Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-Two: Why Kill with a Second Sword?

The northwesterly wind howled past.

Wild grass rose and fell, swaying with the wind.

Long Ying rode a pure white horse, its coat entirely free of any blemish, galloping like the wind, extraordinarily noble and swift.

To get there first and rescue the three escorting the military payroll, Long Ying had spurred his horse relentlessly, cracking his whip again and again against his beloved steed.

In the past, even a little extra galloping would have pained him; to whip the horse was unthinkable.

Never underestimate a fine horse’s allure to a man.

But matters have urgency and priority—now, survival came first; cherished possessions were secondary.

Yet as he raced across the battlefield and saw his target from afar, Long Ying instantly knew he had been reckless.

Long Ying had just caught sight of Dou Changsheng’s strike against the black-robed, emaciated warrior—a blade slash so fierce, its blade aura stretched a full zhang long, a formidable attack even among the Primordial True Realm.

With such power, Dou Changsheng’s earlier tactics and tricks were undoubtedly correct.

There was no benefit in fighting a scion of such a great clan—it was far too costly.

Yet now, Long Ying’s heart was filled with anguish.

Why had he galloped so hard, arriving so soon?

If he had merely delayed a little, everything would have settled, and it would have had nothing to do with him.

Though his heart burned with regret, his face revealed nothing; he raised his whip high once more and struck the horse’s rump with full force. The horse, in pain, surged forward even faster.

Fighting Dou Changsheng was simply not worth it.

The payroll was the most important thing—grab it and flee on horseback.

A swift horse, galloping like thunder.

The commotion was immense; the dust it kicked up could be seen from afar.

Dou Changsheng noticed the reinforcements; when he saw it was Long Ying, his heart eased.

Even though Long Ying was a Primordial True Realm cultivator of Five Qi Ascending, Dou Changsheng knew him inside out. Though they had only met recently, he was no longer the man he once was.

Dou Changsheng felt reassured; the purple-robed giant felt reassured too.

He cried out in ecstatic joy: “It’s Lord Long Ying!”

“Lord Long Ying has completed Five Qi Ascending—he is a Primordial True Realm warrior!”

And Lord Long Ying’s arrival is only the beginning—more reinforcements will come in an endless stream.

“If I were you, I’d abandon the payroll immediately and turn and run—then you might still save your life. Otherwise, you’ll be killed by Lord Long Ying’s whip, your body severed, left without a whole corpse.”

The purple-robed giant gripped his broadsword tightly but did not advance. Instead, he began running toward the blue-clad middle-aged man. There was no need to hold the rear—just buy time, and Lord Long Ying’s power would finish them off.

Even if this young man was strong, Lord Long Ying could hold him off.

This place was close to Chen Family Fortress; their reinforcements were countless. The enemy’s only possible end was death!

Dou Changsheng looked up at Long Ying. The man’s horse was fast—he had already charged from the horizon to within a hundred meters. Dou Changsheng had no choice but to abandon the purple-robed giant for now and charged straight toward the blue-clad middle-aged man.

He had to. Killing was secondary; the payroll was paramount.

Dou Changsheng reached Zhao Manren’s side. Far off, Long Ying had arrived—only ten or so meters away. The white horse kept charging; that distance vanished in an instant.

Long Ying had already flung his whip—it coiled through the air like a serpent, twisting its body, flicking its crimson tongue.

It tore through the air with a piercing shriek, each hiss like a venomous snake’s tongue, stabbing the eardrums, filling the body with discomfort.

The seven-inch mark on the whip was its weak point—strike there, break through, and you could easily kill the wielder.

The thought arose in his mind, and Dou Changsheng also knew: this warrior’s whip technique was serpent-based; the seven-inch mark was the serpent’s vital spot—the heart.

And thus it became the whip’s flaw. One successful strike could shatter the entire technique.

The whip arced through the air, generating boundless Primordial True Qi; fine threads of true qi clung to it like scales, enhancing its power and offering protection.

The whip writhed like a serpent, shifting unpredictably—hitting the seven-inch spot was extremely difficult.

But Dou Changsheng could.

The reason was simple: this sword strike was the Eighth Sword.

Dou Changsheng slashed with Hero Sword; the blade aura blazed like a rainbow, unrivaled and arrogant.

Suddenly, the blade aura split into two, then four, then eight.

The Fourth Form of the Infinite Sword Art: Sword Eight!

The Infinite Sword Art was a Primordial True Realm sword technique, its forms simple and unadorned.

The Mansion knew Dou Changsheng had limited time, so they specifically taught him this straightforward sword art—so long as his foundation was solid, he could master it quickly.

First Form: Sword One.

Second Form: Sword Two.

Third Form: Sword Four.

Each next form was double the previous.

The sword art began simply, but the later forms grew increasingly difficult: four became eight, eight became sixteen, sixteen became thirty-two. It seemed merely doubling, yet the blade aura generated by each strike grew ever more terrifying.

Eventually, when the blade aura reached three digits, a single strike resembled hundreds of swords—truly horrifying.

The Infinite Sword Art was easy to begin practicing, but extremely difficult to master.

Nine Swords was not the limit; legends spoke of a Tenth Sword, an Eleventh Sword.

Dou Changsheng had merely flipped through the Infinite Sword Art a few times, practiced it briefly, and already mastered the Fourth Form: Sword Eight.

One blade aura after another struck directly at the seven-inch point. The whip twisted and shifted constantly, but its changes could not match the number of eight blade auras.

Finally, one pure blade aura struck true—its force shattered the whip’s Primordial True Qi like dry grass before a storm.

Using Primordial Inner Qi to pierce through a higher realm’s defense was unthinkable—but perfectly normal, because Dou Changsheng held Hero Sword, a sharp weapon.

It consumed little, yet delivered immense power—this was one trait; more importantly, Hero Sword was sharp enough.

Even Primordial Inner Qi carried the sharpness of Hero Sword.

Once the seven-inch point was struck, the fierce whip instantly went limp, as if all strength had vanished. Seizing the opportunity, Dou Changsheng slashed forward once more.

Fearless Sword Art.

This strike blazed brilliantly, its blade aura stretching twelve zhang wide.

It crossed several meters in an instant; after the blade aura swept past, Long Ying’s head soared high into the air.

The headless corpse still instinctively swung the whip. Then blood erupted, spraying everywhere. The pure white horse’s body was half-drenched in blood, dripping crimson—looking like a demon risen from hell.

The blue-clad middle-aged man’s joy froze; his smile stiffened. Had Lord Long Ying been killed by a single sword strike?

Finally, he cried out in despair: “How—”

“How could he be this strong!”