Chapter 60 : Is It Martial, or Immortal?

Chapter 60: Is It Martial, or Immortal?

Ku Yi walked to the edge of the cliff, his gaze falling toward the snowy plain below.

He saw the disciples of the Clear Sky Sect surrounding Yang Jueding and the other two. His eyes shifted forward, and suddenly his brows furrowed as he squinted into the distance.

He saw seven figures walking shoulder to shoulder through the snow and mist toward the Clear Sky Sect crowd, and his expression changed.

“They’ve come… not good!”

Ku Yi immediately turned and hurried up the mountain.

Xu Ning and a group of Clear Sky Sect disciples arrived near Yang Jueding and the others, with Xu Ning walking at the very front, surpassing everyone else.

“Those seven aren’t simple,” Zhang Yuchun said softly as he came to Xu Ning’s side.

Though Xu Ning only reached his shoulder in height, the aura she radiated far surpassed his. Her eyes were calm and indifferent, as if the seven before her were nothing worth noticing.

In response to Zhang Yuchun’s warning, Xu Ning only gave a faint hum.

Zhang Yuchun turned back and saw more and more disciples descending the mountain; a smile appeared on his face.

Aside from the true disciples who cultivated the Primordial Unity Scripture, the other disciples had spent years practicing martial arts.

They ate well every day, and Yang Jueding had not been selfish—he had shared his powerful inner energy techniques with them, allowing their martial skills to grow swiftly.

Even if they were not yet first-rate experts, they were far beyond ordinary men.

To Zhang Yuchun, this battle was not a crisis—it was a trial the Clear Sky Sect needed.

How could martial artists avoid the cycle of battles and bloodshed? What sect in the martial world could forever remain secluded? Only by witnessing the strength of the world’s warriors could they set higher goals.

Qin Ye came to Xu Ning’s side holding his iron staff.

After a moment of hesitation, he took a step back, unwilling to steal the spotlight from his senior sister.

The Seven Sons of Clear Sky also arrived. Huang Shan, who had just reached the First Layer of the Nourishing Vital Energy Realm, was excited and eager to show his skills. Yet when he saw there were only seven enemies ahead, his excitement cooled.

When enemies came in great numbers, there were always weaklings among them—but when there were few, it often meant every one of them was a master.

Huang Shan had ventured down the mountain before; he knew much of the martial world.

Judging from the way those seven carried themselves, they were undeniably terrifyingly strong.

One after another, Clear Sky Sect disciples stepped forward, forming a line behind Qin Ye. Li Yang watched this scene and suddenly felt how greatly the sect had changed.

Some of these disciples, who still bore youthful faces the last time he visited, now stood firm with the courage to face enemies head-on.

Soon, the seven figures emerged from the snow mist—six men and one woman, each holding a weapon, each wearing a ghost-faced armor, like soul reapers walking out from the underworld.

“Senior brother, didn’t think a bunch of brats would dare block our path.”

“Don’t underestimate that girl. She managed to cut off my flying knife. Though the blade’s energy was mostly spent, it still proves her martial skill isn’t low.”

“If the Martial Legend’s divine art truly exists, then this is quite the pleasant surprise.”

“As expected, our Crown Prince may seem like a carefree wanderer, but wherever he goes, he always has a purpose. Truly not to be underestimated.”

The seven talked among themselves, not even glancing at the Clear Sky disciples.

Yang Jueding’s eyes stayed fixed on them as he strained his memory—then his expression changed drastically, and he muttered under his breath, “Could it be them…”

Li Yang turned toward him in surprise. “You recognize them?”

“They are very likely the Seven Fiends of the Demonic Cult. It’s said the Seven Fiends consist of six men and one woman, each wielding a different weapon, each possessing strength not inferior to the top martial artist of any province. One of them even once seized the title of First Under Heaven in Yuzhou. After the Demonic Cult was purged by the court, they vanished. I never thought… after twenty years, they’d still be alive…”

Yang Jueding’s face darkened, his tone heavy.

Li Yang, being from a noble family, knew more about the Demonic Cult than ordinary martial artists—and even he was shaken.

Since the founding of the Great Li Dynasty, the most powerful sect in the martial world had been the Demonic Cult.

Even the Three Founding Sects of the Great Dynasty couldn’t compare.

The Demonic Cult’s influence had stretched across several provinces, sweeping through the entire martial world, with countless masters within its ranks—many of whom had earned the title of top martial artist of their province. Its demonic might was boundless.

More crucially, the Demonic Cult had not been destroyed by the righteous sects of the martial world, but by the Emperor himself, who had mobilized the imperial army for a massacre—at great cost.

It was no exaggeration to say that the most recent Martial Legend belonged to the Demonic Cult. But the court had since forbidden all discussion of it, and destroyed every record—so few among the younger generation even knew of its existence.

“The Seven Fiends of the Demonic Cult were top-tier even among their peers—no weaker than the Four Great Protectors. We can’t confront them head-on,” Li Yang whispered.

Yang Jueding’s gaze remained fixed on the Seven Fiends. “If we turn and run now, we’ll only die faster.”

His eyes drifted toward Xu Ning.

She always gave him an unfathomable feeling—but facing the Seven Fiends, even he felt uneasy.

Clenching his jaw, he stepped forward, ready to fight alongside her.

The Seven Fiends stopped five zhang from Xu Ning, their eyes gleaming with mockery.

The sole woman among them giggled. “Little girl, your martial arts are impressive. How about joining our sect? Agree, and all the world’s supreme techniques will be yours to choose from. We’ll even grant you precious herbs to temper your body. Within five years, you’ll enter the realm and become a true master.”

Xu Ning didn’t respond.

She drew her sword, pointing it straight at the Seven Fiends. Her intent was clear.

The Fiends’ ghostly masks hid their faces, but from the way their hands gripped their weapons, they were clearly angered.

Just as Yang Jueding came to Xu Ning’s side, a piercing cry echoed between the twin peaks. He instinctively looked up.

He recognized that cry—as did every disciple of the Clear Sky Sect. All raised their heads, even Xu Ning.

“What’s this? Begging the heavens for mercy already?”

The Fiend holding an axe sneered. His frame was massive, like a living iron tower.

They had heard the cry too but paid it no mind.

What could the Clear Sky Sect do—send eagles against them?

At that moment, a furious gale swept down from the sky, scattering the snow fog above their heads.

The Seven Fiends looked up in alarm—then instantly shifted into battle stance.

A shadow descended, plunging them into darkness.

The light reflected in their ghost masks showed only wide eyes filled with fear and disbelief.

A massive black eagle, its wings spanning five zhang, hovered before them, beating its wings fiercely.

Its talons, sharper than any blade they held, gleamed with cold light.

The Seven Fiends, who had roamed the martial world for decades and thought themselves its most fearsome beings, were terrified beyond measure.

They leapt backward, widening the distance.

Sunlight pierced the dispersing fog, falling upon the eagle’s body—revealing a young, handsome man standing upon its back.

The disciples of the Clear Sky Sect were equally startled by Little Eight’s sudden arrival—but when they saw Li Qingqiu’s back, excitement filled every face.

Yang Jueding exhaled in relief.

The pressure the Seven Fiends brought was overwhelming—but thankfully, Li Qingqiu had come.

Still, how could he descend from the heavens standing on an eagle’s back?

The sight stirred Yang Jueding’s blood. His fists clenched within his sleeves.

Li Yang gazed upward, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“What kind of monster are you?”

The whip-wielding Fiend’s voice trembled.

The oppressive aura of Li Qingqiu and Little Eight weighed heavily upon them.

Li Qingqiu did not answer. He raised his right hand, and instantly the sound of blades leaving their sheaths rang out one after another.

The iron swords in the hands of the Clear Sky disciples flew into the air, a dozen or more of them, and hovered around him.

The Seven Fiends’ eyes widened in shock.

Without hesitation, they turned and fled.

The Clear Sky disciples, aside from Xu Ning, were all dumbfounded—Zhang Yuchun and Yang Jueding included.

Some even looked down at their empty scabbards, wondering if they were dreaming.

Standing atop the eagle’s back, Li Qingqiu waved his hand forward.

In that instant, the floating swords shot forth as streaks of cold light.

One of the Seven Fiends, who wielded twin blades, heard the slicing sound behind him. He spun and slashed forward with both swords to block the incoming strike.

Puchi—

Blood splattered.

The man’s head was cleaved clean off, his body still frozen in a stance of attack, his twin blades shattering like mirrors and scattering into fragments.

The remaining six were terrified beyond reason.

Knowing they couldn’t escape, they turned to fight together.

But the flying swords struck faster than imagination.

Their movements were sluggish in comparison—as sword after sword pierced their bodies.

The last woman among them was dragged backward by a flying sword for several zhang before being nailed into the snowy ground. Her limbs hung limp, despair frozen in her eyes beneath the ghost mask.

It all happened in an instant—from the moment Li Qingqiu attacked to the Seven Fiends’ deaths, not even two breaths had passed.

So fast that the disciples of the Clear Sky Sect couldn’t even react.

From the distant cliff, Su Xiling had just arrived and saw the scene unfold. Her eyes widened; she rubbed them to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

Li Qingqiu lowered his hand.

The swords tore free from the corpses and flew back toward him.

With a wave of his sleeve, they lost their sword aura and turned back into ordinary iron swords, sliding neatly back into their owners’ scabbards.

The disciples felt their hands tremble, then looked down to find their swords already sheathed.

“Elder Yang, see to the bodies.”

As his voice faded, Little Eight flapped its wings, stirring a violent wind.

It soared into the sky and disappeared into the snowy mist.

Even after he left, the Clear Sky disciples stood frozen, unable to come back to their senses.

Li Yang collapsed to his knees in the snow, staring blankly at the sky.

“What… was that? Martial… or Immortal?”

Xu Ning looked into the distance.

She sensed Zhao Linglong and Dian Ming’s auras.

Without waiting for the others to recover, she raised her sword and dashed into the mist, vanishing from sight.

——

In the guest courtyard, Yan Lan held a book in hand.

Ku Yi had gone down the mountain for some time now, yet for some reason, he felt restless, unable to focus on reading.

“Could this calamity be not just the Clear Sky Sect’s?”

Yan Lan murmured to himself.

He set down the book and stood, walking toward the courtyard gate.

Ku Er, who was still recovering from his wounds, followed him.

Just as they stepped outside, a fierce wind swept through, shaking the snow off the trees.

Yan Lan raised his hand to block the falling flakes—then suddenly, darkness flashed before his eyes.

The light returned a heartbeat later, and when he turned to look, his eyes widened.

He saw a massive black eagle, monstrous in size, gliding over the forest canopy. On its back stood a figure, back turned to him.

Yan Lan froze, doubting his own sight.

Ku Er emerged from the courtyard behind him. He hadn’t seen Li Qingqiu—Little Eight’s wings had just happened to conceal him from view.

“What a massive eagle… How could such a creature exist in these mountains?” Ku Er said in alarm as he came up beside Yan Lan.

At that same moment—

Li Qingqiu stomped lightly on Little Eight’s head and muttered, “Can you stop being so mischievous?”