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墨書 Inktalez
Dust danced wildly in the air, obscuring vision, as the entire battlefield seemed shrouded in a thick fog. The Yang Chuan Woman leaned slightly forward, her gaze fixed on the chaotic scene, her brow furrowed and an expression of disbelief flickering in her eyes. She was astonished by Yan Kong's ferocious fighting style; this Yankeeper was able to engage the mysterious ronin to such an extent. However, her attention was not solely on Yan Kong's strength but also on the ronin—throughout the encounter, his sword had never truly been drawn.
The ronin, Bing Lie, stood at the center of the dust and mist like an unmovable statue. Even as Yan Kong unleashed earth-shattering attacks time and again, he merely sidestepped or took a step back, effortlessly neutralizing all of the fierce strikes. What was even more astonishing was his calm demeanor; he appeared almost indifferent, as if Yan Kong was not a formidable opponent but merely a harmless leaf caught in the wind.
A complex mix of emotions stirred within the Yang Chuan Woman. She felt a chill at Bing Lie's unfathomable depth but was equally impressed by Yan Kong's indomitable spirit. She murmured to herself, "What on earth does this Yankeeper hope to achieve?"
In stark contrast sat the Fog City Man, lounging in his chair with fingers lightly tapping on the armrest, a playful smile gracing his face. Watching Yan Kong's wild and reckless performance made him burst into laughter, his voice laced with mockery. "What a crazy kid! His martial arts are as chaotic as he is—like a raging fire—but there’s an inscrutable depth to it."
As he spoke, a glimmer of appreciation flashed in his eyes; he seemed intrigued by Yan Kong's madness and ambition but more so by the chaos that he could not control. He took a delicate sip of tea, as if watching an absurd yet captivating play unfold.
"However, this farce will eventually come to an end," the Fog City Man mused softly, a slight smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, as if he had already concluded everything. He turned his gaze back to Bing Lie, a hint of coldness appearing in his eyes. "What truly exudes pressure is never that chaotic fire but rather that immovable icy wasteland."
Bing Lie waved his hand gracefully through the air, attempting to disperse the swirling dust. His movements were light and composed, showing no concern for the chaotic battlefield around him. As the dust gradually thinned, it revealed his stern visage. He spoke calmly yet with undeniable authority: "This farce should come to a halt. I have no interest in wasting more time here."
Yan Kong gasped for breath, sweat trickling down his cheeks, yet a manic smile curled at his lips. Gripping his Great Sword tightly, his trembling arms were not due to fear but rather excitement. "Hahaha! Finally, are you ready to get serious?" His voice burned with provocation and anticipation.
Bing Lie did not respond; weariness flickered in his gaze, even a hint of indifference toward this battle. Yet just one look from him cast a profound pressure over those nearby. Yan Kong gritted his teeth, knowing that this moment was imminent. With a roar, he swung the Great Sword with all his might; its blade shot forth like an enraged steel dragon aimed directly at Bing Lie's chest.
In that split second before the blade struck, Bing Lie leapt like a gust of wind, nimbly evading what could have torn through rock. His form was elegant and fluid; there was no wasted motion as he landed squarely on the broad blade of the Great Sword.
Everyone held their breath; Yan Kong's eyes widened in disbelief that his weapon had become the opponent's foothold. Yet Bing Lie offered him no time for contemplation. With a powerful push off the blade that bent slightly under pressure, he unleashed astonishing spring-like force and charged toward Yan Kong like a diving eagle.
Bing Lie's steps were light and steady; each movement resembled a meticulously choreographed dance. His figure traced a blurred line along the sword’s edge as he closed in on Yan Kong with lethal intensity.
Yan Kong roared, using all his strength to swing the heavy Great Sword, attempting to shake Bing Lie off the blade. His muscles were taut like steel cables, sweat dripping from his forehead and falling onto the ground. However, Bing Lie stood firm as a rock, his feet seemingly nailed to the edge of the sword, smoothly adjusting his center of gravity with the violent swaying of the blade. His movements were agile and precise; every forceful swing from Yan Kong seemed to be effortlessly neutralized, not even ruffling the hem of his clothing.
Yan Kong's expression shifted from anger to terror as he gritted his teeth, cold sweat pouring down like a waterfall. He had never encountered such an opponent—one who not only remained unshaken but could also use his attacks to enhance their threat. He let out a low growl and abruptly released his grip on the Great Sword, casting the massive weapon aside. With swift hands, he drew the Daito from his waist, assuming a defensive stance in an attempt to buy himself a moment of respite before Bing Lie launched his attack.
However, at the instant the Great Sword slipped from his grasp, Bing Lie leaped off the blade like a ghost in flight. His figure traced a breathtaking arc in midair, resembling a leopard in the darkness—cold and lethal—as he pounced toward his prey. Yan Kong's Brain-Computer whirred into action, emitting a piercing alarm that signaled impending danger. Yet these alerts seemed to be filtered through a thick barrier, far removed from his consciousness, leaving only the frantic beating of his heart echoing in his ears. "Thump-thump, thump-thump..." Each heartbeat felt like a countdown to death, shaking his very soul.
Yan Kong lifted his head and met Bing Lie's gaze. Beneath the brim of his hat, those eyes were cold as ice, like ghostly flames from hell, radiating an unsettling chill. The gaze was devoid of emotion—merciless and resolute—as if it could penetrate deep into one's soul. This look pierced through Yan Kong's heart like a thorn, stirring an indescribable fear and despair within him. His hands trembled involuntarily; the Daito slipped in his grasp as if it too sensed the immense pressure bearing down on him.
Time stretched at that moment, as if the entire world had come to a halt. Yan Kong's feet instinctively retreated slightly, yet he felt ensnared by some unseen force, unable to do anything but watch as Bing Lie drew closer. Countless images flashed through his mind—intense battles from the past, unforgettable victories, and his yearning for greatness among the strong. Yet all those memories faded into nothingness, replaced by an overwhelming chill of despair that enveloped him entirely.
"It can't be..." Yan Kong whispered inwardly. Before he could voice this thought, Bing Lie was already upon him. A blade of cold light sliced through the air with lethal intent, hurtling toward him mercilessly.
Yan Kong felt time tear apart; in the next instant, he barely caught sight of Bing Lie's movement before a sharp pain struck at the back of his neck as if a colossal mountain had crashed down upon him. His vision blurred instantly; the contours of the world began to dissolve into darkness. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to brace himself against the ground, but it felt as though his muscles had lost all control over his body. He wanted to rise again, to grasp the hilt once more, but found that his feet were immobile; his knees buckled uncontrollably and crashed heavily onto the scorched earth with a dull thud.
His Brain-Computer flashed incessantly with alarms indicating multiple system failures within his body; however, those sounds gradually faded into the distance like echoes from deep beneath the sea. Yan Kong lowered his head, his gaze hazily falling upon his palm where the sword was no longer present—only empty fingers trembling slightly remained. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to lift his head but could only see Bing Lie's figure standing vaguely nearby, cloaked in wind like a silent banner.
In that final moment of fading consciousness, he heard Bing Lie's voice—deep and chilling—imbued with an indescribable calmness. It was a haiku that seemed both an evaluation of their battle and an announcement of some irresistible fate:
"The shadow of swords sweeps clouds,
Extinguishing fire without sound,
The wind passes over the earth."
These words struck like an invisible blade etched into Yan Kong's soul. His consciousness gradually dissipated as that cold haiku enveloped his final memories like a faint frost extinguishing all flames within him.
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