The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 275

Kazuma Miyamoto was, of course, dead.

Jiang Fei’s sword had pierced his heart—clean through, cold and final. If that wasn’t enough to kill him, then ghosts must truly exist.

Killing a man like this—a Japanese swordsman—bothered Jiang Fei not at all. From the start, he hadn’t bothered to conceal his intent. Today, he had come with one purpose: to kill.

As Jiang Fei had said, since Miyamoto Kazuma had set foot on Chinese soil, treating its martial artists not as worthy opponents but as enemies—leaving those he defeated either crippled or dead—he should have been prepared to face the same fate himself.

As for Miyamoto’s reputation as the foremost master of the Niten Ichi-ryū, a figure revered in the world of Japanese swordsmanship? Jiang Fei couldn’t care less.

Sure, the man was skilled—that much was undeniable. But what about his actions deserved respect? The very idea was a joke!

A true master, one worthy of admiration, would never lack basic tolerance. They certainly wouldn’t come to China and leave a trail of blood in their wake. And they would never, after defeating a young woman like Liu Yunduo, not only cripple her martial arts but also carve two humiliating scars into her face.

That was nothing short of despicable. Su Mengnan had called him a “vicious old dog,” and he wasn’t wrong.

Was this the conduct of a true master? It bordered on the methods of a demonic cult. No wonder the Niten Ichi-ryū had such a low standing in Japanese swordsmanship circles, often dismissed as a “heretical path.”

Besides, Jiang Fei wasn’t a fool. During the duel, he had sensed the thick, murderous intent radiating from Miyamoto—especially after Jiang Fei had begun using the Dugu Nine Swords, suppressing Miyamoto’s signature “Reincarnation Slash” to the point of near uselessness. The moment Miyamoto felt threatened, his killing intent had surged.

Clearly, this so-called grandmaster of Japanese swordsmanship saw Jiang Fei as a threat—one that had to be eliminated while he was still young, lest he become a problem in the future.

This line of thinking was probably the same as when he had crippled Liu Yunduo.

For all these reasons, Jiang Fei’s killing strike had been decisive, without the slightest hesitation.

…..

“Master!”

From the sidelines, Yamamoto Wakamizu watched in horror, her eyes reddening as tears streamed down her face. She could hardly believe it—her master, the greatest practitioner of Niten Ichi-ryū, a living legend in Japanese swordsmanship, had been defeated.

If he had lost to his lifelong rival, the contemporary sword saint Yagyū Munenori, she might have been heartbroken but could have accepted it. But how could he lose to Jiang Fei, a man so young?

And worse—this defeat meant death.

She had come to China with her master, expecting to witness his unstoppable conquest, watching him triumph over one powerful foe after another, etching his legend into the vast land of China.

But now—he had lost. He was dead.

Nearly out of her mind with grief, Wakamizu drew her twin blades in an instant, lunging toward Jiang Fei to avenge her master. But before she could take more than a step, two senior instructors from the dojo seized her, disarming her.

Though they, too, were furious and shocked, they hadn’t lost their reason.

If even the greatest master of Niten Ichi-ryū had fallen to this young man’s sword, how many in the world could stand against him? Charging in now wouldn’t just violate martial honor—inviting ridicule from all—but worse, it would be futile.

Given Jiang Fei’s own killing intent, he was clearly not one to hold back. If they attacked, there was no telling whether he’d cut them all down.

They had no choice but to endure.

…..

Jiang Fei didn’t bother retrieving his sword from Miyamoto’s chest. Instead, he pulled up his character stat screen in his mind.

He had absorbed all of Miyamoto’s internal energy, but he wasn’t yet sure how much he had gained. Only by checking the proficiency of his North Star Divine Art would he know.

Character: Jiang Fei
Level: 4
EXP: 1380/5000
Physique: 3.8
Spirit: 3.9
Agility: 3.8
Strength: 4.0
Unassigned Points: 0

Martial Skills:

• Lightfoot Skill (Triple Cloud Leap) – Lv. 1 (0/100)

• Incomplete Taiji Fist – Lv. 1 (0/200)

• Qimen Dunjia Arts – Lv. 0 (0/100)

• Dugu Nine Swords – Lv. 1 (1/500)

• North Star Divine Art – Lv. 1 (3.5/15)
  Available Skill Points: 198

Secondary Professions:

• Weapon Forging (Lv. 9)

• Botany (Lv. 9)

• Culinary Arts (Lv. 9)

• Horticulture (Lv. 9)

• Music (Lv. 9)

• Brewing (Lv. 9)

• Beast Taming (Lv. 9)

• Medicine (Lv. 8, 24% progress)
  …

“3.5 years! A full 3.5 years!”

Jiang Fei was stunned. Before this battle, his internal energy had been less than half a year’s worth—somewhere between 0.4 and 0.5. Now, it had skyrocketed to three and a half years.

Miyamoto’s energy had saved him three years of grueling cultivation, multiplying his reserves nearly sevenfold! And according to the system’s conversion between internal energy (neili) and martial force (jingang), the ratio was roughly 1:5.

Which meant Miyamoto must have cultivated his martial force for at least fifteen years.

“I suddenly find myself wishing Japan had a few more swordsmen like Miyamoto Kazuma…” Jiang Fei mused inwardly, a shameless grin forming in his mind.

If just four more masters of Miyamoto’s level challenged him, his North Star Divine Art would reach the second tier without him lifting a finger!

…..

As the battle concluded, Jiang Fei—still clad in his tattered robes but exuding the aura of an undiminished master—left the cherry blossom-lined courtyard. Only then did Yamamoto Wakamizu and the other Japanese swordsmen rush to Miyamoto’s corpse, wailing in grief.

In stark contrast, the Chinese martial artists in attendance were ecstatic, as if celebrating a grand festival. Many swarmed around Jiang Fei, clasping their fists in salute, their faces alight with admiration. To them, he was nothing short of a national hero.

Invitations poured in from all sides—everyone wanted him as their guest, as though his mere presence would bring honor to their households.

And in a way, Jiang Fei had played the hero.

If he hadn’t stepped in, which of China’s sword masters could have confidently defeated Miyamoto? The result might well have been a bloodbath across the martial world. Liu Yunduo and Wang Haoran had only been the beginning—who knew how many more would have fallen to Miyamoto’s blades?

No, three blades, not two.

A broad-shouldered man with a bristling mustache—clearly a seasoned martial artist—boomed with laughter:

“A true hero emerges from the young! Young Master Jiang, your skill is peerless—a once-in-a-century genius of the sword! I am Ye Changqing, master of Huacheng’s Eight Trigrams School. To celebrate your victory over that Japanese swordsman, I invite you to my humble school. I’ve saved a fine jug of wine—let us drink our fill!”

A Daoist priest, holding a horsetail whisk, bowed slightly. “This humble Daoist is Lingxuzi of Wudang Mountain. On behalf of my senior brother Qingxuzi, I thank you. Should you ever visit Wudang, we would be honored to host you.”

Had Jiang Fei not intervened, Miyamoto’s next target after Wang Haoran would have been Qingxuzi—a master of equal repute. Given Miyamoto’s lethal prowess, the outcome would have been grim. The Daoist’s gratitude was genuine.

“Lingxuzi, after Jiang Xiaoxia’s great service to Wudang, you’d whisk him away? How shameless! Jiang Xiaoxia, Wudang’s scenery is nothing special. Come to Changbai Mountain instead—perfect for summer retreats, and we’ve wild boar and bears for hunting!”

“Barbarians, inviting him to the wilderness? Jiang Xiaoxia, visit Hong Kong instead…”

Faced with this enthusiastic mob—many of them renowned masters whose names Jiang Fei recognized from the Central Martial Arts Academy—he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

This must have been how Huo Yuanjia felt after defeating that Russian strongman.

With polite but noncommittal replies—“Perhaps another time”—he finally extricated himself and left the dojo.

But on the peninsula, he was intercepted.

Not by Ye Yuanyuan, Su Mengnan, or Liu Yunduo—but by Yagyu Chika, the radiant campus belle of Peking University and one of his former students.

Jiang Fei blinked. “Miss Yagyu… you watched the fight?”

She nodded. “How could I miss such a spectacle? Had I not seen it, I’d never have known your swordsmanship was so… divine.”

Jiang Fei’s eyes narrowed. Still in his ruined robes, he asked pointedly, “And does the outcome disappoint you? Or perhaps… anger you?”

Yagyu Chika shook her head quickly. “You misunderstand. I have no ties to Miyamoto Kazuma, nor any desire for revenge. I only came to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Miyamoto was one of my uncle’s rivals. Now that you’ve killed him… my uncle may set his sights on you.”

“Your uncle?”

…..

Far away, in Japan…

Amid a bamboo forest, a tall, broad-chested man in a white robe strode barefoot, his long hair unbound. He plucked a few falling leaves from the air, then flicked them casually—

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Like blades, the leaves sliced clean through multiple bamboo stalks.

To him, even a petal or leaf could be a lethal weapon.