motion, no flourish. Her slender sword remained sheathed as three bandits approached her from different angles.

"Surrender now, beauty, and we'll be gentle," one called, his leering grin revealing several missing teeth.

Tong Xin's response was not verbal. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and suddenly the air around her seemed to crystallize with intent. This was no mere killing intent that any cultivator might project—this was true Sword Intent, a manifestation of her complete embodiment of the sword's principles.

"She's a Sword Cultivator!" one of the bandits warned, his voice tight with new caution. "Watch for—"

His warning came too late. Tong Xin made a single slashing motion with her hand, and though her physical sword remained sheathed, an invisible blade of pure intent cut through the space between her and her attackers. There was no sound, no visible disturbance in the air—only the sudden spray of blood as all three men acquired identical diagonal cuts across their chests.

They staggered backward, expressions of shock replacing their earlier confidence. One dropped to his knees, while the other two maintained their footing through sheer determination and the support of their cultivation bases.

"What... what kind of technique..." one gasped, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound.

Tong Xin finally drew her physical sword, the blade catching the firelight as she assumed a formal stance. 

"You have seen only the barest edge of my Sword Intent," she stated, her voice as cold and sharp as the weapon she wielded. "Retreat now, or experience its full cut."

Meanwhile, Liang Nian'er faced her own challenger—a wiry man with a spear whose reach kept her at a disadvantage. Unlike her companions, her fighting style incorporated acrobatic elements that made her seem to dance around her opponent's attacks.

As the spear thrust toward her midsection, she executed a perfect backflip, her petite form arcing through the air with impossible grace. At the apex of her flip, she released a shower of glowing talismans that spiraled downward, surrounding her opponent.

"Binding Lotus Formation," she called, landing lightly on her feet as the talismans activated, constricting around the spearman like luminous chains.

He struggled against the binding, his face contorting with effort as he channeled Qi to break free. The talismans began to crack under the pressure of his energy, but they had served their purpose—giving Liang Nian'er the opening she needed.

She darted forward, her palm striking his chest with precision. "Meridian Shock Palm!"

The technique landed with devastating effect, disrupting the bandit's Qi circulation and sending him flying backward into a tree trunk with enough force to crack the bark. He slumped to the ground, momentarily incapacitated but far from defeated.

Driver Mo engaged with Han Zeming and Qiu Yanzhao simultaneously, his weathered hands empty of weapons yet somehow more threatening for their bareness. The two Foundation Establishment bandits circled him cautiously, recognizing the threat posed by his superior cultivation base.

"Even at Half-Core Formation, you can't handle both of us at once, old man," Han Zeming taunted, his curved blade gleaming wickedly in the firelight.

Driver Mo's expression remained impassive. "We shall see."

The two bandits attacked in perfect coordination, clearly accustomed to fighting together. Han Zeming's blade came from the left while Qiu Yanzhao's staff swept in from the right—a pincer attack designed to leave no avenue of escape.

Driver Mo's response defied conventional movement. Rather than dodging in any normal direction, he seemed to sink into the ground itself, his body becoming momentarily insubstantial as both weapons passed through the space he had occupied.

"Earth Merging Step," Li Meixia recognized from across the clearing, a flash of pride crossing her features at her retainer's skill.

Driver Mo reappeared behind his attackers, his palms striking both men simultaneously at key points along their spines. The precision of the blows sent visible shockwaves of Qi through their bodies, disrupting their energy circulation and causing them to stumble forward.

Yet these were no ordinary bandits. Both men recovered quickly, spinning to face their opponent with renewed caution in their eyes. Qiu Yanzhao's staff began to emit a low humming sound as he channeled Qi through it, while Han Zeming's blade took on a reddish glow that suggested a fire-attribute technique was imminent.

The most spectacular confrontation, however, was between Liang Chen and Feng Juechen. Their initial clash had been merely the opening move in what was rapidly becoming a battle that threatened to reshape the clearing itself.

Having tested each other's strength, both men had taken to the air—a capability available to cultivators who had reached Foundation Establishment and beyond. They hovered approximately twenty feet above the ground, weapons clashing with such force that each impact generated visible shockwaves that rippled outward through the night air.

"Mountain Cleaving Strike!" Feng Juechen roared, his axe describing a powerful downward arc that carried the full weight of his considerable Qi behind it.

Liang Chen met the technique not with a direct block but with a spiraling evasion that carried him around the path of the axe.

 "Flowing Dragon Sword Dance," he countered, his blade tracing complex patterns that left trails of golden light in the air.

The exchange continued with increasing intensity, each technique more powerful than the last. Their battle carried them across the night sky above the clearing, occasionally crashing through the upper branches of the ancient trees that surrounded the campsite.

One particularly powerful collision sent them both hurtling in opposite directions. Feng Juechen crashed through a massive oak, the impact splitting the trunk in two with a thunderous crack. The upper portion of the tree toppled slowly, its fall seeming almost graceful despite its enormous weight.

Liang Chen's trajectory carried him into the ground with enough force to create a small crater, dirt and stones exploding outward from the point of impact. For a moment, it seemed he might have been seriously injured—then the dust cleared to reveal him rising to his feet, his clothing torn but his expression showing only increased determination.

"Is that all you have, bandit?" he called, his voice carrying easily across the battlefield.

Feng Juechen emerged from the shattered remains of the oak, brushing splinters from his shoulders with contemptuous flicks of his fingers. "I'm just getting started, pretty boy."

They launched themselves at each other once more, their renewed clash generating a shockwave that flattened the surrounding underbrush and caused the campfire to flare wildly, sparks spiraling upward into the night sky.

The battle had escalated to a level that began to affect the environment itself. The repeated impacts of Qi-enhanced techniques against the ground had created several fissures that spread outward from the center of the clearing. One particularly powerful exchange between Li Meixia and her opponents resulted in a crack that widened into a small chasm, revealing the layered earth beneath.

Tong Xin's Sword Intent, now fully unleashed, sliced through several trees with each sweeping gesture, the massive trunks sliding apart with clean, precise cuts before crashing to the forest floor. The falling trees created a domino effect, each impact causing more destruction as nature itself became collateral damage in the cultivators' battle.

The air around the clearing had become a maelstrom of conflicting energies. Gusts of wind generated by the combatants' movements and techniques bent the surrounding trees, their branches whipping violently as if caught in a localized hurricane. Leaves and smaller debris were lifted into spinning vortices that circled the battlefield, creating an ever-shifting curtain around the combat zone.

Li Meixia had fully committed to her Flowing Water Sword Art, her spiritual sword having multiplied into a dozen identical blades that danced around her in complex patterns. 

"Thousand Streams Convergence!" she called, sending the blades streaking toward her opponents from multiple angles simultaneously.

The dagger-wielder managed to evade most of the attack through a desperate series of contortions that spoke of significant physical training. 

Even so, three of the spiritual blades found their mark, opening cuts along his arms and one across his cheek. 

The mace-wielder was less fortunate, taking the brunt of the technique directly. He was lifted off his feet and thrown backward, his body carving a trench in the earth as he skidded to a stop nearly thirty feet away.

Yet neither man stayed down. The dagger-wielder's wounds sealed themselves partially—a sign of body-reinforcement techniques—while the mace-wielder staggered back to his feet, blood streaming from multiple lacerations but his grip on his weapon still firm.

"You'll need more than pretty lights to stop us, Li Family princess," the dagger-wielder spat, his weapons beginning to emit a sickly green glow that suggested poison or some form of corrosive Qi.

Li Meixia's expression remained composed, though a slight furrow between her brows betrayed her surprise at their resilience. These were no ordinary bandits—their techniques and recovery abilities suggested formal training rather than the haphazard methods typically employed by forest predators.

Across the battlefield, Liang Nian'er had taken to the air to gain advantage over her now-recovered opponent. Her delicate form darted between the upper branches of the trees, her movements so quick that she often appeared as little more than a blur of color against the night sky.

The spearman pursued her with surprising agility for his size, using his weapon to vault from branch to branch.

 "Stop running, little fairy!" he called, his voice rough with exertion and frustration.

Liang Nian'er's response was a musical laugh that somehow cut through the chaos of battle.

 "Who's running?" she called back, suddenly reversing direction in mid-air.