264: Chapter 264 An Encounter in a Side Hall, Saving Lives in a Desperate Situation

The icy blue cold light of the side hall shone down from the dome—the color temperature was less than half a notch off from the foyer.

The air was filled with a faint layer of sharp energy—fragments of Sword Qi left behind on the stone walls and in the air when ancient Sword Cultivators tested their swords thousands of years ago—invisible to the naked eye, yet with every breath, one could feel a tiny, subtle prickling sensation in the nasal cavity.

Lu Changyuan stood on the inner side of the hall door—he did not act immediately.

The hem of his grey cloth dharma robe hung less than three inches from the ground—concealing the entire outline of his battle armor.

Shadow One and Shadow Two had already retreated into the shadows of the stone walls on both sides of the hall door—their dark grey soft armor and waterproof cloaks melted into the shadows cast by the sword marks left by ancient Sword Cultivators on the stone walls under the icy blue cold light.

Deep in the side hall—two ancient Formation Puppets were besieging the youth.

The array core in the chest of the Puppets was half-decayed.

The spiritual light flickered on and off—every time it brightened, the bronze arm would strike down once.

The dark copper alloy floor was struck, producing a dull echo—the echo traveled from the floor to the hall walls—then rebounded from the walls—the second circle of echoes layered on top before the first had even dissipated.

The attack rhythm of the two Puppets was inconsistent—the one on the left would have its array core spiritual light flash once before every arm swing—the one on the right would not.

The half-decayed Formation core had lost its synchronization ability—but this irregular pincer attack was actually harder to predict.

The surface of the Puppets' bronze arms was covered in a thin layer of dark green verdigris—the verdigris emitted a faint dark green reflection under the illumination of the array core's spiritual light.

The Array Pattern at the arm joints had been mostly worn away—every time the arm swung—the joints would emit a tiny, sharp metallic friction sound—like some kind of small insect trapped inside the metal, gnawing at the inner wall.

The broken sword in the youth's hand had less than two feet remaining.

The cracks on the sword body spread from the sword guard up to the tip—the widest crack was in the middle of the sword body—every time he parried, it would expand inward by less than half a li.

But his sword—every time it was swung, it faintly stirred the Sword Intent left on the hall walls.

Lu Changyuan's pupils contracted slightly.

The residual Sword Intent flashed a faint cyan glimmer on the body of the broken sword—then vanished.

The next sword strike—it flashed again.

A youth at the Foundation Establishment Early Stage—whose swordsmanship was so crude that every strike seemed to be swung on instinct—yet in a near-death state, he instinctively stirred the ancient Sword Cultivator Sword Intent that had remained on the hall walls for thousands of years.

Lu Changyuan pressed his Divine Sense onto the youth by less than half an inch.

His Meridians naturally contained Sword Essence.

The Sword Essence rushed left and right within the Meridians—chaotic and disorganized—like a group of living creatures trapped in an extremely narrow space, searching for an exit.

Usually, this chaos would severely drag down his Cultivation—spiritual power would be cut off by the Sword Essence at least several times with every cycle—making his Cultivate speed at least several fractions slower than that of an ordinary Cultivator.

But at the moment of near-death—when pushed to the limit—the Sword Essence would instinctively surge outward—stirring all residual Sword Dao elements in the surroundings.

The peculiarity of this body was innate.

His Meridians had been imbued with a certain extremely pure Sword Dao power while in the womb—that power had seeped into the Meridian walls before he was born—and had grown together with his own spiritual power.

The Puppet's bronze arm struck down again.

The youth parried horizontally—the widest crack on the body of the broken sword emitted a tiny, crisp cracking sound under the impact.

The crack expanded inward by nearly half an inch.

The section at the sword tip could break off completely at any moment.

The youth's left knee slammed into the floor.

The dark copper alloy plate was hit by his kneecap, producing a dull thud.

Blood overflowed from the corner of his mouth—the blood dripped down his chin onto the front of his grey cloth dharma robe—the robe was already soaked with at least a dozen bloodstains—ranging in color from bright red to dark brown—the earliest bloodstain had already dried for at least half a day.

He knelt on one knee—the edges of his vision began to blur—but his right hand was still gripping that broken sword, which had less than two feet remaining, with a death grip.

The array core of the Puppet on the left flashed once more—the bronze arm raised—this time aiming for the top of the youth's head.

Lu Changyuan flicked out two water arrows.

It took less than half a breath from the moment the water arrows condensed from his fingertips to hitting the target.

The first water arrow accurately passed through the half-decayed crack in the array core on the left Puppet's chest—the arrow tip struck the most fragile crack in the array core.

The array core split from the middle—the spiritual light exploded outward in a circle the moment it split—then completely extinguished.

The Puppet's bronze arm stopped in mid-air—less than half a foot from the top of the youth's head—then the entire Puppet tilted backward—crashing onto the dark copper alloy floor—producing a dull thud, deeper than all previous echoes.

The second water arrow pierced through the array core of the right Puppet within the same breath.

The angle at which the arrow tip drilled into the crack of the array core was less than half a degree off from the first one—because the crack orientation of the right Puppet's core was half a degree off.

The water arrow passed through—the array core shattered—the spiritual light extinguished—the second Puppet lost power while its arm was halfway through the swing—it fell forward—the bronze arm grazed the youth's shoulder and smashed into the floor—creating three parallel shallow indentations.

The side hall quieted down.

Two Formation Puppets at the Foundation Establishment Early Stage—from the moment the water arrows were flicked out to them falling to the ground—took less than two breaths.

The residual Sword Intent on the hall walls flashed in the air currents caused by the Puppets falling—then returned to a constant, non-flashing state.

The icy blue cold light shone silently on the remains of the two Puppets—a tiny, faint cyan-grey smoke rose from where the array cores had shattered—the remaining ancient Formation spiritual power within the half-decayed array cores was dissipating outward.

The youth knelt on the ground—gasping for air.

His chest heaved violently—every inhalation brought out a tiny sound of blood bubbles bursting—his lungs had suffered internal injuries from the pressure of the Puppets' fists.

The broken sword was still gripped in his right hand—his knuckles were white—his fingers were trembling—but his grip did not loosen.

He lifted his head.

The icy blue cold light shone down from the dome—shining on his face.

There were at least five or six bloodstains on his face—one on his forehead slanting from the hairline to his eyebrow—was still oozing blood.

But his eyes—deep within his pupils was a layer of faint, tiny cyan glimmer—the same color as the glimmer occasionally emitted by the residual Sword Intent on the hall walls.

He stared at Lu Changyuan, who was walking out from the shadows of the hall door.

Lu Changyuan did not approach.

He stopped at a distance of nearly five steps from the youth—the hem of his grey cloth dharma robe swung forward by less than half an inch when he stopped—then hung back to its original position.

The icy blue cold light cast his shadow onto the dark copper alloy floor—the shadow extended from under his feet to where the youth was kneeling—stopping less than a foot in front of the youth's knees.

The youth stared at him for nearly five breaths.

Within those five breaths—his breathing gradually suppressed from violent gasping—the whiteness on his knuckles faded by more than half—but the hand gripping the sword still did not loosen.

Then—he squeezed three words out from between his teeth.

His voice had been ground down by blood and hoarseness to only a thin, base tone—but those three words were enunciated extremely clearly.

"Who are you."