Chapter 135: The Bloody Battle, His True Strength

Several guards around He Liancheng staggered and took a step back under the murderous sword aura of the Soul-Severing Sword, which was pointed straight at them. Only He Liancheng himself remained utterly unmoved.

Though his expression did not change, he was inwardly shaken.

The Soul-Severing Sword was one of the ten greatest famous swords in the world. Unfortunately, its killing intent was so intense that it possessed an almost sinister quality. Only a swordsman whose own ferocity could withstand that of the sword itself could unleash its full power. For that reason, the sword had long been scorned by those who prided themselves on refinement and righteousness. In all the years since it had first appeared in the world, very few people had ever been able to wield it. During the past century, it had vanished without a trace and had never again shown itself.

Who would have thought that the Soul-Severing Sword was actually kept in the Xuan Prince's residence—and that Meng Yuanheng could bring out such terrifying power from it?

Confronted with Meng Yuanheng's aggressive and razor-sharp killing intent, He Liancheng gave a cold, contemptuous snort and said evenly, “The Xuan Prince truly knows how to jest. Your woman has disappeared, and since you are too useless to find her yourself, you have come here demanding that this general hand her over. What sort of logic is that?”

Meng Yuanheng ignored his sarcasm. He merely stepped forward, his tone growing colder, while the grim killing aura of the Soul-Severing Sword in his hand intensified.

“Hand over my Mo'er!”

“Meng Yuanheng, I admire your courage. But you have barged into the He Family Army's camp alone, pointed your sword at this general, and demanded that I surrender the Xuan Princess. Are you not being a little too arrogant?” He Liancheng also stepped forward, his voice cold.

Meng Yuanheng was as clear and cool as jade; He Liancheng was rugged and handsome. Yet both men stood straight as pines, their imposing auras pressing upon the air around them. Two evenly matched men faced each other across an ancient sword gleaming with blood-red menace, neither retreating even half a step.

Cold light flashed along the blade, reflecting in two pairs of eyes equally hard and icy.

Suddenly, a white blur shot through the air like lightning and streaked toward Meng Yuanheng.

Little Guai landed on Meng Yuanheng's shoulder and chattered at him several times.

Meng Yuanheng turned his head to glance at the creature. His eyes, made even more crimson after the slaughter, revealed unmistakable disappointment. Parting his thin lips, he murmured as though speaking to himself, “So Mo'er is not here after all?”

Without paying any attention to the countless Northern Di soldiers glaring at him, and apparently too uninterested to investigate whether He Liancheng had deliberately lured him to the camp under Shen Qianmo's name, he sheathed the Soul-Severing Sword and prepared to leave.

Now that he had confirmed Mo'er was not here, what reason was there for him to remain? Though he had been relishing the slaughter and instinctively disliked He Liancheng, finding Mo'er was far more important than killing people. He would not allow anything to delay what truly mattered.

Mo'er had to be somewhere in Dading City. Everything else could wait until after he found her. He could no longer wait to see her.

Seeing Meng Yuanheng prepare to use his lightness skill and leave without even looking back, He Liancheng's expression changed with fury. Gritting his teeth, he roared, “Meng Yuanheng! Do you think the He Family Army's camp is a place you may enter and leave whenever you please? Attack!”

With a wave of his hand, several thousand fully armed soldiers in armor charged at Meng Yuanheng from every corner of the camp, swiftly forming an impregnable circle around him.

These were the Owl Eagles personally trained by He Liancheng.

The Owl Eagles had been defeated by the Flying Cloud Cavalry at Jinyang Pass, but Meng Yuanheng was alone now. No matter how formidable his martial arts, how profound his inner power, or how unfathomable his cultivation, he still had only two hands.

At the sight of the formation surrounding him, Meng Yuanheng's swordlike brows drew together. A cold glint flashed through his eyes, and killing intent instantly emerged.

These people deserved to die. They were wasting his time searching for Mo'er!

He had no desire to become entangled in battle. He wanted only to leave as quickly as possible. Yet if he wished to depart safely, he would inevitably have to unleash a massacre.

Once Meng Yuanheng had made up his mind, he acted at once. His tall, lean figure blurred, his black form moving like a specter, so swiftly that the naked eye could scarcely follow him. The Soul-Severing Sword in his hand swept through the sky like a streak of light, its icy, murderous sword aura striking terror into all who witnessed it.

Even under the assault of several thousand Owl Eagles, he did not fall into the slightest disadvantage. Wherever his sword aura reached, countless severed limbs and broken bodies fell to the ground. For a time, screams and cries of agony rang throughout the He Family Army's camp, while the stench of blood spread through the air.

He Liancheng watched silently from the side, but his keen eyes were clouded with gloom.

Just how powerful was Meng Yuanheng's martial skill?

The Northern Di soldiers watching nearby were also badly shaken by what they saw. These were the most powerful soldiers in Northern Di—indeed, among the strongest in the He Family Army—yet before this silver-haired man, they were utterly helpless.

Blood sprayed in every direction, and a few drops occasionally landed on Meng Yuanheng's pale, gaunt, handsome face, adding an even colder and more vicious edge to his bloodthirsty appearance. In the eyes of the watching Northern Di soldiers, this silver-haired man was no man at all.

He was a demon.

“Loose the arrows!” He Liancheng ordered coldly, his gaze blazing.

If Meng Yuanheng were allowed to leave the camp alone and unharmed today, what dignity would remain for the He Family Army?

In an instant, a storm of arrows filled the air, all of them flying toward Meng Yuanheng's black figure. The Owl Eagles wore armor and did not fear the arrow barrage, so they did not cease their assault on him.

“Seeking death.”

Meng Yuanheng gave a cold laugh. A bloodthirsty chill flashed through his eyes. Clearly, the slaughter had aroused his killing frenzy. The Soul-Severing Sword was likewise infected by the sudden surge of ferocity in his heart, and its murderous aura grew even fiercer than before. Wherever his sword aura passed, the arrows flying toward him abruptly reversed course and shot back at those who had loosed them.

Yet no matter how high Meng Yuanheng's skill, no matter how fierce the killing aura of the Soul-Severing Sword, one man could not withstand an army forever. He Liancheng was no ordinary opponent, and the Owl Eagles he had personally trained were naturally formidable. Faced with Meng Yuanheng's overwhelming assault, they swiftly adjusted their formation and began a stubborn resistance. Thus Meng Yuanheng could not break through for the moment, while among the rain of arrows filling the sky, several inevitably struck him.

When Yun Yi and Yan Mo led several hundred hidden guards and shadow guards through the main gate and fought their way into the camp, they saw Meng Yuanheng, his eyes red with slaughter, snap off an arrow embedded in his left arm before raising the Soul-Severing Sword and plunging back into the battle.

At his feet lay countless Northern Di soldiers, their corpses strewn in every direction.

“Meng Yuanheng!” Yun Yi shouted furiously as he fought his way to him.

Fortunately, he had called out first, allowing Meng Yuanheng to recover a sliver of awareness and recognize him. Otherwise, there was no telling whether Meng Yuanheng might have cut him down with a single stroke, just as he had done the Northern Di soldiers.

Meng Yuanheng stopped his sword and cast an annoyed glance over the mass of hidden guards.

“Who asked you to interfere?”

Yun Yi nearly spat blood from anger. He actually had the nerve to complain that they had interfered? If they had not arrived in time, He Liancheng might already have turned him into a pincushion with arrows.

In a fit of fury, Yun Yi disregarded all distinction of rank and seized Meng Yuanheng by the collar, shouting, “Leave now! Do you want to die here instead of going to find Qianmo?”

At the mention of Shen Qianmo's name, Meng Yuanheng instantly regained his senses. He swept his gaze across the surroundings. The hidden guards had already relieved the pressure around him and were locked in combat with the Owl Eagles, while the rain of arrows had gradually thinned. Perhaps the arrows were nearly exhausted, or perhaps there were fewer archers left.

After that great slaughter, Meng Yuanheng felt that the violence in his heart had dissipated considerably. Once his sword had come to a halt, a faint weariness crept over him.

In truth, he was not entirely without restraint. He had never intended to continue fighting. Even if Yun Yi and the others had not arrived, he would have left after battling a little longer.

He slapped away Yun Yi's hand and gave him a frigid sidelong glance. Expressionless, he uttered two words:

“Let's go.”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, he leaped away toward the camp's outer perimeter.

Yun Yi could only stare in astonishment as Meng Yuanheng's black figure vanished without hesitation. He was so furious that he could barely speak.

What was this man trying to do now? Did he think the He Family Army's camp was his own Xuan Prince's residence, where he could come and go as he pleased?

After exchanging a glance with Yan Mo, whose expression was equally unpleasant, Yun Yi gritted his teeth and ordered the hidden guards and shadow guards still engaged in battle, “Do not become entangled. Withdraw at once.”

Several hundred men fought as they retreated. Before long, every one of them had withdrawn from the military camp.

“General, shall we pursue them?” one of the commanders beside He Liancheng asked. Seeing Meng Yuanheng come and go with such utter disregard for them, he was so enraged that he could barely contain himself.

“No.”

He Liancheng's face was livid, but he raised a hand to stop the army from pursuing.

He had originally devised the scheme to lure Meng Yuanheng into the camp not because he wanted to take his life, but mainly to teach him a lesson and test the depths of his abilities.

Seven years had passed since they last crossed swords. He had merely wanted to see how great the gap between them had become.

But he had never imagined that Meng Yuanheng's martial skill would be so formidable. There were probably very few people in the world who could match him now. As for himself, if they fought one-on-one, he was forced to admit that he would likely not be Meng Yuanheng's equal.

This had nothing to do with cultivation, but with the state of one's heart. Take the Soul-Severing Sword, for example. If it were in his hands, it surely could not display such overwhelming power, simply because he lacked that savage killing intent capable of nearly destroying heaven and earth.

But so what?

War between nations had never been decided by the strength of a single man, nor could victory be determined by slaughtering a few hundred soldiers. What truly mattered was the contest of national strength and the people's allegiance.

Now Meng Yuanheng had raised an army in rebellion against the Great Sheng, severed himself from it, and seized a corner of the northwest. His cause was neither rightful nor legitimate. What he lacked most was precisely the strength and popular support he needed.

Besides, Meng Yuanheng had been badly wounded in that battle. Judging by his condition, he would need a long period of recuperation before his strength could recover.

For some reason, seeing arrow after arrow strike Meng Yuanheng had eased the suppressed resentment and hatred in his heart.

Perhaps it was because he had been impulsive by nature since childhood. His father had often warned him while still alive that one must never act out of momentary bravado.

The same applied to revenge.

His objective had already been achieved. And that woman… was still waiting for Meng Yuanheng to rescue her.

So perhaps it was better to let him leave just like this.