Chapter Seventy-Six: The Duel of Swords

Guo Lang noticed that the other party didn’t respond immediately, but instead looked back at a subordinate holding several wooden boxes. Judging from the length of the boxes, Guo Lang had a vague idea of their contents. He pointed and asked, “Are those swords inside?”

There was a moment of surprise among the people nearby. The fat man frowned, then nodded. “Yes, my friend brought them—Tang swords!”

Good stuff! Guo Lang raised his eyebrows, then said to Ye Zhiqiu, “Shall we use those to fight?”

What? The expressions around them shifted at once. The fat man was momentarily stunned, quickly trying to dissuade him. “Brother, there’s no need to go that far, is there? Blades are blind—using swords is hard to control!”

Guo Lang ignored the fat man and fixed his gaze on Ye Zhiqiu. “Well?”

His opponent frowned, face stern. “If you can guess my profession, you should know what that means. Are you sure about this?”

Guo Lang smiled sincerely. “That’s exactly why—if we use those, you’ll definitely be formidable.”

At these words, Ye Zhiqiu was taken aback, then burst out in hearty laughter, his deep voice reverberating and making everyone’s ears buzz. When he looked at Guo Lang again, his gaze was full of appreciation. “Alright. If you die today, I’ll come to pay my respects every year!”

Guo Lang smiled. “Likewise!”

Isn’t this a bit much? The onlookers swallowed hard, but in this charged atmosphere, none of them could speak. Even Xiaoting, usually carefree and easygoing, now looked a little tense, her eyes full of worry.

The subordinate handed the swords to the two men. Guo Lang weighed his, drawing the blade—its dazzling silver gleam made him narrow his eyes in admiration. “Fine craftsmanship,” he thought. Tang swords are mainly divided into four types, but the most common is the horizontal sword currently in his hand: about seventy centimeters long, straight and upright, with both the kingly air of a sword and the domineering aura of a blade. No wonder the wealthy love to collect them—they are both practical and beautiful.

“Shall we begin?” Ye Zhiqiu flicked the blade and asked.

“Alright, let’s start!” Guo Lang nodded, taking up his stance.

At his words, Ye Zhiqiu paused, then adjusted his posture. In an instant, the air around him shifted: the towering, imposing man now exuded a calmness as serene as still water. Everyone held their breath. Even ordinary people could sense the transformation; it was like something out of a martial arts novel—who knew a person’s presence could change so dramatically, so quickly?

Clear Heart, Bright Moon Style! Guo Lang’s pupils contracted at the stance. The Fireblade Clan had collected hundreds of thousands of sword styles from across the universe, and most people started with the aggressive schools. The Bright Moon Style was a gathering-force school, requiring great talent. Those lacking would make it look like an artistic display—beautiful to watch but of limited use in battle—but for the gifted, it was a different story.

Those who understood force-gathering could unleash terrifying bursts of power with this style, and while immersed in sword momentum, their concentration would rise to another level, their reactions extraordinary. Many found such swordsmen especially troublesome.

Guo Lang’s expression grew grave as he too readied his stance. The only swordsmanship he knew was the Crusader Swordsmanship, standard for the Human Light Knights—a basic style passed down from the Silver Hand. Broad and open, it lacked the finesse and footwork of the sword saint schools, focusing more on the heavy, brutal feel of battlefield combat. It wasn’t ideal for duels—elite swordsmanship combined with footwork was for technical fighting—while Guo Lang’s was made for the chaos of war. A general who triumphed in a hundred battles might not last two moves against wandering martial artists—each had their strengths.

But this was all he knew. Facing Ye Zhiqiu, whose presence was growing more focused and formidable, Guo Lang knew he couldn’t let him gather his force any longer. If Ye Zhiqiu completed his momentum, the resulting strike would be earth-shattering—and with equal attributes, Guo Lang would not be able to withstand it.

Purple light, crystalline as amethyst, flashed in his eyes as he unleashed his full bloodline power. In a blur, he struck downwards—a slash so swift that the onlookers could hardly track his movement. Even those like Xie Lin, who could follow the action, found themselves holding their breath.

The movement was too smooth. From raising the sword, to charging, to striking, every action flowed with impossible perfection. Even Ye Zhiqiu, who had been watching Guo Lang closely, failed to react in time. As he instinctively tried to defend, it was already too late.

Bang! The two men sprang apart. Ye Zhiqiu glanced at the sword mark on his sturdy arm, a flicker of confusion on his face. “What did you just do?”

Guo Lang smiled. “Nothing special. Just a simple slash.”

Ye Zhiqiu’s pupils contracted. Suddenly, he understood. Indeed, Guo Lang had done nothing out of the ordinary—but why did this ordinary slash have such an effect? Only Guo Lang knew. The action was simple, but its quality was supreme—each movement distilled to perfection, the result of more than twenty years and hundreds of thousands of repetitions.

“How many times have you swung a sword?” Ye Zhiqiu, gifted as he was, zeroed in on the key point even as Xie Lin and the others were still puzzled. He asked gravely.

“I can’t remember,” Guo Lang replied with a smile. “At least… over a hundred thousand times.”

Whoa! In the C City second-generation circle, someone suddenly exclaimed, “So that’s why you never show up in our circles—you’ve been at home swinging a sword instead? If it works this well, I’m going to try it too. Don’t call me for drinking or gossiping from now on!”

The others all rolled their eyes. Xiaoting, in particular, scrunched her round face into a bun of skepticism. Swinging swords? In her memory, her brother had snuck off to his room to do unspeakable things hundreds of times, but practicing swordsmanship? She’d never seen it.

“Interesting,” a fervent light flickered across Ye Zhiqiu’s face, and his aura shifted sharply. He lunged at Guo Lang, his sword style changing to one of broad, sweeping slashes. Guo Lang was caught off guard; he hadn’t expected to be imitated. But his own excitement only grew. The two moved with such speed that the crowd could only make out shadows and sparks as blades clashed.

Though they couldn’t see clearly, the bystanders agreed—it was thrilling.

Xie Xiaoqin watched in amazement. Was there really such a thing as martial arts? The man her father had introduced was… beyond her expectations. She glanced at Gong Shaolin beside her, making a silent comparison. Her own Shaolin brother was quite impressive, but could he do this?

Gong Shaolin was assessing the same question. If he used his full bloodline power… His expression darkened as he conceded: against either of these two, he wouldn’t last three moves.

“Interesting,” Xie Lin’s smile grew wider and wider.

While the peanut gallery nursed their own thoughts, Guo Lang felt the pressure mounting. This guy… what terrifying talent for learning. In less than a minute of trading blows, Guo Lang had inflicted nearly ten wounds on Ye Zhiqiu, but each time, the man avoided the vital points. He looked battered, but the injuries were only flesh wounds. More importantly, Guo Lang found it increasingly difficult to land a hit, as Ye Zhiqiu’s movements drew closer and closer to mimicking his own.

After a metallic clang echoed through the air, the two separated once more. Guo Lang’s hand trembled ever so slightly, his gaze growing solemn. That last exchange—Ye Zhiqiu’s movement had been almost identical to his own!

Twenty years of hard-won skill unraveled in a single minute of combat, thoroughly absorbed by his opponent. Talent, he thought bitterly, was something you simply had to respect. Guo Lang took a long breath, stepped back, and his aura abruptly changed, adopting the very same stance Ye Zhiqiu had started with.

Clear Heart, Bright Moon Style! Excitement flared even brighter on Ye Zhiqiu’s face. “This is getting more and more interesting,” he murmured, taking up the same stance.

Both men understood: the decisive moment had come.

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In the municipal housing complex, Xie Tianhua stared at Guo Zhenghua in shock, his voice stammering. “Are you sure about what you just said?”

Guo Zhenghua nodded gravely. “That’s what my boy told me. I don’t think he’d dare fool his old man.”

Xie Tianhua fell silent, pacing the room with a deeply conflicted expression. After a long pause, he sighed. “Old Guo, this cake is too big for us to eat.”

“Mm.” Guo Zhenghua nodded in agreement.

“The gaming pods in C City have all been collected at the Western Military District's defense base. So many eyes on them—if we try to get a few out, those with ulterior motives will notice. It can’t last long…”

Guo Zhenghua nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”

There was another silence. Then, Xie Tianhua suddenly asked, “Old Guo, are you still in touch with Old Li?” He meant Old Li, Li Chao’s grandfather—Guo Zhenghua’s former commander in the army and the Chief Logistics Officer of the Central Asian Military Zone.

Guo Zhenghua hesitated, a troubled look on his face, before sighing. “Actually, my first thought was to report this to central command. But such a report would have to be made privately. If it’s public, intelligence officers from other federal regions could catch wind of it. But as a private report, someone of my rank can’t just see Leader Liang whenever I want. The best option is to go through my old commander, Old Li, and have him pass it up. But the Li family wields great influence in the military, and if…”

He trailed off.

“You’re worried the Li family might have ambitions of their own?” Xie Tianhua asked gravely. The Li family was different from theirs. At most, they’d try to gain a little advantage before others caught on. But if a military powerhouse like the Li family learned of this and had their own agenda, the resulting turmoil would be much greater.

“Mm…” Guo Zhenghua nodded with difficulty.

“I don’t think so…” Xie Tianhua shook his head. “I know Old Li—he’s someone who puts country before family.” He paused, then said, “We have to go to the capital, leave tomorrow. But we’ll bring our sons with us. If we sense any ill intent from the Li family…” As he spoke, he made the gesture of a drawn sword.

Guo Zhenghua’s heart tightened, and he was suddenly filled with respect. The reason he’d confided in Xie Tianhua first was precisely because he trusted his old commander’s character and patriotism.

“Mm… Old Guo, I’ve made my position clear. Could you take your hand off your gun holster now? I’m getting old, my heart’s not so good, and this is making me a bit nervous.”

Guo Zhenghua laughed. “You’re joking, chief. Why don’t you come to my place tonight and rest? We can set out together tomorrow.”

Xie Tianhua pursed his lips. “Do I have a choice?”