My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 476 The Killing Sword (2)

Two's Dao Array Eyes followed the sword's path, analyzing assault sequences quicker than deliberate reasoning could manage.

The blade rushed toward him with a slanting cut that could have carved him open from shoulder to waist, but he spun aside, sensing the edge whip past so near it severed his robe's cloth without grazing his flesh.

Instantly, the sword flipped direction, slashing back from the other side before his dodge was even complete. Two flung himself flat on the floor, and the weapon sailed above with a noise resembling ripping cloth.

He tumbled, rose into a low squat, and the blade was right there, plunging downward at his head in a straight chop that would have cleaved him apart.

Two hurled himself to the side, his shoulder slamming into the ground with force enough to leave a mark, and he sensed the strike landing where he'd stood just a heartbeat earlier. The clang resounded across the vacant area like a bell's toll.

This approach wasn't succeeding.

The truth hit him with sharp certainty. He was only responding, blocking, clinging to life instant by instant, yet scarcely. Each dodge felt frantic, each shift controlled by the sword's assaults instead of his plan. The blade was making him battle on its terms, and he was yielding territory in every clash.

Two had to alter something core in his method, or sooner or later he'd err, and the sword would end him for it.

The weapon lunged at him once more, a stab aimed straight for his chest with velocity that made the air whistle. Two shifted aside, but the blade corrected in mid-air, pursuing his motion with hunter-like accuracy.

Instinctively, his hands rose, seizing the sword's broad side between his palms using that same frantic grip from earlier. The collision jarred his arms with tremors, and the power shoved him back three solid paces before he could veer the weapon's drive and let go.

The sword whirled off, yet just for a heartbeat. It realigned with uncanny quickness and charged again, now with a sideward sweep aiming for his torso.

Two chose not to evade. Rather, he advanced into the strike, narrowing the gap instead of widening it.

During that prior clash, the Dao Array Eyes had revealed a key detail—a tiny instant when the sword's course locked in, when its route turned foreseeable for the shortest flicker. That split second was his sole chance, the only gap where the weapon's superior velocity didn't render guarding hopeless.

His form shifted into the opening step of the seven-part form, despite lacking a true weapon to wield it. The action was entirely protective, a shift of power that nudged the approaching cut aside by mere inches, allowing it to glide safely to his left.

Right away, the sword corrected, flipping its arc to assault from the other flank. Yet Two was already flowing into the second step, his frame performing the form through ingrained reflexes forged in the array conflict. His limbs curved in a measured sweep that caught the blade's fresh path, guiding it skyward instead of halting it head-on.

The weapon twirled off and repositioned, but Two had seized a vital edge—a complete second to steady his footing, to gear up for the coming clash instead of merely countering it.

The sword struck once more, and this round Two countered with the third step of the form. The method employed looping motion to reroute direct power, converting the blade's linear stab into a skimming hit that brushed by his form without landing.

The rhythm was emerging now, solidifying in his thoughts with the sharpness of real insight. The seven-step form wasn't merely a set of strikes. It formed a full combat framework, crafted to blend attack and guard fluidly, each step paving for the following, building a loop that could persist forever.

And Two required no sword to perform it.

The methods succeeded because they adhered to basic rules of power, balance, and area control. A weapon enhanced those rules, boosted their impact, stretched their span. But the essential workings stayed true even unarmed. His frame could still carry out the steps, could still enforce the same ideas of guidance and mastery.

The sword assaulted him in an intricate series—three swift blows from varied directions, each blending into the next with scant pause. Two replied with the fourth, fifth, and sixth steps of the form, his frame gliding through the guarding flows with growing assurance.

He wasn't merely enduring any longer. He was starting to grasp the beat of the fight, to foresee the sword's flows, to spot the faint signals before each onslaught.

The weapon surged ahead in a stab at his neck. Two performed the seventh step, the closing method in the form meant to build space and realign stance. His frame acted with flawless rhythm, veering from the stab while at once steering the blade's drive to sweep beyond him.

The sword whirled away, and for the first time since the fight started, Two sensed a change in their interplay.

He shifted straight back to the first step, restarting the form, and the blade rushed him with fresh fury. But now Two was prepared. His frame surged through the guarding flows with rising smoothness, each method carried out with exactness born of true grasp rather than wild invention.

The clashes quickened. The sword's strikes turned more diverse, more intricate, probing various paths and mixes. But Two kept pace with its rise, his actions adjusting, the seven-step form offering solutions to every challenge the blade threw.

In the shadows, the Myriad Armament Constitution operated, handling insights swifter than deliberate mind, merging rules, honing performance with every effective use of the methods. Two felt his comprehension growing deeper, the steps turning more innate, more reflexive.

The sword attacked with a whirling blow that would have been undefendable moments prior. But now Two spotted the gap plainly. He merged into the second step, his limbs rising to catch the weapon at the ideal slant to guide it aside without absorbing the whole shock.

The blade twirled off, and Two didn't pause for it to readjust. He drove onward, turning the third step into a bold push rather than a guarding reply. His frame advanced with intent, seizing command of the space between them, compelling the sword to counter him for a change.

The weapon adapted, but now its motion held a shift. The strikes remained swift, remained exact, yet they bore less utter certainty.

Two ran through the complete form anew, each step linking to the next without a hitch. The methods had turned instinctive now, woven so deeply into his combat approach that he needed no conscious effort for them. His frame understood the actions, his Dao Array Eyes revealed the timing, and the Myriad Armament Constitution guaranteed each performance was peak.

The sword charged in a last, frantic barrage—a mixed assault harnessing all the intricacy and velocity the weapon could muster. The blade hit from above and below at once, forming unfeasible paths, surging quicker than Two had witnessed before.

But Two pierced its veil.

His Dao Array Eyes dismantled the mix into its pieces, displayed the core flow, uncovered the chain of locks the assault demanded. And with the flow understood, the guard turned clear.

He performed the seven-step form one last time, but this round flawlessly. Every action hit just right, every link smooth, every use of power exactly gauged. His frame danced through the guarding flows with the sleek poise of total command, facing each blow at the perfect instant, steering every assault with least strain.

The form's closing step positioned him directly before the sword, his hands set ideally to block its final stab. The blade thrust with all its might, and Two's palms united, trapping the weapon between them with rhythm so sharp the clash produced no noise.

The sword halted utterly, as if paused in mid-motion.

For an extended instant, all stayed still. Two remained with the blade gripped in his hands, his breath even and calm, his gaze fixed on the weapon that had sought his life moments ago.

Then the sword's aura altered.

The intense murderous aura that had filled its being started to wane. The ferocity ebbed, yielding to a form of respect and acceptance from a weapon that had met one fit to command it.

The emptiness faded around them, and the vast hall reformed, the other immobilized cultivators returned, and Two discovered his hand clasped around the sword's hilt.

The blade pulled loose from the wall with a gentle hush, as if awaiting precisely this instant. It nestled into his hold with ideal poise, the mass spread so accurately it seemed a seamless part of his limb rather than a separate object.

Two lingered there briefly, absorbing the events. His breath held steady after the fierce duel. And in his grasp, he clutched a weapon that had just attempted his death and now lay utterly tame.

Two glanced at the sword, then at the hall surrounding him. A few of the fixed cultivators had stirred from their trials. Not one eyed him, too absorbed in their own ordeals to spot the blade he now bore.

That suited him. He cared little for spotlighting this fresh gain.

The path delving further into the grotto called, and Two set off walking, the new sword dangling at his waist.