As the man known as Ximen Yibei slowly stepped out from beneath the ice peak and into the void, all the dark cultivators around him scattered like they had seen a plague, retreating to create a large empty space in the sky.
"The Xuanming Book? The one rumored to be a martial art created by the Saint of the Netherworld? There are only a few dozen versions circulating, right?" Ximen Yibei casually remarked, his long white hair flowing down, concealing his face.
"What, you want it too?" The Yin-Yang Wanderer sneered. "Turns out we're all cut from the same cloth. No one's better than the other."
"With you?" Ximen Yibei glanced coldly at the Yin-Yang Wanderer.
The Yin-Yang Wanderer hesitated for a moment, then boldly spoke up. "Ximen Yibei, don't push your luck. Even if you're the only one who ever challenged the Broken Path Lord and survived."
Fengyun Wujian watched silently, observing how the atmosphere seemed to be dominated by this strange white-haired swordsman. The dark cultivators, known for their pride, appeared to fear him immensely.
Ximen Yibei glanced at Fengyun Wujian, and Wujian immediately sensed the intense sword intent concealed within him. That focused, almost tangible sword energy could only be felt when looking directly into his eyes.
Though most of the ancient cultivators exuded overwhelming auras, few possessed the ability to hide all their energy like Ximen Yibei. His sword intent was completely sealed within him, not leaking even a trace, except through his eyes.
Fengyun Wujian grew curious, his eyes narrowing. He observed Ximen Yibei's movements carefully, noting a certain economy of motion. Every swing of his arms seemed to rely on inertia, and each step was as if guided by the wind. This man, despite moving through the void like everyone else, expended far less energy and spiritual force. In fact, it seemed he had a peculiar habit of conserving energy, performing everything with minimal effort.
"Is that Xuanming Book yours?" Ximen Yibei suddenly turned toward Fengyun Wujian.
"It did fall from my chest," Wujian confirmed.
Ximen Yibei looked at Yue Mo, his silence speaking volumes as his gaze communicated everything that needed to be said.
Yue Mo stood there in a daze, occasionally stroking the Xuanming Book in his possession, while his eyes shifted nervously toward the long sword at Ximen Yibei's waist, his face showing clear signs of inner conflict.
After a moment, Yue Mo's hand finally reached into his robes, fear overcoming his greed.
"Stop!" Zhan Po Shou suddenly shouted, his voice demanding attention. "I found the Xuanming Book first. You're not leaving with it so easily."
Ximen Yibei whirled around, a flash of cold light from his waist as a radiant streak of sword energy surged forward. In an instant, all the dark cultivators' faces drained of color as the entire sky seemed to darken from the sword's glow.
The flash of cold light appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. By the time it was gone, Ximen Yibei's white robes billowed, and a three-foot sword was pointed directly at Zhan Po Shou's throat. Zhan Po Shou's fingers, which had been poised to strike, remained suspended, still open.
It was too fast! No one in the vicinity saw how Ximen Yibei drew his sword. The moment the sword light flashed, it was already aimed at Zhan Po Shou's throat, and his prideful fingers never had a chance to react.
Though many present had cultivation stronger than Fengyun Wujian's, none could compare in swordsmanship. With his own deep sword arts, Wujian could easily tell that Ximen Yibei had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship. The speed of his strike had surpassed the limits of human ability. For someone like him, the concept of timing, of taking the initiative, was irrelevant.
"One sword," Ximen Yibei said calmly, slowly withdrawing his blade. "I will only make one move. If anyone can stop my sword, the Xuanming Book is yours."
"Is that true?" The Yin-Yang Wanderer glanced at Zhan Po Shou, uncertain.
"True."
"Good!" But before the Yin-Yang Wanderer could finish, a gurgling sound came from beside him. He turned to see Zhan Po Shou clutching his throat, his eyes wide with shock. The gurgling sound came from his mouth as blood began to pour from his neck, his head swiveling unnaturally as it detached and rolled to one side. A fountain of blood erupted from his severed neck, and his rigid body dropped lifelessly to the ground.
Though Ximen Yibei had not directly struck his throat, the sword aura had severed Zhan Po Shou's windpipe. To everyone watching, it seemed like mercy, but Zhan Po Shou had already been dead a moment before.
A cold breeze swept through the air, stirring snowflakes and casting a chill over the entire Yuming Peak. Everyone who witnessed the scene couldn't help but shudder.
The Yin-Yang Wanderer's smug expression vanished, replaced by pure fear.
"I don't want the Xuanming Book anymore," he said weakly, his face pale as paper.
He and his seven subordinates retreated, but Ximen Yibei did not even spare them a glance.
"Be careful!"
At that moment, Ximen Yibei's back was turned, but Fengyun Wujian noticed that the Yin-Yang Wanderer, in the midst of retreating, suddenly turned back with a vicious grin and shot a bolt of black energy from his body.
The black energy darted toward Ximen Yibei, closing the distance to less than a foot. Yet Ximen Yibei remained motionless. Fengyun Wujian grew anxious, but to his surprise, the small black energy, no larger than a fingertip, split in mid-air. It divided into hundreds, then thousands of tiny black dots, scattering in every direction.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The tiny black particles hit the ice peaks, shattering them completely.
Suddenly, Ximen Yibei spun around. The sword in his hand released a torrent of sword energy, which quickly condensed and vanished. Hundreds of meters away, the Yin-Yang Wanderer and his men froze in mid-air. Then, their bodies split into several pieces, spilling blood as they fell lifeless to the ground.
"Here." Yue Mo tossed the scalding-hot Xuanming Book into the air, like discarding a hot potato. Without a glance back, he vanished into the mountain peaks.
Ximen Yibei raised his hand, and the Xuanming Book shot into his palm.
"What are you still doing here?"
At the sound of Ximen Yibei's voice, the remaining dark cultivators scattered, vanishing without a trace as if they had never been there. Fengyun Wujian couldn't help but marvel at the overwhelming might of Ximen Yibei.
As for the Xuanming Book, Ximen Yibei didn't even spare it a second look, discarding it as if it were nothing more than a trivial item.