Peerless Martial God Chapter 5: Unsheathing the sword

Ten thousand miles stretched between Yang Zhou City and the Yun Hai Sect. Though Li Xue could traverse a thousand miles daily, Lin Feng still needed ten days to reach his destination.

Yet in those ten days, Lin Feng refused to idle away. In his prior life, he had never burned with such hot-blooded fervor or sensed that intense passion. Without conscious effort, his mindset had advanced tremendously. His pursuit along the cultivation path now lifted him to the seventh Qi Layer. As the proverb declares, “Where water flows, a canal is formed.” Furthermore, his diligent practice propelled his command of the Nine Heavy Waves martial technique to a superior stage.

These days, Lin Feng's bodily power far surpassed what it had been in his previous existence. His true might neared 8500 jin, an astonishing feat for someone at the seventh Qi Layer.

The Yun Hai Sect nestled within a range known as Yun Hai Hill. Though not the tallest peak in the chain, Yun Hai Hill sprawled across a vast expanse, visible from afar across the skies. From the heavens above, it resembled an entire city. Encircling it stood eight lofty mountains that pierced toward the firmament. This enchanting landscape drew its mystical allure from Feng Shui, bestowing profound fortune and destiny.

As he drew nearer.

“Halt! Dismount that horse!” two mountain guards barked coldly, smirking mockingly at Lin Feng. These guards were disciples of the Yun Hai Sect as well.

Lin Feng eyed them with contempt. Just then, another disciple on horseback galloped past them toward the mountain. Lin Feng gestured at the rider: “Why aren’t you stopping him?”

“Hmph,” one guard sneered with a mix of scorn and fury: “How dare you compare yourself to regular disciples? You nearly died before, you worthless trash.”

It all boiled down to influence and rank. Lin Feng grinned. These guards, despite being part of the Yun Hai Sect, served merely as ornaments. Their cultivation remained feeble. Still, anyone seeking entry had to pass them. Though their role seemed minor, they wielded the authority to bar intruders. Elites like the one who just sped by owed them no explanation.

“The weak endure bullying and shame,” Lin Feng remarked with a sardonic smile. He stayed mounted, merely yanking the reins. Qian Li Xue whinnied sharply and reared up.

“How dare you, trash!” the guards shouted in unison. Lin Feng thrust his fists forward, unleashing two explosive shockwaves that slammed into them. The ferocious air blasts hurled them backward.

“Next time, I’ll cripple you,” Lin Feng warned as he charged past. Only the strong could voice their will. The guards staggered to their feet, panting and wiping blood from their mouths. Seeing Lin Feng already distant fueled their seething rage. Trash like him outmatched them—small wonder they languished as mere gatekeepers.

In the Yun Hai Sect, teens aged 15-16 reaching the sixth or seventh Qi Layer counted as average talent. Those hitting the eighth Layer stood as exceptional prodigies, earning widespread respect. As for 15-16-year-olds attaining Ling Qi Layer, their prowess resounded across Xue Yue Country.

By contrast, a 15-year-old stagnating in the Qi Layers faced universal disdain. Lin Feng’s former weakness branded him “trash,” inviting endless torment and scorn as utterly useless.

News of Lin Feng’s return to the Yun Hai Sect rapidly circulated among disciples. As the notorious trash, he drew stares everywhere he went within the grounds, faces twisting in varied emotions. He ignored the murmurs and pressed on, heading straight for the Xing Chen Pavilion.

The Xing Chen Pavilion housed the Yun Hai Sect’s collection of martial cultivation techniques and skills for disciples. Crowds flocked there daily to train, and today brimmed with activity just like any other.

Suddenly,

“Lin Feng,”

Lin Feng halted at the call. Scanning around, he spotted a cold-faced youth.

“You’re tougher than expected—still alive, huh.” The youth was Lin Heng, son of Lin Hao Ran and the one who had plotted Lin Feng’s murder during their last encounter.

Lin Feng shot him a mocking glance. Lin Heng lingered at the eighth Qi Layer, but with the seventh Qi Layer and Nine Heavy Waves mastered, Lin Feng matched him fully. A couple more techniques, and victory over Lin Heng would be assured.

Lin Feng brushed past Lin Heng, entering the Xing Chen Pavilion without a word. First, bolster skills and power—revenge could follow.

“Next time, I’ll slaughter you and ship your corpse back for your father to bury!” Lin Heng fumed at being ignored, his glare like sharpened blades fixed on Lin Feng.

Before the Xing Chen Pavilion sat an elder gazing vacantly at the distant horizon.

“Elder,” Lin Feng bowed in respect. The lone guardian of this vital site appeared unassuming. It evoked a scene from a past-life film: a mighty Shaolin monk sweeping floors like a lowly servant. Lin Feng found that image profoundly unfathomable and enigmatic. Reborn with a second chance, he grasped its deeper wisdom.

The elder’s demeanor shifted as he focused, startled that Lin Feng had greeted him. Moments later, he nodded approvingly: “Seventh Qi Layer—you may select up to two skills from the first floor.”

“Understood,” Lin Feng acknowledged. The Xing Chen Pavilion spanned three floors, with low-level disciples barred from higher resources reserved for elites via special cards. Thus, they stuck to the first floor.

First-floor offerings consisted entirely of yellow-level skills and methods in abundance. One could discover perfectly tailored techniques among these Yun Hai Sect fundamentals, all superior to anything in the Lin family.

Lin Feng, craving skills above all, scoured the skill shelves.

“Seven-Tyrant Fist, One Tyrannical Fist – Seven lethal strikes, skill suitable for those who possess the martial spirit.”

“Hurricane blade, Transform the air itself into a weapon and launch multiple wind blades, skill suitable for people who have the air spirit.”

“Rampaging Ox, yellow level top grade martial arts skill, skill suitable for beast spirits.”

Lin Feng flipped rapidly through these tomes before shelving them. His dark spirit empowered any skill. His comprehension soared too. No limits bound his learning—another perk of the dark spirit. Yet none appealed.

“Cool-breeze sword, Quick and skillful, using this skill must be done with natural grace and elegance, fits people who have the sword spirit.”

Lin Feng’s expression flickered as he fixated on this book. Visions stirred of wielding a sword across the land, aiding the just and slaying the wicked, fueled by rebirth’s gratitude and vengeful fire. Joy surged, though it fell short of his ideal choice.

“Sword unsheathing skill, sword unsheathing is a skill which kills at lightening speed, a fast one-hit kill, suitable for people who possess a sword spirit.”

“Sword unsheathing,” Lin Feng froze. This swordplay diverged from norms. Swordsmen despised the draw’s delay, a vulnerable instant. Yet sword unsheathing existed solely to slay. Its peak fused draw and strike in one lethal motion—miss, and defeat loomed.

Unlike others, sword unsheathing held a single stage, one motion. Draw and kill defined its pinnacle. A flash, and the blade drank enemy blood.

“I’ll take it,” Lin Feng seized the “sword unsheathing” tome, then sought a movement art. One-hit kills demanded it; failure meant flight, if swift enough. Roof-leaping, wall-vaulting—every warrior’s aspiration.

Lin Feng selected Moonlight Feather, an agility skill rendering one a blur, visible only as shadow before death. Clutching the books, he approached the elder.

“Sword unsheathing,” the elder murmured, adding: “Youngster, sword unsheathing... first pick in ages. But heed this: if foes draw first and you lag, defeat is certain. Potent yet demanding, it requires surpassing speed for that one-shot kill.”

“I understand,” Lin Feng replied. The elder’s warning stemmed from goodwill. Sluggish draws doomed the instant-kill, courting peril.

“Grasping that makes it worthwhile. Fail the kill? Moonlight Feather excels for retreat.” The elder fell silent, processing the books. Xing Chen Pavilion loans lasted one month; overdue returns hindered others.

“Thank you, Elder, for your guidance,” Lin Feng took the books, bowing gratefully.

“Mm,” the elder smiled, nodding as he offered a supple sword. “Wear this as a belt—soft enough. Useless here otherwise; take it and practice.”

Before Lin Feng could respond,

“No need for endless thanks. Off to train!” The elder cut him off, waving dismissal.

Lin Feng scratched his head, speechless. Examining the blade,

Sword unsheathing with a belt-sword promised surprise strikes and instant deaths.

Lin Feng nodded, grinned at the elder, and departed.

“Haven’t seen such a intriguing youth in ages,” the elder murmured, resuming his horizon gaze, lost in reverie.

Today’s youths chased raw power through training, yet rushed impulsively, abandoning martial skills’ timeless foundations.