Chapter Seventy-nine: Sword Falls, Snow Drifts, Bone Erosion

Every disciple competing in today’s matches was the center of attention, so with several bouts still underway, many disciples, having just witnessed the duel between Su Fan and Ye Xue, rushed eagerly toward the green platform.

Curious, Su Fan quickly turned to the purple-robed elder and asked, “Which group’s match is this? Why is it drawing such a crowd?”

The purple-robed elder gave a sly smile. “Your two good friends, Qin Yu and Xiao Lin.”

At once, Su Fan understood the meaning behind the elder’s smile. Both Xiao Lin and Qin Yu were formidable opponents; with the two facing each other, one would inevitably be eliminated, increasing Su Fan’s own chances of victory in the tournament.

A shadow crossed Su Fan’s heart as he hurried toward the green dueling ground, where the match was still in progress. Both competitors were bloodied, though Su Fan could not tell whether it was their own blood or their opponent’s.

With a soft sigh, Su Fan stood outside the arena, pacing restlessly, his mind in turmoil. There were two others waiting outside as well.

The green-robed elder stared intently at every shift within the ring, while the blue-robed elder sighed and clapped his hands anxiously, both their brows tightly knit, a far cry from the confident, dignified demeanor of the head seats before.

Inside the arena, Xiao Lin and Qin Yu fought ferociously, neither giving an inch. Xiao Lin, naturally stubborn and relentless in his pursuits, wielded a higher cultivation than Qin Yu and possessed uncanny agility, making him all the more unwilling to yield.

Though Qin Yu’s cultivation was only at the late Golden Core stage, not quite at the pinnacle where Xiao Lin stood, he was astonishingly swift—his movements so fast that even Su Fan could not clearly follow them, yet Qin Yu managed to evade with ease, striking back with deadly precision, each move meant to kill.

Su Fan felt he could not fault Qin Yu for such ruthless technique; such was the nature of the Green lineage’s arts: the Proud Bone Heaven-breaking Sword, born with an unyielding spirit, a pride that refused to bow even in death.

Xiao Lin formed a seal with his hand, and a flash of blue flame streaked toward Qin Yu. Qin Yu’s eyes gleamed coldly as he raised his longsword, the tip directed at the oncoming blaze.

In an instant, the attacks collided mid-air. Qin Yu was hurled backward, while the blue flame rebounded toward Xiao Lin, who hastily tried to defend but was struck, spitting a mouthful of blood.

With a low cry, Qin Yu sprang to his feet, wiping the blood from his fingertips along the blade of his sword. He swung the sword, and suddenly the heavens changed—darkness swept the sky as if the crimson glow had been cleaved in two, leaving a deep scar across the heavens.

One sword strike, to rend the sky.

Su Fan was aghast. He ran to the green-robed elder and shouted, “Stop him! If that sword falls, Xiao Lin will not survive!”

The green-robed elder could only shake his head helplessly. “Unless a competitor forfeits, no one may interfere with a match inside the arena.”

At that, the blue-robed elder snorted coldly. “Why should Xiao Lin die? Do you think my Blue lineage fears that little Heaven-breaking Sword?”

No sooner had he spoken than Xiao Lin rose within the arena, his eyes blazing with fighting spirit. Forming a seal, he unleashed a chilling wave that swept in all directions; disciples of weaker cultivation immediately coughed blood, their eyes dazed, nearly fainting.

Su Fan felt an icy cold seep into his very bones. It struck him then—the true master of chilling arts was not the Azure lineage; even Ye Xue’s techniques could not compare to the extremity of this cold.

It was said that the Blue lineage had always pursued mastery in all arts, whether the Red’s Ninefold Crimson Glow or the Green’s Proud Bone Heaven-breaking Sword; only two lineages’ arts remained untouched by them.

The first was the Violet lineage’s Celestial Phenomena, famed as the most mysterious technique in all of Tianyuan Sect. It was not reluctance on the part of the purple-robed elder to share it, but rather that countless attempts to learn it had failed.

The second was the Azure lineage’s art of extreme cold. The Blue lineage practiced their own chilling techniques and believed them superior, so saw no need to pursue the Azure’s path.

A look of disbelief filled Su Fan’s eyes as he murmured, “Moon-chill Bone Erosion.”

Moon-chill Bone Erosion did not exude overwhelming dominance or thunderous power, yet each word carried a bone-deep sense of cold, true cold.

For cultivators, cold was almost laughable—their bodies tempered by the world’s spiritual energy, what had they to fear from the chill? Yet now, disciples near Su Fan were shivering, crying out for warmth.

The green-robed cultivator frowned, sweeping his sleeve with a sudden flourish. At once, those disciples whose lips had turned purple from the cold slowly opened their eyes, looking up in fear at the two on the stage.

Qin Yu stood sword raised to the sky, letting out piercing cries like thunder, as if lightning would soon crash down, bringing annihilation.

From the rift in the crimson sky, a shaft of white light descended—a sword’s radiance, as if it had fallen from the heavens, or as if Qin Yu had struck the sky itself and sent a sword beam down in return.

Sword intent thundered with the might of heaven; every sword in the world seemed to bow before it, a chorus of blades singing in welcome to that earth-shattering strike, a sword to shatter mountains and rivers.

In a daze, Su Fan felt the broken sword in his storage pouch softly resonate, perhaps echoing the sword outside, though to Su Fan, it sounded almost mocking.

He had no time to ponder, for the sword light overhead was about to strike Xiao Lin, who was still forming a seal. Xiao Lin’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze fixed ahead, a trace of grim resolve in his eyes.

The world seemed to freeze. Countless eyes were locked on the descending sword; Xiao Lin’s hair streamed in the wind, dancing wildly.

The platform—the very stage built by the sect’s founder myriad generations ago, which had withstood countless contests—began to shake.

At first, the tremors were faint. Then dust and debris fell, stones flew. With a deafening crash, the platform collapsed, and both Xiao Lin and Qin Yu descended to the ground.

Xiao Lin was covered in blood, his face obscured by a crimson mask, his robes in tatters, utterly wretched. He had already fallen unconscious, and the crowd rushed to help him.

Qin Yu fared little better—his eyes tightly shut, his whole form wreathed in a faint blue mist, his clothes torn at the edges from the blow. The green-robed elder snorted, wrapped Qin Yu up, and carried him off the ruined field.

Someone cried out, “It’s snowing!”

Su Fan looked up. Snowflakes drifted down from the fissure Qin Yu had split open, though the sun still shone brightly overhead. Su Fan sighed inwardly at the Blue lineage’s wondrous arts.

Suddenly, Su Fan felt a pair of eyes fixed on him. He turned abruptly, meeting the gaze he most disliked—Hong Yuan. Smiling, Hong Yuan said, “Now, you and I can finally have our official match.”

Su Fan smiled back. “Why the hurry, Senior Brother Hong Yuan? As the chief disciple of the Red lineage, your position is coveted by many.”

Hong Yuan’s face darkened, but he quickly laughed. “I truly don’t wish for your death to come so easily. I won’t let you die without a fight.”

Su Fan only smiled faintly and turned away.

Tomorrow’s match weighed heavily on his mind. Whether it was the long-ago plot to kill that owl-faced Mister Xiao Chen, or the later clash with Ran Hua, or facing the mighty Three Sovereign Immortal, Su Fan had never felt this way before.

He paced the courtyard, occasionally waving his hand to scatter the birds.

“I went to see Qin Yu and Xiao Lin. They’re all right, but neither will be able to compete tomorrow,” the purple-robed elder sighed. “That means tomorrow’s final match is between you and Hong Yuan.”

Su Fan’s voice was grave. “What is the history between the Violet and Red lineages? Why do I feel such inexplicable anxiety and unrest whenever I see crimson light? Is it all because of Zi Yun?”

The purple-robed elder paused, then smiled lightly. “These things...were left by our ancestors. There’s little need to dwell on them now.”

Su Fan gave a bitter smile and walked out to the steps beyond the pavilion, sitting down quietly.

The elder sighed as well, speaking in a low voice: “Tianyuan Sect has always belonged to the Red lineage. The reason for the seven lineages is that, when the sect was first founded by the ancestor Tian Yuanzi, he had seven disciples.

Tian Yuanzi was a rare genius, his cultivation unequaled—some say he reached the legendary Heart Transformation stage. With his own strength, he established Tianyuan Sect in the chaotic Tianyuan County.

At first, the sect’s foundation was shaky, so Tian Yuanzi ordered his seven disciples to guard the seven peaks of the sect. Yet, for the safety of the main sect, he placed the Red lineage in charge of the core.

A thousand years later, as the sect’s foundation grew strong and many lesser powers joined under its banner, Tian Yuanzi issued a single decree as he left for a journey of immortality, passing the sect leadership to a Red disciple.

All was peaceful until one day, rumors spread among the disciples that the true decree was to hand the leadership not to the Red lineage, but to the Violet disciple with the deepest cultivation.

The Red disciples grew uneasy and sought every chance to weaken the Violet lineage, even secretly murdering many of its elite.

The Violet disciple, angered but never wishing to compete for leadership, was driven to the edge by such disgraceful acts, and stormed the Red lineage alone.

That day, blood flowed like rivers, the land filled with wails. The Red disciples were no match, and begged for mercy. Remembering old ties, the Violet disciple meant to leave, but was treacherously ambushed by the Red lineage. Surrounded and outnumbered, he was defeated and vanished.

After that, the Violet lineage declined, with every Red head of lineage suppressing its development. Over many generations, the resentment only deepened.”

Su Fan suddenly asked, “What weapon did the Violet disciple wield when he stormed the Red lineage?”

The purple-robed elder looked puzzled. “That was so long ago, how could I possibly know?”

Su Fan sighed deeply. “It seems my reactions are born from hatred buried in my bloodline.”

The elder nodded gently, silent in agreement.