Chapter 1021: Slaying the Ten Great Kings

A river of blood stretched across heaven and earth,

Eleven Kings coughed blood and went flying, tendons and bones snapping!

Beneath the river of blood, a Daoist in a blood-red robe watched quietly, as if some instinct had awakened within him.

"Body cultivation — this is how it's done?"

Jiang Ding suddenly understood.

Using softness to overcome hardness, wearing down their strength bit by bit, then finishing them with a single sword — this was the classic method sword cultivators in the realm used against powerful body cultivators. It wasn't that there was no way to fight them.

"In the end, it's… unpleasant."

"How could the one in the soft position be me…"

Jiang Ding shook his head.

He looked at the eleven Kings, who were tumbling and crashing through the void, smashing black holes into the empty space as they fell.

They looked miserable — many had snapped tendons and broken bones, they were vomiting great mouthfuls of blood, their flesh a mangled mess, every one of them looking half-dead.

But this was an illusion.

As body cultivators, their greatest asset was their physical bodies, which possessed powerful self-healing ability; these wounds were already recovering at tremendous speed.

Until a flying sword's blade truly cut into their bodies and sword qi and sword intent were injected into the wounds, every terrifying-looking injury was insufficient to count as a battle result.

"Sword art!"

"Sword art of the Fourth Realm!"

At this moment, under the fearful, bewildered gazes of the Kings, the Hegemon Blade King suddenly shouted: "A human race sword art! You've inherited the sword art legacy of the Ancient God Dao!"

"Ancient God Dao?"

Jiang Ding was startled.

This King of the Horned Demon Imperial Clan seemed to know something. He had some accomplishment in cold weapons — seemingly the Third Realm of the Sword Dao, Refining the Sword into Silk.

Yes, although he was called the Hegemon Blade King and used a blade rather than a sword, the realm of his blade art was called the Third Realm of the Sword Dao.

Because in this world, there were sword cultivators, but no blade cultivators, no hammer cultivators, no spear cultivators, and certainly no bow cultivators.

Perhaps some cultivators who favored these weapons liked to style themselves so.

But that was insignificant — merely self-styling.

On the higher road, from the vast and endless perspective of the universe, among the many cultivators who styled themselves by cold weapons, only sword cultivators had reached an extremely high place — the height of setting the rules of the universe — making sword cultivation something as natural and self-evident as sunlight, water, and air.

Among all the immortal Dao achievements of the cold weapon path, blades, hammers, axes, spears and the like, all combined, were not worth a single hair of the Sword Dao.

Furthermore, these blade art realms and spear art realms had extensively drawn on the excellent immortal Dao achievements of sword art; their very core was fundamentally the same.

For example, the Hegemon Blade King's blade art, although it possessed the realm of Refining the Sword into Silk, he still preferred to push the great momentum on the blade to its extreme, condensing blade momentum and blade soul, using great momentum and raw force to overwhelm opponents. It differed from sword art in many ways, but was merely

a different directional application of the sword art's core.

"Hegemon Blade King, may I ask what the Ancient God Dao is?"

Jiang Ding asked warmly and amiably.

The constant pursuit of knowledge and the unknown was his lifelong habit; for it he was even willing to trade a precious one ten-thousandth of a breath's worth of battlefield time.

"Hmph!"

The Hegemon Blade King's expression was icy cold, showing no sign of answering.

Jiang Ding's warm smile faded.

Boom!

Another streak of blood-colored sword light came crashing down like thunder!

This sword used sword intent as its bone, sword edge as its blade, condensing a million swords into one. The sword was like thunder's roar, its body bright as a silk thread, flickering in and out of existence like mist — dim and wavering, as if woven from countless resilient threads, radiating a terrifying aura of indestructibility.

"Indestructible Sword Art…"

The Hegemon Blade King's expression of fear deepened.

This sword was utterly unremarkable — just a single slash downward.

Yet in the eyes of a blade art grandmaster like him, it contained sword intent, sword light differentiation, sword qi thunder roar, Refining the Sword into Silk, indestructible sword qi, and many other terrifying sword arts. Moreover, it had been built up layer upon layer, transformed layer upon layer, changing a million times in an instant, finally freezing into this single sword that was the extreme counter to body cultivators.

The sword cultivator's "indestructibility" was not about oneself — about making oneself undying.

It was about constant transformation, cutting out the sharpest sword possible!

Before this sword had even descended, thread after thread of stinging pain kept surfacing across the Kings' bodies; their treasure physiques, honed to the extreme, were screaming frantic warnings.

This was not a sword one could simply endure with one's body!

"Kill!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

At this life-or-death moment, the Demon Leaf King, the Sha Yi King, and the others went berserk, decisively igniting their qi and blood; one by one, the bloody light on their bodies blazed outward like furnaces.

This scalding, boiling power of qi and blood even caused the blood river sword domain imbued with indestructible will to begin to ripple.

"Kill!"

The eleven Kings roared wildly.

They ignited their qi and blood, erupting with terrifying power. The Kings' indestructible chaotic spaces wove together into one, fused into a single whole, tinged with the color of fresh blood, and finally formed a chaotic, indestructible vortex a thousand zhang across.

This chaotic vortex was held aloft by eleven Imperial Clan King weapons, as if lifting a great star, and hurled toward that flickering streak of blood-colored light!

The dim, wavering blood-colored sword thread arrived as expected.

This sword thread was as slender as a willow leaf, as tough as cattail reeds, swaying in the wind — seemingly fragile beyond measure; a light brush would send it flying.

Yet, when this single strand of sword thread truly fell upon the indestructible chaotic vortex the eleven Kings had wagered their lives to unleash—

Heaven and earth suddenly fell utterly still.

Boom!

Rumble!

A terrifying explosion, as if the orbits of two suns had fallen into disorder.

?? The two clashed head-on, unleashing a cataclysm of cosmic destruction. Heaven and earth were dyed in blood-red light, then in a stretch of chaotic grey radiance. Vast swathes of void vanished, mountains and rivers were silently devoured, everything disappeared without a trace.

No one knew how long had passed.

Clang!

A blood-coloured flying sword, dim and faded, retreated back, humming softly.

"Brothers,"

"You're a little weak, it's affecting me…"

Jiang Ding sighed softly.

This sword's true body was the Ben Ming Fa Bao of Dong Xue He Wang — a river of blood refined from countless living beings. He had added countless heaven materials and earthly treasures, mixed with Dong Xue He Wang's bones, meridians, skin, and hair, to forge it into a sword. Among Primordial Spirit treasures, it could not be considered weak.

However, that was all it was.

Compared to the sword arts of Di Si Jing, the difference was like cloud and mud.

Not only the flying sword — Dong Xue He Wang's magic power, Dong Xue He Wang's immortal Dao foundation, Dong Xue He Wang's divine sense…

Everything was the same.

This was a fact a slave race, a slave king, had to face: it was impossible to lay down any deep foundation, the conditions were just that harsh. To be alive and to ascend to Soul Transformation was already an absolute prodigy of the human race.

The battle strength displayed now relied entirely on the sword arts hidden away over the past ten thousand years.

As the smoke cleared, the figures of the eleven kings of the Horn Demon Imperial Race were revealed.

Each of them was in a wretched state. Even the chaotic indestructible space had briefly shattered — some had severed hands, some severed legs, some had a massive gash split open at their waists.

These wounds were all personally cut by the Blood River Sword. The wounds contained the will of the Blood River Sword Dao, madly destroying and devouring the kings' flesh and blood, offsetting their power of indestructibility.

"Run!"

"Run fast! The Imperial Son is behind us, we still have a chance!"

The eleven kings barely stood up, every one of them wounded, and said with extreme decisiveness.

They did not scatter, but formed a battle formation, like a heaven-treading giant, fleeing madly into the distance — no longer filled with the hatred of before, no longer bent on a death-match pursuit.

"You want to run?"

"That's somewhat possible, I suppose."

Jiang Ding smiled faintly.

"My friends, if you want to run, it's very simple."

"Take two more of my sword strikes."

"That's all."

Clang!

The Blood River Sword hummed softly, drawing in spiritual energy from thousands of miles around. Its slightly dim sword body became fresh red and lively once more.

Boundless blood light enveloped heaven and earth, then suddenly contracted, condensing into a flickering streak of blood radiance — blindingly bright, dazzlingly brilliant. Whether one looked at it or not, it forcefully filled the hearts of all the kings, impossible to evade in the slightest.

An icy killing intent settled over everyone's heart.

"Kill!"

Kings such as the Dominant Blade King, the Sandy Overflow King, and the Demon Leaf King, under their trembling instinct, halted their flight, burned their essence blood, gathered all their strength through the battle formation, and struck backward with their full power.

Boom!

This time, as the sword edges clashed, terrifying force erupted, spreading through the Horn Demon Imperial Race's king weapons into the bodies of the eleven kings, making their flesh and skin ripple like water without cease.

"No!"

"Ah!"

A king screamed in terror, his shriek utterly shrill — it was the Demon Leaf King, the relatively weakest among the kings.

Boom!

The next moment, the Demon Leaf King's body exploded into a cloud of blood mist, leaving only a hundred-zhang-tall skeleton still running.

Boom!

Boom, boom!

This was a beginning. Right after the Demon Leaf King, the bodies of the Sandy Overflow King and many other kings exploded into clumps of blood mist, leaving only hundred-zhang-tall giant skeletons still running. Their auras weakened sharply, yet they still madly shattered space as they fled.

Even the indestructible treasure-bodies of the Imperial Race kings could not resist a sword of Di Si Jing!

The only one still relatively intact was the Dominant Blade King. His body rippled like water, but he could still maintain a human form, not exploding apart.

"Not dead,"

"You actually aren't dead."

Jiang Ding saw this and was truly helpless: "You guys are simply more tenacious than cockroaches. I'm clearly so much stronger than you, yet it's still endless like this."

"You really are,"

"A delight."

Clang!

Jiang Ding struck out another sword.

This sword no longer carried a grand, blazing spectacle — no blood light blanketing the sky, no myriad phenomena unfolding. Instead, it was formless and intangible, arriving in an instant, enveloping the hearts of all the kings.

"No!"

"Don't!"

The Demon Leaf King clearly foresaw something and shrieked hideously: "Dong Xue He Wang, killing Imperial Race members below the king rank is one thing."

"If you dare to kill an Imperial Race king, you will undoubtedly die!"

"No one in the entire realm can shelter you!"

"Not even the Flame Flow Imperial Son!"

"Blood River King, do not deceive yourself!"

By the end, his voice carried a plea; no longer mad, no longer bloodthirsty, stripped of the dignity of an imperial king, he begged desperately.

Yet, that cold killing intent did not diminish in the slightest.

It drew closer, growing colder and colder.

The death brought by the sword was descending, unstoppable.

"Stop!"

"This King surrenders!"

"This King is willing to serve the Flame Flow Imperial Son, to fight for the Flame Flow Imperial Son! This King swears loyalty now..."

This was the words of another

king.

He begged without ceasing, even facing the direction of the Black Water Small Realm where the Flame Flow Imperial Son was located, swearing an oath of loyalty to the Flame Flow Imperial Son whom he had once vowed to be irreconcilable with, his sincerity reaching the extreme.

"I am the king of the Flame Stone family!"

"I am the Flame Flow Imperial Son's third uncle!"

"You cannot kill me, you cannot kill me, or the Flame Flow Imperial Son will surely kill you, Blood River King, you..."

These were the words of the Sand Overflow King, a branch of the Flame Stone family.

"I am willing..."

"You damned servant..."

Facing life and death, the kings of the many Horned Demon Imperial Families went mad; begging for mercy, cursing, threatening, each different, various methods on display, making one's eyes dizzy.

Clang!

The crisp, pleasant sound of the sword arrived as expected, ending all speech.

Heaven and earth fell silent.

No more noise remained.

Jiang Ding stopped, quietly admiring the scene.

Eleven Horned Demon Imperial Family kings, bodies stiff like blood skeletons, ceased running and halted, their bodies lacking even the force of inertia, utterly annihilated.

"You... this servant... you will surely die in the future..."

The eyes of the Demon Leaf King were vacant, moving slightly.

Crack!

A fissure appeared within his blood-skeleton-like brow bone.

Then, the fissure spread across his entire body like a spiderweb.

The fissures were straight and vertical, their edges smooth; not natural, but marks like those cut by a sword, covering every bone on the hundred-zhang giant, leaving no place unscathed.

Boom!

Finally, the hundred-zhang body of the Demon Leaf King collapsed; the skull shattered, the spine shattered, all bones shattered, turning into fine powder.

This powder was gray-white, devoid of any life force; all life force had been swallowed by a beam of blood light, transforming into a blood dragon that flew into a blood-colored long sword, becoming material for refining the flying sword to enhance it, causing its aura to strengthen once more, and its weak points in the fragile sword body to be mended slightly.

The Demon Leaf King, dead!

Soul and spirit both annihilated!

Boom!

Boom! Boom!

The death of the Demon Leaf King was the beginning; sounds of bones collapsing one after another, hundred-zhang blood-bone giants dying in succession, massive bones sliced into hundreds of millions of fragments, their souls and life essence swallowed by the blood dragon, becoming supreme holy materials for refining the flying sword.

Ten beams of blood light, like blood dragons, these were blood dragons containing the life essence and spirit of ten Horned Demon Imperial Family kings, surging toward the Blood River Sword, wrapping it, constantly refining it, elevating its essence.

Ten.

Yes, ten.

"Haaah!"

The last king,

the Overlord Blade King, burned everything, striking a brilliant blade light with a massive heavenly blade, shattering the blood-colored sword light that had passed through layers of flesh and blood; at the cost of his body below the head shattering, he successfully survived.

Trembling in his heart, terrified beyond measure, with no courage to look back, he fled madly backward with only his head.

"Not bad."

"Overlord Blade King, your strength is not weak."

Jiang Ding offered praise.

His hand rested on the sword hilt.

Then, he let go, allowing the Overlord Blade King, who had only a head remaining, to escape, making no further move.

"Cang Kong..."

Jiang Ding's gaze fell upon the thirty-plus kings rushing over from a distance, and then upon the dashing and elegant Imperial Son at the very center.

The heart of the Cang Kong Imperial Son tightened.

He unconsciously halted his steps, as if sensing the scent of a natural enemy.

"Cang Kong,"

"I will find you again."

Jiang Ding looked deeply at the Cang Kong Imperial Son among the thirty-plus kings, having no intention of striking an egg against a stone; his figure, wrapped in ten blood dragons not yet refined, slowly vanished.

He did not engage, departing a step ahead.