Chapter 697

Chapter 82: Corruption – Part Four

Rumble rumble rumble—

Beyond the western town, amidst the tremendous tremors, streams of fire rained from the sky. Fiery meteors as intense as the end of the world plunged down from a thousand meters above, dispersing clouds and mist. They carried with them thick smoke and scorching heat waves, crashing down toward the location of the First Knight Order.

In this instant, the entire world seemed to change color.

“Faith Order, all members listen—!”

The terrifying inferno churned overhead, swiftly approaching in his field of vision. The raging currents made even the desert beneath their feet unstable, sand and rocks flying everywhere, obscuring his view. Faces around him gradually became indistinct. Young Bishop Alersta was in a state of great anxiety, his command barely audible over the wind and sand: “Align on me, thirty meters above! All sinners, give it your all!! Onnestasthys—”

Zzzzzz…

Golden light suddenly illuminated outside the town. Amidst the golden armor surge, star-like glimmers rapidly gathered above where Alersta pointed with his right hand. As the light spread, the flames above were also drawing closer, surging with boundless karma. The scorching air waves penetrated the slowly forming golden mist, knocking the warriors below off balance. Some gritted their teeth, curls forming on their foreheads under their golden helmets as minor burns began to spread across their faces and hands.

“Stop it, stop it—!!!”

Young Bishop Alersta’s eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the enormous fireball rolling down from the sky, seemingly endless. He also noticed the golden stream of light near him that had yet to form into sin. His tense face alternated between gold and red.

It’s too late…

Clang—

Next moment, he heard the hum of a sword beside him.

“…Sir!”

Alersta turned his head, his eyes flashing with hope and surprise.

He was finally going to make a move…

He saw the thin old man dismount from his beast, walking forward slowly. The overly loose robe he wore fluttered in the wind like a banner.

The heat continued to assault them, growing more intense, but it didn’t affect the old man’s steps at all. Even the ordinary-looking clothes weren’t touched by the flames. The sparks seemed to be afraid of something, flying far away from the old man’s side.

Alersta’s pupils dilated.

That…

Is it…

Wind?

Clang-zzz—

Another crisp, sword-like, or wind-like sound echoed clearly.

In his line of sight, the elderly man held the sword in one hand, pointing the blade downward from the side. His pale hair was tied up with a rope, fluttering as he moved. He walked slightly ahead of the formation and stopped, raising his head to look at the sky stained by the firelight.

His back was emaciated, standing firm amidst the swirling sand and scorching winds, like a rock.

Sssss—

In a daze, a faint breeze seemed to come from the sword tightly gripped in the old man’s hand.

It was a long, curved black sword, somewhat resembling a recurve knife.

Alersta recognized that sword at first glance.

Even though in his memory, during their few encounters, the sword had always hung from the old man’s waist, stored in an ordinary, even worn leather scabbard… Alersta had never seen the sword drawn before.

Yet, in this instant, when that legendary weapon suddenly appeared before his eyes, the young bishop felt a surge of emotion, one he had never expected, akin to a child’s excitement, too overwhelming to express.

The Valen Empire, crafted in the Central Foundry.

Moonblade—

City of Pursuing the Sun.

It was said that when the bellows furnace, towering like a mountain, was completed at the foundry, almost all the ingenious craftsmen of the Valen Empire gathered there. The first Moonblade, forged with the pinnacle of metallurgical techniques from the City of Winter and created with great effort, became the most famous Moonblade.

This blade carried the aspirations of the founders of the Central Foundry, bearing the hopes of countless people. After the empire’s wars had ended, the head of the Central Foundry and the lord of the City of Winter, Grand Duke Scargillje, the Knight of the Pontiff, under the instructions of the previous Pontiff, presented this blade to a legendary hero worthy of the name “Pursuing the Sun.”

That hero was naturally Mr. Ryan, the Sword Saint of his time.

This was a sword for killing and also one for saving lives.

It was said that since this sword accompanied Mr. Ryan, it seldom had the chance to leave its scabbard. After all, even looking across both continents, it would be hard to find someone who could truly challenge the old master. No one could make him draw his sword; even the most notorious villains were no more than a mere inconvenience to him—mere twigs or vines that he could break with three moves. If the old master could return to the peak of his youth, perhaps just one move would suffice.

Aresta thought this would be the same…

He wouldn’t have the chance to see the old master truly draw his sword.

But at this moment, the old master drew his sword.

The young bishop’s heart trembled as he strained his eyes against the wind and sand, gazing at the stooped yet resolute back of the elder. Though thousands of thoughts flooded his mind, only two seconds had passed.

On the black blade, the sound of the wind grew clearer and sharper, as if countless invisible currents surged from all directions, swirling and compressing around the sword. The elder lifted the sword with one hand, the “whoosh whoosh whoosh” sounds piercing Aresta’s ears. He felt a tickle on his temple and reached up to touch it, discovering that a strand of hair had been seemingly cut off.

… It was the wind.

A thought flashed through his mind.

Above the sky, a fireball approached, the raging flames spewing out unbearable heat, already less than a hundred meters from the ground.

In the next moment, the elder raised his sword toward the sky and struck lightly.

That strike was soft and weak.

Yet it unleashed a world-shaking, storm-like surge!

Boom—!!!

It was like an avalanche, like a tsunami, a seemingly powerless strike. Aresta instinctively thought it was some silent yet superb sword technique, using skill to overcome brute force, avoiding the main force and striking at the weak points. The old master would easily deflect the meteoric fire descending from the sky. But it wasn’t.

This strike, by a seventy-year-old elder, chose to meet brute force with brute force, directly confronting it head-on. A terrifying hurricane formed from the sword blade, gradually creating a visible vortex over a hundred meters long. With the power to cleave heaven and earth, it swept towards the falling meteoric fire!

Amidst the deafening noise, Aresta couldn’t help but cover his ears. The horned horse let out a frantic neigh, and all the warriors behind him covered their ears, exclaiming in shock. They didn’t quite understand what had happened. Many hadn’t even seen the strike, but in the next instant, the fearsome wind vortex sliced through the incomplete golden barrier above, smashing into the massive fireball high up, cutting it in half like a knife through tofu!

Rumble rumble rumble rumble rumble—!!!

In the terrifying roar, crimson flames exploded in the sky above everyone’s wide-open eyes.