Cultivation System: Elder Edition

Chapter 97

When the Heavens Weep (II)

Flames roared like beasts from every direction--the walls of the Spirit Sword Sect began to radiate a red glow, veins of fire throbbing across their surfaces, heat bleeding into the valley itself, distorting the air as it passed.

Screams of pain and agony joined the symphony of the crackling fires and explosions and the swords being drawn from their sheaths. The battle was less so a singular charge and more a splintered set of skirmishes. Young versus young, old versus old, blood was spilled as though most natural.

"Dammit, retreat! I'll cover!"

"Get into the Seven Sword Formation!"

"The flank is falling!"

Voices were barely audible in the cacophony of other sounds, yet remained heard by all as everyone's ears were perked up for the next command.

Bit by bit, bodies were piling up--on both sides. There were just as many crimson robes of flames sprawled and ridden with cuts and holes as there were white and black robes of the Spirit Sword Sect.

Daoist Mu took charge of helping the young kids retreat from the front line as they got caught up on it by accident before they could run away. He wielded the sword rapidly, deflecting the whips of fire falling toward him by the two Deacons of the Fire Sun Sect that he clashed often with in his youth.

His body was riddled with wounds, yet he endured, ignoring the pulsing pain.

An array of flames suddenly shot from behind the two of them, surprising him. He had a choice of dodging, which would let the array hit the kids behind him, or hurriedly putting up a barrier that wouldn't hold up--but he had to try.

Gnashing his teeth, he summoned as much Qi as he could and slashed downwardly, roaring at the top of his lungs.

But it wasn't enough.

He barely stalled the ten-foot-long array of flames for a moment before his sword shattered. The last thing he saw was the world consumed by flames, and he could only mutter a single thing: "Run..."

Elder Swordlight zapped backwards, his silhouette a trap for six of his attackers; he wove between the raging inferno gracefully, stabbing rapidly six times in a row and swiftly killing them all.

Yet, his downcast and angry expression hardly showed any respite.

The Sect was burning.

His home was turning into an ashen graveyard, being buried under the rubble of the same mountains they used to worship.

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"ANCESTORS ARE HERE!!"

A roar seemed to kindle some strength in the souls falling back as they stood their ground stiffly. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw sixteen shadows descend from the sky in the flurry of swordlight.

He wasn't relieved.

Rather... it was the opposite. They'd come out too soon.

"Allow us to test the blades of the Spirit Sword's legendary figures!" On the opposite end, ten figures emerged. However, they weren't robed in the crimson and flamed robes of the Fire Sun Sect, but rather wore robes of obsidian black, with a sigil of a single sword embroidered on their backs.

"A Holy Land!" Elder Swordlight exclaimed in shock, and he was seldom the only figure to recognize the sigil of one of the most famous sects in the known world--Immortal Sword Zenith Sect. "Why?" he asked aloud, the question everyone pondered.

It would have been one thing had it only been the Fire Sun Sect to attack them. The animosity between the two sects went back generations, but this... this was more than that.

No, it felt as though the entire world was condemning them to death. That warship that obliterated the sect-wide Formation, Spirit Sword Annihilation, didn't belong to the Fire Sun Sect. Elder Swordlight couldn't recognize who it belonged to, but it was likely another Holy Land.

Two Holy Lands helping a third-rate sect deal with another third-rate sect...

"Humph," the time suddenly seemed to freeze as a scoff erupted from the ancestral mountains. It was loud yet quiet, cold yet warm, emboldening yet terrifying.

Every fight stopped abruptly as all eyes veered to the horizon, where everyone caught the glimpse of a figure emerging from the hazy shadows. It was an old man, dressed in tattered, brown monk robes, appearing wholly unassuming and like someone who certainly did not belong in a battle between sects.

And yet, everyone held their breaths--especially as he drew the sword from his waist.

The Spirit Sword! One of the sect's greatest treasures was finally drawn after almost seven hundred years of slumber.

The shimmering blade cried out like a phoenix, its cry causing a resonance of all swords on the battlefield, triggering the second greatest treasure of the sect--Blade Resonance.

"Vermin dare come down to my domain and cause a stir?" A calm voice spoke into the sky as the old figure began to walk in air, step by step, casual and undeterred. "Are you not ashamed of your Dao Hearts, you unholy rats?" he cursed at the suddenly reddening faces of the differently robed figures that had retreated to the rear.

"Ho ho, to think you are still alive, old Ru," from the silence another voice emerged, lofty and almost playful, and with it a figure. Not unlike the man, the woman in question was also simply dressed, with a singular sword strapped to her waist, and she similarly walked 'on' air, with her arms behind her back.

"Hah! Of course it's you, you deplorable whore, ha ha," the man laughed suddenly as the woman's face distorted. "I always regretted only killing one of your bastards. Had I known you would have turned into such a snake, I would have killed them all."

"Old bastard, I promised I would hang your head on a pike and parade it in front of the world for all to see!"

"You alone are not enough," he said. "Who did you entice into coming here to serve your old grudges? No, I already know who. Holy Lands, hah. Your Ancestors are rolling in their graves, seeing what you've turned their blood and sacrifice into."

"Silence, old fool! How dare you talk about our ancestors?!" Seven more figures abruptly emerged from nowhere, all seemingly as strong as the woman, though rather youthful and quite lavishly dressed.

"... my sect may fall today," the old man said, slowly drawing the sword up in front of him. "But I swear upon my Sword Dao, I will have all your heads to accompany all my children to an early Nirvana."

"Hah, I would like to see you--"

Nobody quite saw what happened, just the result of it--a head flew out in a spray of blood, and a body tumbled from the air to the ground rather limply.

"That's one," the man said, slashing out the sword to clean it. "Clean those filthy necks of yours, you inbred animals, so as not to stain the Spirit with your grime."