Chapter 678: Du Jianchuan's Death Sentence!

That sword intent was still struggling.

The silver-white light at a point three inches in front of Lu Zhanlian's chest trembled wildly, emitting a sharp buzzing like metal rubbing at ultra‑high frequency.

The tip of that sword‑shaped phantom still held a forward thrusting posture, but its entire blade quivered, like a snake clamped by something and unable to move, futilely writhing its body to break free, yet unable to escape.

Each tremor left a fine ripple in the air, those ripples spreading outward……

Sweat beads had already seeped onto Zhongcun Jiben's forehead.

His hands in front of him formed an extremely complex Seal Spell, his ten fingers whitening slightly from the strain, the sword intent he had amassed over decades being drawn out at a speed beyond his control and injected into that floating sword‑shaped phantom.

He felt his true Qi rapidly depleting, the sword Qi he had spent decades painstakingly gathering, as mellow and pure as aged wine.

At this moment it surged outward like a gate opened by something, rushing so fast he couldn't even feel the pain.

But this sword intent still couldn't be pushed in.

That three‑inch gap seemed solidified by some ancient, unbreakable law; no matter how much force he applied, it remained at the same spot, neither advancing nor retreating, neither increasing nor decreasing.

His sword intent was enough to cleave a small mountain in half, to cut an entire street in two, yet at this moment it couldn't even pierce the chest of a Heavenly Human Realm old man.

Zhongcun Jiben's eyes began to redden, the edge he usually kept hidden behind his eyelids now fully exposed, like two drawn swords flashing dazzling light in the sun.

His teeth chattered, the muscles of his jaw hardened like iron blocks, and he stood there like a statue ready to explode at any moment.

He had fully confirmed……

The young man sitting on the side chair before him was definitely a Martial Ancestor.

Only a Martial Ancestor possesses such means. Only a Martial Ancestor can, without warning, use an invisible thread to hold the sword Qi of a Half-step Martial Ancestor's full‑force strike, leaving it trapped in midair.

Moreover, this young man's method was more restrained and composed than any Martial Ancestor he had heard of, as if he exerted no effort at all, merely pressing a button casually.

A huge sense of absurdity welled up in Zhongcun Jiben's heart.

He had lived over eighty years, seen countless geniuses, traveled through many places.

Although the Ying Kingdom wasn't small, compared to the vast and deep Xia Kingdom, it still lagged far behind.

Yet even in the Xia Kingdom, even in a place like Kyoto, a Martial Ancestor under thirty was a legendary figure.

How could such a person appear in Tianzhou?

He couldn't understand.

He had no time to think further, because his sword intent was about to exhaust the foundation he had built over decades.

The silver‑white sword‑shaped phantom still trembled, but its light was dimming, fine cracks appearing at the edges as if something was squeezing it from within, about to shatter.

If this stalemate continued, his sword intent would completely collapse after its last ounce of strength was spent, and the Backlash suppressed for decades would surge back, erasing the foundation of his decades‑long sword Qi within a few breaths.

He slowly released the sealed posture.

His ten fingers gradually curled and hung down at his sides, trembling slightly.

The silver‑white sword‑shaped phantom shattered the instant it lost its power support, turning into countless tiny silver specks, like fireflies scattered by wind, drifting in the air for a few breaths before vanishing completely.

The main hall was silent as if something had sucked away all sound.

The silver shards scattered on the floor flickered, then went out completely.

Lu Zhanlian still stood where he was, the pressure on his chest gone, his breath recovering its smoothness, and cold sweat on his back finally seeping out as if he had come to his senses.

Zhongcun Jiben stood there, looking as if he had aged several decades.

His back was no longer so straight, his shoulders slumped slightly, those silver‑white pupils gradually faded back to a murky, elderly yellow. His aura rapidly receded from its sharp, piercing state, like a sword sheathed, its edge withdrawn, leaving only the outline of a weary, gaunt old man.

He remained silent for a long time. Then he spoke.

"I, an old, dim, blind fool, do not know the Venerable in person; I humbly ask the Venerable to grant redemption."

After speaking, he slowly raised both hands, brought them together in front of him, his body leaning slightly forward, bending the waist he hadn't bent in decades.

His forehead nearly touched his overlapping hand backs, his posture supremely respectful.

The officials in the main hall, as if activated simultaneously by something, knelt down in unison.

Most of them didn't even know what had happened; they only saw the Ying Kingdom Sword Saint bow his head in defeat, saw the young man on the chair remain expressionless, and knew they should kneel.

Du Jianchuan knelt at the front.

His official robe was soaked through with cold sweat, cold and sticky against his back, but he paid no mind.

Just now, in front of everyone and the young man, he was about to hand over Lu Zhanlian.

He lifted his head, secretly glancing toward Jiang Feng's direction.

The young man still sat on the chair, still holding the tea that was nearly cold, his expression flat as if nothing had happened. His gaze fell on Zhongcun Jiben, as if looking at a defeated opponent, then shifted away, as if the scene had already ended.

"Salutations, Venerable!"

The crowd shouted in unison, their voices as orderly as if rehearsed countless times.

Jiang Feng set the tea cup down, the bottom lightly striking the table with a crisp sound.

His gaze swept over the officials kneeling on the floor, over the still bowing Zhongcun Jiben, and finally rested on Lu Zhanlian.

The white‑haired, gray‑haired old man still stood there, staring blankly at the scene, as if he hadn't fully processed it.

"Old Lu, for Tianzhou Martial Arts we have erected a spine; I hope you won't discard this spine."

When those words were spoken, everyone present shivered, especially Du Jianchuan, who felt as if his whole body had been pierced.

Finally, Jiang Feng's gaze fell upon him.

Du Jianchuan felt it; at this moment he felt indescribably terrified.

It wasn't his first time seeing Jiang Feng, but it was his first time facing Jiang Feng, whose Martial Ancestor status was recognized by all.

"Your Governor of Tianzhou can be handed over now…"

Boom!

Those words, to Du Jianchuan, were like a death sentence!