Two experts on par with the Danjin level attacked simultaneously—how could Jiang Fei dare to be arrogant and not fight back?
Let alone two, even a single Danjin-level expert was by no means weak. No one in the world would just sit still and let them land a hit; that would be nothing short of suicide.
So even though Jiang Fei’s internal energy had already risen to 14.9 years thanks to the Northern Dark Divine Art absorbing the inner strength of the two island nation assassins—and he might only have needed a few more seconds to reach 15 years and break through to the second level—he was forced to stop immediately, despite the fury burning in his chest.
Boom!
Under Jiang Fei’s control, the circulation of the Northern Dark True Qi within him abruptly shifted. He severed the connection with the two islanders, and the rapid absorption of their internal energy came to a sudden halt. At the same time, Jiang Fei delivered a heavy palm strike to each of their backs—hard enough to send them flying to the side, yet careful not to kill them. Otherwise, even the stray shockwaves from a clash between two Danjin-level fighters would have been enough to take their lives.
After all, to Jiang Fei, these two were essentially “experience points.” Absorbing their inner strength would give him a massive boost. Since he hadn’t finished absorbing them yet, they still held value. If Jiang Fei could drive back the two Danjin-level experts—Mikhail and Augustus—he could always go back and continue draining them.
The assassins, Monkey and Shadow, were sent tumbling to the side. In the very next instant, two thin willow-leaf throwing knives materialized in Jiang Fei’s hands.
Little Li Flying Dagger!
This had become a standard piece of concealed weaponry in his storage slot, always ready for emergencies.
Just like this very moment. At a critical juncture, even Jiang Fei didn’t have time to mount a proper defense. While the weakened version of the Little Li Flying Dagger wasn’t powerful enough to kill a Danjin-level expert head-on, it was more than enough to catch them off guard, force them into a fluster, and make them defend themselves.
And sure enough—two daggers, impossibly fast and carrying the attribute of “never missing their mark,” shot out from Jiang Fei’s hands, aimed straight at the heads of Mikhail and Augustus. Even as Danjin-level experts, both felt a jolt of alarm.
The more skilled a fighter, the keener their sense of what poses a threat—what can wound them, or even take their lives.
The moment the Vatican ascetic Mikhail and the bald demon Augustus saw those flying daggers, they knew these were no ordinary projectiles. Dodging alone wouldn’t work; they had to block with their weapons.
If they chose to ignore the daggers and pressed on with their attack on Jiang Fei, then after killing him, those blades would inevitably blow their heads off too!
Obviously, Augustus and Mikhail weren’t willing to go that far. Jiang Fei’s life wasn’t worth trading for theirs.
Shing! Shing!
Their holy-light cane and slender flexible sword changed direction mid-strike, no longer aiming for Jiang Fei’s vitals as he sat on the ground, but instead turning to deflect the two flying daggers.
Clang! Clang!
Without a doubt, the Little Li Flying Daggers were peerlessly accurate and packed considerable punch. But against Danjin-level experts, after producing two loud clashes, Mikhail and Augustus were forced to halt, their tiger-mouths slightly numbed, yet they had blocked the attack without a scratch.
Their chance to strike while Jiang Fei was immobile had been foiled. Jiang Fei had already risen swiftly, longsword in hand.
“I heard you defeated Yanagisawa Munenori head-on with a sword. Didn’t expect you to be quite skilled with throwing knives too? Very good.” The bald Augustus rubbed his head and grinned at Jiang Fei. “Ascetic, looks like our little contest over who kills this Chinese prodigy swordsman first isn’t going to be so easy. Looks like we’ll have to cooperate.”
Mikhail furrowed his brow but said nothing.
Yet his cane, now that he was in action, looked completely different from its previously shabby appearance. Though it didn’t actually radiate any holy light, it did give off a mysterious, otherworldly aura.
“They’re actually racing to see who kills me first? These two sure have no shortage of confidence.” Jiang Fei squinted. Though his face revealed nothing, anyone familiar with him would know—this was the calm before a storm of rage.
He gave his longsword a light swing and held it horizontally before his chest, then said flatly, “You already know who I am. Shouldn’t you introduce yourselves as well?”
“No need for that. Because… you’re destined to die!” Augustus let out a sinister laugh. His face—not exactly handsome, but at least normal-looking—twisted into something completely hideous and ferocious. It suited his old alias of “The Devil” quite well.
The moment the words left his mouth, his body launched into the air. His lightning-fast flexible sword began to writhe and undulate unpredictably, rendering most conventional sword-defenses useless against him.
Whoosh!
The flexible sword came streaking through the air along with his body, like a dragon surging from the water, coiling toward Jiang Fei’s neck. The entire space seemed filled with sharp yet soft sword energy, forming a haze of illusory blade-shadows. The area became like a vast expanse of cotton—seemingly harmless, yet no one could tell where, within that cotton, a razor-sharp needle might be hiding.
Touch it, and death follows.
This bizarre, extreme style of swordsmanship—calling it “Heavenly Immortal Descending” with its dreamlike, ethereal quality would be inappropriate, but describing it as “as untraceable as a gazelle hanging its horns” would be absolutely spot on.
Jiang Fei held his sword before his chest, watching this bald man who had pushed flexible-sword techniques to their absolute limit—and whose swordsmanship was not far behind that of the island nation’s sword saint, Yanagisawa Munenori. Even he felt a flicker of genuine surprise.
If this bald brute were facing anyone else, his eerie swordplay would be nearly impossible to defend against, and its lethality could indeed rival Yanagisawa’s ultimate moves—”Split Body Slash” and “Sword Domain.”
But the next instant, a cold smirk curled at the corner of Jiang Fei’s mouth.
That smirk carried a hint of disdain.
In the eyes of others, the bald man’s flexible sword was terrifyingly lethal. But to a true master of the sword, this style fell far short of Yanagisawa’s “no-form defeats form” and “everything is a sword” philosophy.
If Yanagisawa himself were to face this bald man, he’d have him completely suppressed within ten moves at most.
And in under twenty moves, he’d have taken his life!
On the path of the sword—whether flexible or rigid—although the training methods differ, all roads eventually lead to the same destination: returning to the essence of the sword. Yanagisawa had chosen the right path and walked it to its peak. This bald man, however—along with the earlier Miyamoto Ichishin, who evolved from two-sword style to three-sword style—had strayed into a dead end.
Jiang Fei, who had cultivated the Nine Swords of Solitude, loved nothing more than facing such “technique-obsessed” experts who’d gone down the wrong path.
Ordinary people—even ordinary sword masters—would find it difficult to defend against such bizarre swordplay and would struggle to find a counter.
But the Nine Swords of Solitude could break every sword technique under heaven!
As long as the opponent wasn’t overwhelmingly stronger than Jiang Fei—so much so that he couldn’t even react in time, or could simply crush him with brute force—Jiang Fei would find a way to shatter their style.
Whoosh!
The flexible sword, carrying layers of hidden lethality beneath a soft exterior, swept toward Jiang Fei’s body. It seemed only a moment away from engulfing him in a storm of silken sword-qi and slicing him into ribbons—but Jiang Fei’s blade shot upward like a rocket!
Clean. Direct. No flashy sword energy.
All of his power was concentrated into the body of his sword, amplifying its raw striking force to the absolute maximum.
Clang——————
Augustus’s painstakingly concealed sword techniques and countless misleading afterimages were rendered moot as Jiang Fei easily located the true blade amid the chaos and blocked the flexible sword’s body.
“What?!” Augustus, hurtling through the air, felt the immense force transmitted through his flexible sword. His heart was shaken.
In all his years as a killer, this was the first time anyone had struck the body of his sword on the very first exchange. The precision was terrifying.
Crack-crack————
Augustus took a deep breath and abruptly changed his technique. His flexible sword twisted like a serpent, coiling around Jiang Fei’s blade, trying to climb upward.
But Jiang Fei wouldn’t have any of that. With a sudden shake of his right hand, sword-qi and internal energy erupted violently, unleashing a shockwave that surged like a tidal wave. It blasted the flexible sword away.
And that wasn’t all. That fierce shockwave, like a sword-qi bolt, shot forward and seemed to pierce straight through Augustus’s body.
Pfft————
Augustus spat out a mouthful of blood on the spot. His body, which had come flying in, went hurtling back the exact same way.
“Impossible!!!”
Augustus’s eyes widened, as if they might tear apart. Gone was his arrogance, gone was his “Devil” bravado—he looked utterly pathetic.
If earlier he’d only been shocked that Jiang Fei could spot the flaw in his swordplay and strike the right spot, now he was genuinely terrified.
Because from the sheer explosive force of that shockwave, Jiang Fei’s sword-intent had been displayed in all its glory. As a fellow sword practitioner, Augustus felt a crushing pressure—as if looking up at an unattainable peak.
This level of swordsmanship was simply terrifying. Augustus had never imagined the sword could reach such heights. He’d always believed his own swordplay was the ultimate form of lethality.
After all, he’d been invincible in the assassin world. He’d challenged the Vatican and walked away unscathed, forcing them to revoke his wanted status. He’d been deeply confident in his own abilities.
Now, that confidence was utterly shattered.
“So close.” Jiang Fei, too, felt a pang of regret.
If he had already broken through to the second level of the Northern Dark Divine Art, capable of projecting his inner energy externally and forming energy-blades, then that strike wouldn’t have just wounded Augustus—it would have pierced straight through his body and killed him outright.
Of course, that didn’t mean reaching the second level would automatically give him the power to one-shot Danjin-level experts.
This time was just a fortunate coincidence.
Against other Danjin-level fighters, Jiang Fei would likely still win, but it wouldn’t be easy. It just so happened that Augustus was a swordsman—and not even a legitimate one at that; he’d veered into a twisted path.
For Jiang Fei, that was like waving a saber in front of Guan Yu.
The matchup happened to heavily favor him, and that’s why he nearly took Augustus down in a single move.
If it had been just the two of them—a one-on-one duel—and that first strike didn’t finish the job, Jiang Fei could have followed up immediately, and the second blow would have killed Augustus for sure.
But unfortunately, this wasn’t a one-on-one fight.
Jiang Fei wanted to press the attack and finish Augustus off, but the Vatican ascetic Mikhail wasn’t just standing around.
Though Mikhail and Augustus were at odds—clearly not seeing eye to eye and even competing with each other moments ago—they were now in the same boat, united by the common goal of taking down Jiang Fei.
If they couldn’t take him down first, they’d both be doomed.
The moment Augustus was sent flying, Mikhail swung his cane. It came whistling through the air with blinding speed, carrying a heavy, unfathomable pressure. Every move seemed to warp the space around it, forcing Jiang Fei to raise his sword and parry.
Clang-clang-clang!
In the blink of an eye, cane and sword clashed a dozen times. Though Jiang Fei could keep Mikhail on the defensive with a torrent of attacks, the old man swung his cane with impenetrable precision. His defense was like an iron bucket, and his strength was astonishingly heavy, making it hard for Jiang Fei to break through.
Plus, Jiang Fei had now confirmed this “beggar’s” identity.
He’d crossed paths with the Vatican before—specifically the fiery Cristiana and the bishop who accompanied her—so he knew that the Vatican’s holy men possessed a strange, otherworldly power within them.
The energy inside Mikhail now was far more formidable than Cristiana’s or her subordinate’s.
Every time Jiang Fei chopped down with his sword, Mikhail felt immense pressure. But in return, Jiang Fei’s body was jarred uncomfortably by that same power.
“Augustus! Did that one sword strike kill you?! Get over here!” Mikhail bellowed.
His expression was grim. Though he could temporarily hold off Jiang Fei’s attacks, a purely defensive stance would eventually be breached—and when that happened, he was done for.
Off to the side, Augustus finally snapped out of it.
He’d spat blood and looked severely wounded, but for Danjin-level fighters like them, that wasn’t a critical injury. Once suppressed, he could still fight.
Hearing Mikhail’s call, he abandoned his attempts to regulate his breathing. With a grim expression, he once again raised his flexible sword and charged in, joining forces with Mikhail against Jiang Fei.
But now, he was far more cautious. No more reckless charges—his moves were measured, careful…
