Chapter 34: Chapter Thirty-Four: Dragons Do Not Dwell with Snakes

The hall.

The atmosphere instantly grew oppressive.

Lin Daoqi’s expression was solemn, silent, radiating an aura of quiet authority.

He merely lifted his gaze slightly, glancing at Wang Dingli.

Wang Dingli was tall and slender, his neck pale as snow, like that of a goose, his Adam’s apple prominent, clearly marking his gender; he spoke directly: “The eight of us had little prior contact.”

“Now we share the same spirit, plotting great matters together.”

“It would be unjust to judge rank by past achievements.”

“We are all martial artists, men of the Jianghu.”

“Let strength decide.”

“I nominate Brother Lin.”

“Who else do you recommend?”

“Anyone with the will may step forward and settle it in combat.”

“The victor becomes Alliance Leader; the loser must not harbor resentment—it is simply because your skill is insufficient.”

Wang Dingli fixed his gaze on Chen Weiquan and asked sternly: “What do you think?”

Chen Weiquan replied calmly: “In the Jianghu, victory and defeat must be decided by martial skill.”

“I support it.”

Lin Daoqi gripped his scabbard and declared loudly: “Then it’s settled.”

“Who goes first?”

Though Lin Daoqi asked who would go first, his eyes were already locked on Dou Changsheng—his target was obvious.

This “Brotherhood Alliance” was nothing but a makeshift stage.

Eight men, capable of forming dozens of factions on their own.

Now they’re fighting over it? A colossal joke.

Chen Weiquan stoked the flames with ill intent; Lin Daoqi and Wang Dingli had long conspired, turning this Qingyang Spring Opening into their own stage for fame.

They formed the Brotherhood Alliance and spread word far and wide.

They never expected the Alliance to accomplish anything—it was purely a means to elevate their status and gain renown.

Lin Daoqi, no doubt a scion of a great clan, looked coarse and rugged, yet he knew exactly how to seize fame and make a name for himself.

Dou Changsheng’s brow twitched slightly, then he scanned the room.

He could clearly see the others were deeply interested in the Brotherhood Alliance.

It was natural—among these eight, only he was a fraud; the rest all carried extraordinary backgrounds.

Lin Daoqi hailed from the Lin family of Jingcheng, heir to the “Wind and Cloud Thirteen Blades,” one of the supreme martial arts in the world; his ancestors once earned the title “Sword Saint” with it.

This was no embellished title—it carried immense weight.

He could rightly be called a descendant of the Sword Saint.

Chen Weiquan’s father held high office as a senior minister of Northern Jin.

Wang Dingli came from Yun Ding Sect, one of the foremost sects in the Jingcheng region.

Everyone else who secured a spot came from equally distinguished families.

Especially now, I bear the name of the Wang family of Xiangzhou.

The Earth List has seventy-two Masters, yet the eight here could summon Siwu of them alone—this was terrifying.

Remember, these seventy-two Masters are divided among the four nations, the steppes, and countless minor states.

How many could one nation claim?

No wonder Qingyang Daoist was furious—individually, each was manageable; together, they were untouchable.

These eight gathered in brotherhood, forging connections.

The forces behind them began to push forward—enough to become a legendary tale.

Like the Ten Greats of Jingcheng, the Eight Wolves of the Steppes, the Seven Heroes of the North.

You have strength, I have lineage—we combine, and our fame rises instantly.

Chen Weiquan, Wang Dingli, and the others all stared at Dou Changsheng—their intent was clear: they intended for him to fight Lin Daoqi.

Dou Changsheng noticed this detail, then turned his gaze to Ziyang Daoist and Hongyang Daoist, who willingly played the background, silent from start to finish.

The hall held more than just these eight.

But the rest were disciples of the Three Yang Sect—they naturally had no voice.

Dou Changsheng lifted his wine cup, drained it in one gulp, then slowly rose to his feet, watching Lin Daoqi walk out of the hall, and stepped out after him at a steady pace.

He watched Lin Daoqi discard his scabbard, drawing his long blade.

The blade in Lin Daoqi’s hand was broad and thick, entirely black as ink, its surface swirling as if liquid.

This was no ordinary weapon—it was a sharp treasure.

As the most outstanding disciple of the contemporary Lin family of Jingcheng, Lin Daoqi was heavily favored; naturally, he possessed no shortage of sharp treasures.

Dou Changsheng’s lips moved, uttering three words: “Strike!”

Lin Daoqi sneered, his thick black beard bristling; he raised his long blade high and slashed forward.

A dark glow spread from the blade, threads of light swirling around it like a vortex of black wind.

The slash came like lightning.

The chilling blade qi was already upon him.

This strike was as swift as thunder.

After delivering the slash, Lin Daoqi did not pause—he stomped the ground, shattering the blue stone, leaping upward with the recoil, his body instantly soaring into midair.

From above, he brought the blade down in a mighty chop.

In the roaring wind, a unique sound formed—like thunder.

This strike brimmed with absolute power, utterly tyrannical; the air itself was crushed and shattered by pure force, forming a near-vacuum corridor!

One strike disrupted, the second struck with ferocity.

Lin Daoqi moved with extreme caution—Dou Changsheng’s past victories made him dare not underestimate.

Dou Changsheng watched calmly. After being trained by the Divine Master, and after the time spent traveling to San Yang Mountain, much time had passed—more than enough for Dou Changsheng to undergo a transformation.

The Infinite Sword Art, Ninth Form: Sword Two Hundred Fifty-Eight!

The final three forms of this primordial true realm martial art were killing techniques.

Dou Changsheng had now mastered them all; without any motion, threads of sword qi surged from his body.

Dozens of pure, translucent three-foot-long swords stood densely before him.

Each three-foot sword was pure white, emitting sword light, radiating sharpness, arrogant and unmatched.

Since being trained by the Divine Master, Dou Changsheng understood that the Infinite Sword Art was not merely about quantity—it demanded quality.

Hero Sword was a sharp treasure, inherently sharp; Dou Changsheng had trained daily with Hero Sword, sensing its essence, and finally imbued the Infinite Sword Art with sharpness.

Though inferior to Hero Sword, the Infinite Sword Art was no longer what it once was.

With a howl.

Dozens of pure white three-foot swords shot toward Lin Daoqi.

The stunning blade light clashed with the swords; the blade light shattered, the swords vanished.

In an instant, the blade light was swept clean, yet the three-foot swords showed no decrease—they surged upward relentlessly, each sword linking with the next, forming a triangular formation—not blind charges, but arranged in formation, multiplying their power.

Boom.

A deafening roar echoed.

Lin Daoqi’s mighty slash shattered countless three-foot swords.

His blade cut through like a storm, advancing relentlessly.

Dou Changsheng watched calmly—Lin Daoqi’s strength was formidable, far surpassing Zi Wu he had faced before; with his sharp treasure, he was truly formidable—a top hundred contender on the Human List.

The Infinite Sword Art’s Ninth Form had not held—Dou Changsheng was not disappointed.

His realm was low; this was natural.

But could Lin Daoqi withstand one strike of the Ninth Form? Could he withstand ten?

The Five Qi Seals suddenly opened—one of the five energy points burst wide open; all the primordial inner qi Dou Changsheng had stored erupted forth, as he unleashed the Infinite Sword Art’s Ninth Form again.

Primordial inner qi surged like a volcanic eruption, like a dammed river breaking free, flooding out in vast waves.

Mountains and oceans of primordial inner qi continuously transformed into sword qi; countless three-foot swords rapidly coalesced, filling the sky in moments, surging toward Lin Daoqi like a great river, drowning him completely.

Two thousand five hundred and eighty swords!

This power delivered an overwhelming visual impact.

Especially since each sword was precisely three feet long—just standing in midair, they densely occupied a vast area, let alone charging together.

Utterly shocking.

Watching the sword qi howl, a single man filling the heavens, as if turning the square into a world of swords.

Whoever saw this could not help but fall silent.

The Thousand-Year Earth Pearl continuously absorbed and released primordial inner qi; his empty dantian began to replenish.

Above the heavens, the roar could still be heard.

Lin Daoqi, who had leapt into the sky, now found it easy to rise but impossible to descend.

Blade light flashed, blade qi raged, immensely powerful.

Yet he could not break the sword qi—each sword that vanished was replaced by more.

The sword qi was dense and endless, while the great knife’s resistance gradually weakened, clearly showing signs of collapse.

This made Wang Dingli, who was watching, unable to sit still; he stepped forward, left the grand hall, and with a flick of his sleeve, a streak of white light shot out instantly, racing straight toward the sword qi above the heavens.

Dou Changsheng shifted his gaze to Wang Dingli, then to Chen Weiquan and the others.

The Hero Sword, which he had held tightly all along, was now drawn from its sheath; he slashed forward, and a calm voice rang out: “Come together!”

The patterns carved along the blade of the Hero Sword began to glow as primordial internal qi surged into it.

Beautiful runes radiated an arcane aura; the remaining four qi orifices, previously closed, opened fully in an instant, and at this moment, Dou Changsheng unleashed all his primordial internal qi without reservation.

The Three Yuan Qi Gathering Art spun wildly, controlling the terrifying torrent of primordial internal qi and channeling it into the Hero Sword.

After absorbing vast amounts of primordial internal qi, the colorful runes on the Hero Sword blazed even more brilliantly.

The Tenth Form of the Boundless Sword Art!

This sword strike surpassed its origin, rising beyond it.

It was Dou Changsheng’s ultimate sword technique, a breakthrough beyond the limits of the Boundless Sword Art—created after days of contemplation under the guidance of the Divine Master.

This strike did not merely increase the number of sword qi to over five hundred.

The main transformation was that these five hundred sword qi, in their illusory forms, shifted endlessly.

Illusion and reality, reality and illusion.

The Tenth Sword was the Illusory Sword.

With over five hundred sword qi, it manifested over a thousand—true and false, all subject to Dou Changsheng’s will.

With all four qi orifices now fully open and the Hero Sword amplifying the primordial internal qi, the effect was terrifying—the heavens and earth seemed transformed into a world of swords; every sight was filled with dense, countless blades.

As the sword qi howled, they coalesced into a river of blades, surging massively toward the grand hall.

Whether Wang Dingli or Chen Weiquan, every member of the Righteous Alliance present was now engulfed within Dou Changsheng’s single strike, caught within its range.

This sword was Dou Changsheng’s strongest attack.

The Boundless Sword Art was a Primordial True Realm martial art; this Tenth Form, exceeding its limits, had shattered the boundaries of martial arts and ascended into the Profound Heaven Xuan Realm.

For Chen Weiquan, the target of this attack, it was not invincible.

Chen Weiquan himself had reached the peak of Five Qi Convergence, a Primordial True Realm cultivator who wielded a higher-level Primordial Xuan Realm martial art—this was normal—but he could not withstand this strike, propelled by such terrifying primordial internal qi.

What appeared to be one sword was in fact more than the sum of ten.

Dou Changsheng knew his limits—if everyone were like Chen Weiquan, this strike would surely fail.

But Chen Weiquan and Lin Daoqi were the two strongest; the rest fell far short of them.

Especially now—Chen Weiquan’s Seven Injury Fist was incomplete, barely at the edge of the Human Rankings; Wang Dingli had not even fully mastered Five Qi Convergence, merely a powerful Primordial Realm cultivator.

The glazed tiles shattered into fragments; the grand hall was torn apart by sword qi, countless shards flying in all directions like bullets, embedding into the blue stone or cratering the earth.

Chen Weiquan and the others were all swallowed by the sword qi.

Suddenly—

A gale erupted out of nowhere.

The gale howled and instantly swept away all the sword qi.

Figures fell from within the gale, their postures disheveled; many had torn clothes, bleeding wounds, ragged garments like beggars.

Wang Dingli’s hair was disheveled, blood dripping from his mouth, utterly broken.

Qingyang Daoist had somehow appeared standing amid the collapsed grand hall.

Dou Changsheng looked at Qingyang Daoist, who had intervened to save them all—his divine power was unmistakable.

Dou Changsheng had seen clearly: Qingyang Daoist had exhaled a single breath, dispersing the sky-full of sword qi and dissolving the battle.

Chen Weiquan touched his cheek, where a sword cut had marred his demonic beauty.

But Chen Weiquan paid no attention to it now; he stared at Dou Changsheng with stunned eyes.

His mind held only one thought.

How could he be this strong?

Dou Changsheng slowly sheathed the Hero Sword in his hand and walked calmly toward Qingyang Daoist; as he turned his back to Chen Weiquan and the others, he spoke calmly: “Dragons do not dwell with snakes.”

Finally, he turned to Qingyang Daoist and said: “Master.”

“I’ve been traveling day and night; I’m exhausted.”

“I wish to rest.”

My five qi orifices are empty—I must cultivate urgently.

I’ve shown off enough; now I must be humble.

After all, this is my most vulnerable moment.