77: Chapter 77 Testing the Sword at Eagle's Sorrow Gorge and the First Sound of the Sword's Bone

The wind at Eagle Sorrow Ravine is different from anywhere else.

It seems to be repeatedly squeezed and torn by the invisible mountain ranges, losing the gentleness of ordinary mountain winds, leaving only knife-like whistling and harsh intensity.

The wind pours in from the narrow mountain pass, whipping up gravel from the ground and striking the rock walls, producing a crisp "clatter" sound, as if countless tiny locusts were colliding.

At the third quarter of noon, the sun is blazing, yet it cannot dispel the cold chill at the bottom of the ravine.

Lin Haoyu stands alone on the ancient stone platform, which rises in the center of the pass and measures no more than three zhang across.

The surface of the stone platform is uneven, covered in marks of varying depths—the weathered imprints left by the passage of time and Sword Qi.

He wears black martial attire most suitable for movement, with that most ordinary-looking green steel sword on his back; his entire person stands like a javelin, nailed to the stone platform, letting the fierce wind whip his clothes into a snapping frenzy.

He does not look around, merely sinking his consciousness into the ground beneath his feet.

He can feel that this stone platform, polished by the footsteps and sword edges of countless Senior Sword Cultivators, seems to still retain a certain silent yet sharp "Aura".

This Aura is both similar to and different from the bleak and murderous "Aura" he sensed on the Salt and Iron Ancient Road.

The ancient road belongs to the "Aura" of Heaven and Earth, while here, it is the pure "Aura" belonging solely to the sword.

Time ticks away, and his heartbeat, along with his breathing, gradually merges with the whistling of the wind and the silence of the stone platform.

Suddenly, a white shadow descends gracefully from the hundred-zhang-high cliff without warning.

The person is dressed in white as pristine as snow, his figure landing on the other end of the stone platform as lightly as a feather, showing not the slightest trace of awkwardness.

He carries a simple, ancient longsword on his back; the scabbard is dark and dull, yet it cannot hide the bone-chilling coldness emanating from within.

The person who arrived is none other than Chu Yun.

His gaze, sharp as two drawn swords, sweeps casually across the area, making Lin Haoyu feel as if the surrounding air has frozen, with a needle-like stinging sensation prickling his skin.

That gaze lingers on Lin Haoyu for an instant, then passes over him to look at the empty pass behind him, as if searching for something.

"Your father, did he not come?" Chu Yun's voice is as clear and cold as ice, devoid of any emotion.

Lin Haoyu steadies his mind, bows with cupped hands, and responds neither humbly nor arrogantly: "Father said that this is a trial of the Dao of the Sword, and Haoyu should face it himself."

These were his father's exact words before he came.

But Lin Haoyu knows that his father, Uncle Liu Yuan, and Aunt Qin must be on the nearby cliffs, in some corner he cannot see, watching this place.

Yet even so, as he stands on this sword platform, facing this man who is like ten-thousand-year-old ice, he knows clearly that those three sword strikes must be faced by himself alone.

Chu Yun says upon hearing this, "My sword is named 'Frost', and I do not hold back once it is drawn.

If you feel you cannot win, admit defeat in time, and you may live."

There is no threat in his words, only a statement of fact, as if he were speaking of the most ordinary matter.

Lin Haoyu takes a deep breath, and the cold air of the ravine pours into his lungs, instantly clearing his mind, which had been slightly overheated from tension.

He says nothing more, simply pressing his right hand slowly onto the hilt of the green steel sword on his back, his five fingers tightening inch by inch, feeling the familiar texture on the hilt.

"Please enlighten me." Three words, steady and firm.

As soon as the words fall, Chu Yun opposite him does not even adopt a starting stance.

His figure does not move, but the "Frost" sword on his back has already drawn itself half an inch from its scabbard.

"Hum—"

With a very faint trembling sound, like ice cracking, a white Sword Qi, condensed into substance, shoots silently out from the gap in the scabbard!

There is no sound of tearing air, no dazzling explosion of Spiritual Qi, only an extremely pure, extremely sharp white line that tears through the air and reaches Lin Haoyu's face in an instant.

Too fast!

Lin Haoyu's pupils shrink to the size of needle points.

This speed completely exceeds his understanding of a Cultivator at the Qi Refinement Stage, even faster and sharper than the strikes of some Foundation Establishment Early Stage Family guards he has seen!

His brain cannot even issue a complete command in time, but his body's instincts have already reacted a step ahead.

"Clang!"

In a flash, he instinctively draws his sword to parry diagonally, pushing the "Deflect" technique—the essence of his Family's "Green Origin Sword Art"—to the limit.

He does not try to block it head-on, but rather uses the thickest part of the sword spine, following a tricky angle, in an attempt to divert this Sword Qi to the side.

The moment the sword body makes contact with the white Sword Qi, an overwhelming, irresistible coldness and immense force crash into him!

"Clang!"

The sound of metal clashing is sharp and ear-piercing; Lin Haoyu feels as if his web between thumb and index finger has been struck hard by a red-hot iron hammer, a piercing pain shooting through his heart, and the green steel sword in his hand nearly flies out of his grip.

The entire force of the remaining Sword Qi, which he could not fully deflect, forces him to retreat three steps, each step leaving shallow imprints on the hard stone platform.

A surge of blood rushes to his throat; he forces it down, and a burning, stinging pain spreads through his chest.

With just one strike, before the opponent's sword was even fully drawn, he had already fallen into a complete disadvantage.

Is this the strength of the Chief Disciple of the Iron Sword Sect?

Haoyu is horrified, but even more, there is a strong Battle Intent born from being suppressed to the limit.

He forcibly suppresses the surging blood, his legs planted like roots on the stone platform, his gaze locked firmly on Chu Yun, not daring to relax for a second.

However, Chu Yun does not give him any chance to catch his breath.

The moment Lin Haoyu steadies his figure, Chu Yun moves.

His figure is like a white ghost, with just a blurred flicker, he instantly closes in to within three feet of Lin Haoyu.

For a Sword Cultivator, this distance is a matter of life and death.

"Clang!"

The "Frost" sword is finally fully drawn!

The sword light shines, but it is not dazzling; instead, it falls like the first heavy snow of a winter morning, carrying a poetic beauty, instantly enveloping every inch of space around Lin Haoyu.

The second sword strike: Frost Fills the Sky.

This seemingly gentle sword light makes every inch of Lin Haoyu's skin feel the danger of being cut by sharp blades.

He knows that every falling "snowflake" is a sharp Sword Qi capable of piercing metal and stone; they weave into a net, sealing off all his retreat paths and evasion space.

There is nowhere to retreat!

Lin Haoyu grinds his teeth, his tongue tip bitten by himself, and a metallic, bloody taste spreads in his mouth; the sharp pain stimulates him, causing his spirit to highly concentrate.

He pushes the Spiritual Qi in his body, which was not abundant to begin with, to the limit and pours it into the green steel sword.

The sword follows his body; he dodges in a small space, and the longsword in his hand turns into a dense mass of green sword light, like a constantly rotating spider web, attempting to stick to and neutralize those incoming "snowflakes" one by one.

This is the only way he can think of to deal with such a large-scale attack—to maneuver with clever force.

However, the gap in Sword Intent and cultivation level is so vast, like the difference between a stream and the ocean.

"Shh! Shh! Shh!"

His dense sword net is easily penetrated and torn apart the moment it touches the "snowflakes".

Streaks of cold Sword Qi break through his defense with almost no resistance.

Left arm, right shoulder, thigh... In an instant, several wounds deep enough to see bone appear on his body.

Blood gushes out violently, instantly staining his black martial attire red, and the sharp pain rushes in like a tide.

"Thump!"

He can no longer hold on; his right knee goes soft, and he kneels on the ground on one knee, only able to thrust his green steel sword hard into a crack in the stone platform, using the sword body to support his swaying body so he does not collapse completely.

Blood drips down through his fingers onto the ancient sword platform, quickly seeping into those ancient marks.

He gasps for air, his vision already starting to blur, and only his heavy heartbeat and the whistling wind remain in his ears.

Am I going to lose? Am I not even going to... see the third sword strike?

Just under this intense pain and the powerful pressure of being on the verge of death, an unprecedented sense of clarity flashes through his mind like lightning.

All the noise of the outside world seems to be fading away, and his mind becomes focused as never before.

At this moment, in a trance, he seems to "hear" something.

It is not the sound of the wind, not the sound of his heartbeat, but a series of faint, complex, yet rhythmic sword hums echoing from deep within this ancient sword platform beneath his feet.

There are overbearing ones, light ones, sorrowful ones, resolute ones... These are the purest Sword Intents of the countless Cultivators who have debated and tested their swords here over the years, deeply carved into this stone like imprints.

These "remnant Sword Intent rhymes" seem to be triggered by his blood and the unyielding will in his near-death state, awakening from their slumber and creating a wondrous resonance with his spirit.

At the same time, deep within his body, the [Heavenly Sword Bone] that had been sleeping for sixteen years—which even he himself had not noticed—suddenly heats up under the dual intense stimulation of the external remnant Sword Intents and Chu Yun's cold Sword Intent!

A hot current rises fiercely from the depths of his spine, instantly flowing through his entire body!

His vision undergoes a strange change at this moment.

Directly in front, Chu Yun's figure remains indifferent; he has already raised the "Frost" sword in his hand, preparing to unleash the third sword strike that will decide the outcome.

In Lin Haoyu's heightened perception, Chu Yun's entire Aura is climbing to its peak, perfectly merging with the longsword in his hand and the surrounding Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi.

However, the trajectory of that impending sword strike seems, in Lin Haoyu's vision... to have slowed down by a fraction.

No, it did not really slow down; it is just that he can "see" more.

He can see the flow of Spiritual Qi, and during the process of the sword momentum condensing, at a certain extremely subtle, fleeting node, the connection of the Qi flow is not flawless; there is a flaw that can be almost ignored.

This flaw does not exist for a Chu Yun of the same level.

But for Lin Haoyu at this moment, it is the only ray of hope in the dark abyss!

That is it!

A flash of realization shines in Lin Haoyu's eyes.

Chu Yun's third sword strike arrives.

This strike, after the momentum climbs to its peak, turns into the most simple and unadorned straight thrust.

All his essence, energy, and spirit, all his Sword Intent, are condensed on that three-foot sword edge.

Fast, accurate, and condensed, without any frills, yet it seals off all angles, containing all the essence of the previous two strikes; it is unavoidable and unblockable.

Facing this lethal strike, Lin Haoyu does not try to block it head-on as before, nor does he try to dodge it completely.

He forcibly summons that newborn, hot current in his body and pours it all into the green steel sword in his hand.

He does not retreat; instead, using his last bit of strength, he steps forward against the deathly sword light!

The green steel longsword in his hand points out diagonally at an extremely awkward, strange angle that cannot be found in any sword manual.

The tip of this sword does not meet the edge of "Frost", but instead points with extreme precision at that extremely weak "Qi connection point" in the flow of Chu Yun's majestic sword momentum, which he had "seen".

At the same time, his footsteps shift slightly, stepping onto an inconspicuous ancient sword mark on the sword platform beneath his feet, his figure borrowing the silent "Aura" of the sword platform itself to tilt slightly to the left by less than half an inch.

This thrust, this step, and this turn are perfectly coordinated, as if practiced a thousand times.

"Ding!"

An extremely crisp sound, like a jade chime being gently struck, is clearly audible amidst the whistling wind.

The green steel sword in Lin Haoyu's hand breaks on impact at that moment.

From the tip to the middle of the sword, it shatters inch by inch into countless iron fragments.

However, Chu Yun's determined "Frost" sword, that blade edge condensed with all its might, is also brought to a halt by this god-like touch; the flow of the entire sword momentum is forcibly interrupted for a split second, and the direction shifts by three inches.

Three inches is the difference between life and death.

The cold sword edge grazes past Lin Haoyu's ribs, narrowly missing him; the sharp Sword Qi still leaves a shallow bloodstain under his ribs, but it ultimately does not pierce through his body.

"Pfft!"

Lin Haoyu grunts, the broken sword slips from his hand, and his entire person is carried by the huge inertia, staggering back seven or eight steps, finally hitting a protruding rock at the edge of the sword platform hard, where he barely manages to stand steady.

His chest heaves violently, he gasps for air, covered in blood and in a sorry state, but that pair of eyes is brighter than ever before.

Deathly silence.

The wind seems to have stopped.

Chu Yun slowly withdraws his longsword. He lowers his head and glances at his "Frost"; the sword body is still as clean as new, but his eyes are filled with deep surprise and a hint of astonishment that even he himself had not noticed.

He clearly felt that at the very last moment, a burst of extremely pure and ancient Sword Dao Aura, which he had never seen before, erupted from this Ninth Level of Qi Refining youth.

That Aura even faintly resonated with the remnant rhymes of this ancient sword platform, making him feel a trace of shock.

That was not the "Green Origin Sword Art", nor was it any sword technique he knew.

That was something belonging to the youth himself.

He looks up and takes a deep look at Lin Haoyu. "You, not bad."

Two words, spoken from the heart.

He sheathes his sword, takes a small white jade bottle from his bosom, and flicks his finger; the jade bottle traces an arc and lands precisely in Lin Haoyu's arms.

"Heal your wounds. The three strikes have passed; I, the Iron Sword Sect, acknowledge that your Lin Family has the qualifications to sit down and talk. As for the specific matters of the Ancient Road, let your father discuss it with my master."

Having said this, Chu Yun does not stay any longer; his figure flickers, and within a few leaps, he disappears behind the distant cliffs—arriving like a feather, leaving like the wind.

On the stone platform, only Lin Haoyu remains.

He leans against the rock and slowly slides down; as his tense nerves relax, boundless exhaustion and sharp pain rush in instantly.

But he does not pass out; instead, he grins and laughs silently.

In the distance, on a hidden cliff several hundred zhang away.

Lin Chen stands with his hands behind his back, his face as calm as water.

At his waist, a mother-child induction pendant, personally crafted by Su Qingyao and connected to the Aura of Haoyu's protective jade pendant, suddenly emits a warm and bright light at a certain moment just now.

Through this pendant, he clearly perceives that when Haoyu was on the verge of death, that Aura belonging to the "Heavenly Sword Bone" within his body, which had been silent for a long time, was fiercely triggered.

A brand new, vigorous, and pure Sword Intent fluctuation rises in his perception like a bamboo shoot breaking through the soil.

It is done.

Lin Chen's heart, which had been hanging, finally settles back in place.

"Family Head, should we immediately send someone to support the Young Lord?" Liu Yuan, standing to the side, asks in a low, nervous voice.

Haoyu's condition at this moment looks truly terrible.

Lin Chen slowly shakes his head, his gaze piercing through the layers of mountain wind, falling on his son who is gasping in a pool of blood but has bright eyes.

"No need," his voice is calm but carries an unquestionable firmness, "Let him walk back himself. In this battle, what he has gained far exceeds his injuries."

The wind at Eagle Sorrow Ravine starts whistling again, but this time, it seems to have taken away some of the murderous intent and added a hint of resonance.

Lin Chen knows that this young tiger of the Lin Family has finally bared its first immature yet sharp fang during true tempering.

Next, it will be time to formally wrestle with that old fierce tiger of the Iron Sword Sect.