871 A Mountain Song, A Majestic Person (2/2)
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The Sacred Guards of West-Hill had been decimated.
A figure appeared before the dais in a gust of wind, shining in a gentle light.
The cast of luminous light seemed to be controlled by some external force. It suddenly spiked up some three metres off the ground. It seemed like someone was popping bubbles on the surface of the water with a twig.
The spike became brighter and brighter. With a clap, it transformed into a hole.
Who was this that could break through the Peach Mountain's battle formations?
It was a very thick iron rod. Its surface had recently been melted; it was still covered with traces of molten iron. It seemed quite ugly, but indestructible.
The question was, what kind of force could have melted such a sturdy rod into this mess?
With one fell swoop, the rod scattered the Blow of Light, leaving a hole in the ground. Slowly, the smoke from the battlefield started to seep out of the hole. It was a strange, magical sight.
A silhouette appeared in the smoke.
Suddenly, a flying sword appeared, charging down the mountain.
The sword came from an elderly Divine Priest.
Ning Que had first seen this Divine Priest when he entered the West-Hill Divine Hall. The priest was responsible for checking if there were any cultivators present. Even though he had attained the Knowing Destiny State, he still attempted to use an ambush.
The person in the smoke did not turn to face the attack, and instead simply waved the iron rod lightly. It somehow made direct contact with the sword, which promptly broke into two.
That old Divine Priest fell on the ground, coughing up blood.
The same officer who had reported the situation before now kneeled before the Divine Sedan. His voice was nothing more than a trembling whisper as he delivered his latest report. ”The invader has made their way inside.”
Everyone looked towards the subsiding smoke. The mood was heavy, laden with tension.
All who were present were strong cultivators. Even if the opponent were any stronger, they would not be shaken. The intruder was obviously a student of the dissolved Devil's Doctrine sect. As long as it was not the Twenty-Three Year Cicada, there was no need to fear. If it was indeed the Twenty-Three Year Cicada at the mountain, why would the battle be so bloody and long-drawn?
Still, they found it hard to remain calm. What they felt was shock, and even respect for the invader.
This was not because the person could overcome two lines of defense and the Blow of Light, but because of how their power seemed to have grown. In the early stages of battle, their strength was formidable, but not a match against the forces of the West-Hill Divine Halls. After the long, arduous battle, the invader's power had not weakened. In fact, it seemed to have grown much stronger by multiple levels by the time they stood before Peach Mountain.
Buddhist philosophies spoke of the pursuit of enlightenment, while the followers of the Devil's Doctrine sought to claim victory by sowing discord and waging war continuously. Yet these battles had been over in a flash, how had this person done it?
Other than the legend of the Academy's senior student Mu Zhiming, when had the world of cultivation been shaken to this extent? Who was this person?
Chen Pipi looked at the figure in the smoke. His body shook so violently that water spilled out of his bowl and made his clothes wet. He knew who the invader was and he also knew that she sang not just to give herself courage, but to remind him to have faith.
She was using the song to send him a message: Hold on a little longer, I'm here.
In the crowd, Ning Que looked at the ground beneath his feet. In the Divine Sedan, Ye Hongyu silently stretched out her right hand to grip her sword.
The smoke subsided to reveal a small, graceful figure.
Her shining, jet-black braid trailed behind her in the wind.
The animal skins she wore had been torn and cut by countless swords.
Her body was covered in bleeding wounds. Blood dripped to the floor.
Her name was Tang Xiaotang.
She came from Chang'an City, a thousand miles away.
She looked battered and bruised, but still majestic.
She looked at the West-Hill Hierarch and asked, ”Who dares to say that the Academy has no one?”
She turned her head towards the young South Sea girl before the altar and asked, ”Who dares to steal my man?”
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