Chapter 442: Feng Bailong’s Challenge to Chen Xin — A Glimpse into the Past (Side Story)

The moon hid away, the stars sank low. The night wind howled—

the perfect time for swordsmen to meet.

Thirty li beyond the Seven Treasure Mountain Range.

Feng Bailong stood clad in black, nearly merging with the darkness. Only his eyes burned brightly.

"The world calls Sword Douluo Chen Xin the greatest offensive Douluo under heaven."

Feng Bailong’s fingers brushed across the sword sheath.

"And I am the strongest offensive Spirit Douluo."

"I once said that with a formation of a hundred disciples, even a Titled Douluo could be fought."

"Tonight, I bring three hundred disciples, to let the world know—"

"That the Sword Dao is not limited to Seven Kill. There is also my Wind Sword."

Whoosh—

The night wind swept across the grass tips, setting them swaying gently.

His figure moved, streaking toward the depths of the mountain range. Three hundred disciples followed behind him in silence.

When they reached a wide clearing between two mountains, Feng Bailong stopped abruptly.

"This place is excellent—fit for an all-out battle with Chen Xin."

"Form up!"

"Yes!"

Three hundred disciples answered in unison and took their positions.

In an instant—

Sword Martial Souls manifested one after another, cold light linking together beneath the night sky.

Spirit Power of various colors surged like converging rivers, weaving together in the air with faint sounds of wind and thunder.

This was the Wind–Thunder Sword Formation—the technique that made the Wind Sword Sect famous and earned it a place among the Lower Four Sects!

Feng Bailong drew his sword. Its azure edge pointed straight toward the heavens.

Boom!

Heavenly thunder answered the call, coiling around the blade.

"Chen Xin, come and fight!"

His voice rolled outward like wind and thunder, shaking the land for dozens of miles.

...

Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect

On a cliff at the mountain peak, Chen Xin—who had been comprehending sword intent—suddenly opened his eyes and looked toward the distant lightning tearing through the night sky.

"This is... sword intent."

Zheng!

His figure vanished from where he stood.

Five hundred meters away, a drifting cloud was shredded by sword qi.

Chen Xin rode his sword through the air, arriving at the boundary of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.

A massive shadow blocked his path. Gu Rong stood astride a bone dragon and said in a deep voice:

"I’ll go with you."

"Gu Rong, guard the sect. This one is here for me."

Gu Rong nodded slightly and said no more.

Chen Xin transformed into a streak of crimson light and disappeared into the horizon.

"He’s here!"

From a thousand meters away, Feng Bailong saw a crimson sword light tear through the air. Wherever it passed, trees bent low. In the blink of an eye, it had arrived before him.

The newcomer wore white robes and hovered in midair. His face was lean, his expression calm and detached.

"Who comes?" he asked coolly.

"Feng Bailong."

"Sect Master of the Wind Sword Sect?"

"Precisely."

After announcing himself—

The three hundred disciples below shouted in unison as the formation shifted abruptly.

Wind and thunder surged like a hundred rivers returning to the sea, pouring entirely into Feng Bailong’s sword.

His aura climbed steadily, faintly breaking beyond the limits of a Spirit Douluo.

Feng Bailong rose into the air, facing Chen Xin across a distance of a dozen meters.

"The world says that you, Chen Xin, hold supreme authority over the sword dao and alone bear the title of Sword Douluo."

"Tonight, I, Feng, have specifically come to seek a lesson from the Sword Douluo."

Between swordsmen, words were unnecessary.

As soon as his voice fell—

A sword qi entwined with wind and thunder ripped through the air.

Whooo—

Gale winds erupted, thunder roared.

In the blink of an eye, the wind–thunder sword qi slashed toward Chen Xin’s face, whipping his hair wildly and snapping his robes.

Clang!

No one saw how he moved.

Only a flash of crimson sword light appeared—and the wind–thunder sword qi shattered instantly.

Feng Bailong’s pupils shrank sharply. He twisted aside in desperate evasion.

The crimson sword light cleaved forward like rotten wood before an axe, cutting a hundred meters ahead. Trees and massive boulders along its path were severed completely, leaving behind a shocking sword scar.

Only then did Chen Xin’s calm voice arrive.

"Is this all your sword can do? Disappointing."

Feng Bailong’s expression grew grave.

"As expected of the Sword Douluo, Chen Xin."

Boom!

He stepped forward.

From the point where his foot landed, a howling force of wind erupted, and a violent shockwave swept in all directions.

Yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black, black, black, black—eight Spirit Rings rose from beneath his feet. A light yet razor-sharp aura spread through the air.

The next instant—

The seventh Spirit Ring bloomed with a dim glow.

"Seventh Spirit Ability—Wind Sword True Body!"

All the wind within the mountain hollow—and even across the surrounding mountain ranges—transformed into visible streams of green energy, converging toward the space above his head.

An ancient sword slowly condensed from the wind.

Three hundred disciples formed seals simultaneously, triggering a change in the heavens.

Dark clouds churned, lightning writhed like dragons. Streaks of violet lightning tore open the night sky, striking the wind sword one after another.

Boom!

Boom!

Shattered stones blasted outward; grass and trees were reduced to ash.

Thunder poured into the blade, blasting scorched craters into the ground.

Within the lightning, the wind sword continued to lengthen. Arcs of thunder coiled around its edge—it stretched to more than ten meters.

This strike—

Even a Titled Douluo would have to meet it with utmost caution.

"Cut!"

Feng Bailong joined his fingers like a blade and slashed downward through the air.

Rumble—

Rumble—

The wind-thunder sword descended straight toward Chen Xin’s head.

Where the sword momentum passed, the air tore apart and the ground split open, as if the mountain itself were about to be cleaved in two.

And in that very instant—

Chen Xin finally drew his sword.

A streak of deep crimson sword intent shot skyward, bathing the entire mountain hollow as though it had been submerged in a sea of blood.

The moment the Seven Kill Sword left its sheath—

All things were seized by killing intent.

He said nothing.

He merely swung his sword with casual ease.

The blood-red sword qi collided violently with the colossal wind-thunder blade.

BOOM!!!

Amid the deafening explosion—

The two sword qis tore into each other in a frenzy.

Stray sword qi sprayed outward like countless blades, carving crisscrossing trenches into the earth. Trees collapsed in swathes, leaving the land in utter ruin.

The two swords locked in midair, lightning and blood-light exploding again and again.

Feng Bailong’s face grew paler by the moment, a thin line of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Below, the three hundred disciples were utterly drained, their faces white as paper, bodies swaying.

Chen Xin, however, remained calm and indifferent.

"Your sword dao is wrong."

Feng Bailong lifted his head, the blood at his lips glaringly vivid.

"Clinging to external forces reduces the sword to nothing more than a tool in the hand."

"To entrust slaughter to wind, thunder, and formation—how can such a sword ever strike forward without hesitation?"

"Feng Bailong, the way of thunder is fierce and violent. It is not your path. Without a chance to break through this barrier, the realm of a Titled Douluo..."

"...will be the end of your sword dao in this lifetime."

He turned to leave.

His final words drifted down on the wind.

"The sword dao is a lonely one."

Before the words had fully faded, his figure was already far away.

Feng Bailong staggered backward and was hastily supported by the disciples behind him.

Yet they saw that their sect master seemed completely unaware, merely standing there in a daze, staring at the sword blade in his hand as it trembled faintly.

"Sect Master..."

a disciple called out anxiously.

Feng Bailong did not answer. He remained standing there like withered wood gazing at a sword, until dawn broke.

After a long while—

He rasped out two words:

"Return to the sect."

From that day onward—

Feng Bailong entered seclusion.

The disciples of the Wind Sword Sect never again saw their sect master draw his sword. They only often glimpsed that lonely figure, sitting day after day atop a mist-shrouded cliff.

Feng Bailong’s eyes were wrapped in cloth. Only the wind passing by his ears remained, as though he listened to the sound of swords.

Spring passed into autumn; first snow covered fallen leaves.

Cold and heat alternated time and again. The figure listening to the wind on the cliff never moved.

Until one day, several years later—

The young sect master, Feng Buyu, led a white-robed youth slowly up the mountain peak.

The youth walked calmly, his brows refined and handsome. Stopping three yards away, he clasped his hands in deep respect.

"Junior Li Zhexian greets Senior Feng Bailong."

...

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