The Sword and Blade Sacred Emperor

Boom! After being blasted away by Ding Sheng's punch, Song Yue's face twisted in rage, and his whole body emitted an even more intense red glow.

Ding Sheng's brows twitched violently.

In that instant, an indescribably dangerous feeling surged uncontrollably in his heart.

"Hmm? That red glow must be the so-called spiritual energy?"

"According to the merged memories, the martial artists in this world can wield a supernatural power called spiritual energy, which they use to refine their twelve meridians and one hundred and eight acupoints as a cultivation method..."

"The red glow that appeared on this scumbag just now is probably the manifestation of spiritual energy, right? However, Song Yue's strength is average; he probably hasn’t even reached the level of a spiritual apprentice. That red glow can only last for a moment and is not to be feared."

Ding Sheng's mind raced, assessing their respective strengths.

"You little bastard, today I'm going to make you die." The killing intent in Song Yue's eyes blazed.

He descended like an emperor, but he never expected that hidden in the slums was such a terrifying freak—someone who hadn’t cultivated any spiritual energy, hadn’t even activated a seed of spiritual energy, yet had blasted him, a spiritual apprentice, away with just brute strength.

This was an utter humiliation.

Unforgivable!

"You little bastard, you will die under my true swordsmanship." Song Yue sneered, killing intent bursting forth.

Before his voice fell, he drew his sword, formed a hand sign, and executed an initial stance.

In that instant, a tremendous change occurred in Song Yue's aura, an indescribable pressure slowly radiating from him, making one feel an involuntary psychological burden.

"Hmm? Interesting."

Ding Sheng frowned slightly but suddenly laughed.

In a flash of inspiration, he grasped the rusty sword's hilt, mimicking Song Yue's moves, and performed the same initial stance.

An indescribable aura also began to emanate from Ding Sheng, spreading through the air.

Though he was imitating Song Yue, to others, Ding Sheng’s moves, sword techniques, and demeanor were far superior, as if he had immersed himself in the essence of the technique for decades, showcasing the true spirit and rhythm of the move.

"You fool, do you think you can learn swordsmanship just by mimicking? Haha, wishful thinking! Little bastard, die!"

Swish!

With a tremor of his sword, cold light exploded, and Song Yue launched his attack.

This sword technique was called "Cross Fast Sword," one of the low-level sword arts of the human rank.

The sword technique unleashed like a storm, incredibly fast. It was said that when mastered, one could slice a falling leaf into ten neat pieces in a single swing, with no water dripping through.

"Come on!"

Ding Sheng's eyes sparkled brighter.

His rusty sword trembled, suddenly thrusting forward, executing the same move as Song Yue.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Sparks flew.

The long sword and rusty sword clashed wildly.

For every move Song Yue made, Ding Sheng would instantly counter with the exact same technique.

The scene was eerily surreal, like two figures practicing swordsmanship in front of a mirror, each shadowing the other perfectly.

Thanks to his monstrous physical strength gained from a cave adventure, Ding Sheng could withstand the impact of Song Yue's sword, despite the latter's advantage of spiritual energy.

In the blink of an eye, the two exchanged dozens of blows.

Within the small fenced yard, sword energy crisscrossed, the sword light flickering, and the metallic clang rang loudly.

Minutes later.

Song Yue’s expression finally changed.

"This is impossible! What is going on? How can this little bastard also use the 'Cross Fast Sword'? This is a sword technique that only the registered disciples of the Sword Seeking Sect are qualified to master, and how can he appear so proficient, even surpassing me?"

Song Yue felt as if he had swallowed a dead rat, increasingly horrified.

As the fight continued, Ding Sheng's grasp of the "Cross Fast Sword" became more and more refined.

If in the first round, Song Yue could still hold his ground, by the second round, Ding Sheng had surpassed him by leaps and bounds in skill and understanding of the sword technique.

Finally—

Clang!

With a crisp sound.

As their swords met, Song Yue felt a tremendous shock in his palm, his wrist going numb. The long sword slipped from his grasp and flew away.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Ding Sheng didn’t stop. He turned the sword and struck back.

The rusty sword's spine struck Song Yue’s face three times in rapid succession before he could even react.

"Puff..."

This proud registered disciple of the Sword Seeking Sect coughed up blood, crashing to the ground like a broken sack.

Witnessing this astonishing scene, Zhao Xingcheng and the others watching felt their souls leave their bodies, shivering in fear.

"Puff... how dare you..."

Song Yue fell heavily to the ground, his face red, unable to hold back another spurt of blood, furious as he half-crawled up to say something...

But when he saw Ding Sheng's sword still in motion, slicing a falling leaf into perfect pieces, it was as if he had been silenced.

Ding Sheng didn’t stop there.

He immersed himself in the world of the sword, continuing to evolve his sword momentum.

Soon, he entered a state of deep comprehension, where the rusty sword transformed in his hands into a red light, rolling around his body, flickering in and out, the sword wind whistling as it tore through the air, incredibly astonishing.

This was Ding Sheng’s third execution of the "Cross Fast Sword."

But by now, the sword light had reached a point where it was nearly indistinguishable, like a red mist enveloping Ding Sheng, and finally, the sound of the blade cutting through the air was inaudible, leaving only a mesmerizing glow.

This was the highest realm of the "Cross Fast Sword"—slicing leaves into ten, impenetrable to water.

This scene left Song Yue stunned, as if he had seen a ghost.

The "Cross Fast Sword" was his proud technique.

Since entering the Sword Seeking Sect, he had devoted himself to its practice for over a year. Although his spiritual energy cultivation had barely progressed, he had mastered this sword technique to a high level, intending to rely on it to elevate his status in the mid-year assessment and remove the "registered" label from his name.

Who knew that this beggar-like youth would reach such mastery in just three attempts? Was he a monster?

Such a blow filled Song Yue with rage.

Buzz...

The red sword light suddenly retracted, and Ding Sheng finally stood still, sword in hand.

His body was steaming with white vapor, standing tall like a spear, and despite his ragged clothes, he radiated an indescribable brilliance.

"You want me dead? That's too naive." Ding Sheng sneered coldly, his tone laced with provocation.

Song Yue’s anger flared. He considered himself a gifted martial artist and couldn’t tolerate a seemingly weak opponent challenging his authority. He took a deep breath, and spiritual energy surged within him like a tidal wave, gathering red light around him as if to release his full power. His swordsmanship now resembled a furious lightning bolt, unstoppable.

"Come on, let me see what you can do!" Ding Sheng stood his ground, holding the rusty sword, which shimmered faintly in the sunlight, exuding a strange charm despite its rust.

The two erupted like wild beasts, unleashing massive energy, their swords clashing and producing shrill sounds of metal colliding. Each swing from Ding Sheng was as if he were battling his own shadow, pouring all his strength into every movement. While continuously mimicking Song Yue's techniques, he gradually interpreted them with even greater finesse.

"This kid, is he really a beginner?" Song Yue couldn’t believe it. His years of sword training seemed so ineffective against Ding Sheng. The intensity of Ding Sheng’s swordsmanship grew fiercer, emanating an unmatched pressure that filled Song Yue with unease.

"Cross Fast Sword!" Song Yue roared, gathering his spiritual energy for another assault. However, every attack was met by Ding Sheng’s mimicry, his sword technique even more refined in detail and momentum.

As the battle raged on, Song Yue realized his opponent was not merely imitating but surpassing him. An indescribable fear began to take root in him. How could this beggar-like boy master such profound swordsmanship in such a short time?

“Damn it!” Song Yue gritted his teeth, his anger pushing him to the brink of madness. He launched a frenzied assault, yet Ding Sheng responded effortlessly, every clash becoming a test of strength.

Ding Sheng silently chanted in his heart, having fully immersed himself in the world of the sword, the rusty sword melding with his emotions and will, charging towards Song Yue.

At that moment, Ding Sheng’s sword light blazed like a comet streaking across the sky, mesmerizing and breathtaking. Song Yue felt an unprecedented sense of oppression, the threat of “You’re doomed” echoing in his mind.

“I will never lose to you!” he shouted, desperately defending himself, yet the inner turmoil was inescapable. Ding Sheng’s momentum was like a raging torrent, drowning his confidence. With a resonant clang, Song Yue’s long sword flew from his hand, a glimmer of cold light soaring into the distance.