20: Chapter 20 Everything is a sword, I'll tear down this lousy training ground!

"Ah—!"

A shrill roar tore through the brief silence.

Mo Yuanshan was, after all, a powerhouse at the half-step Divine Sea Realm; even though he was pinned down, the foundation of his Physical Body remained.

His spiritual energy surged in reverse, and disregarding the excruciating pain of his shattered shoulder blades, he lunged forward, forcibly tearing himself free from the grand armchair.

Blood gushed out like a fountain, staining half his body red.

"Law Enforcement Hall! All Inner Sect Disciple Law Enforcement Disciples, heed my command!"

Mo Yuanshan's features contorted. Because of the extreme pain and rage, his old face looked like a demon crawling out of Hell. "Form the 'Dragon-Trapping Spirit-Locking Array'! This brat has fallen into the demonic path; kill him without mercy! Whoever holds back shall be punished for the crime of betraying the sect!"

Following this order, the expressions of the dozens of purple-clad Disciples hesitating around the martial arts arena changed abruptly.

Betraying the sect was a grave crime that no one could bear.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Dozens of sword-drawing sounds merged into one. Spiritual energy light instantly wove into an airtight net, shrouding the blood-covered youth in the center of the ruins.

Ye Feng stood amidst the rubble, looking at the faces filled with killing intent surrounding him.

"Want to kill me?"

He also laughed, his mouth splitting open to reveal teeth stained red with blood.

"Since you all want me dead, then there is no need to talk about reason."

His Adam's apple bobbed.

A low, deep sword hum, not originating from his mouth but resonating from his chest, instantly drowned out all the shouts of killing.

This was not a sound; it was royal authority.

The dozens of Law Enforcement Disciples charging forward, and even the thousands of Outer Sect Disciple spectators in the stands, turned pale simultaneously.

They discovered in terror that the swords in their hands had gone mad.

Those weapons, usually so docile, were now like subjects seeing their king; they trembled violently in their scabbards, burning hot like branding irons.

"What's going on? My sword is out of control!"

"I can't hold it down! It wants to fly away!"

Ye Feng suddenly raised his arms to his sides, his fingers hooked like claws, digging fiercely into the Void Realm.

He pushed his Chaos Devouring Sword Body to its limit. The invisible strands of Primordial Sword Intent within his body transformed into countless overbearing threads, forcibly cutting into the blades of every sword present and brutally severing the spiritual imprints of their original owners.

This was not called borrowing swords.

This was called requisitioning.

"Rise!"

Ye Feng shouted sharply.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Whether it was the steel swords of the Inner Sect Disciples, the iron swords of the Outer Sect Disciples, or the decorative short swords at the waists of the Elders on the stands.

Thousands of sharp blades broke free from their restraints simultaneously, rushing into the sky like a swarm of silver locusts, blotting out the sun.

The sound of metal colliding was deafening.

In just two breaths, a hundred-meter-long torrent of metal circled above Ye Feng's head, sword tips facing outward, rotating slowly and emitting a teeth-grinding friction sound.

Vast metallic essence escaped from this torrent, rushing into every pore Ye Feng opened, like a hundred rivers returning to the sea.

That was the spirituality contained within thousands of swords.

Ye Feng's pale complexion regained its rosy color at a visible rate. His Dantian, which had been withered from overexertion, was instantly filled by this overbearing golden sharp Qi, to the point of overflowing.

"You... what kind of Demonic Technique is this?!"

Mo Yuanshan clutched his bleeding shoulder, the killing intent in his eyes finally replaced by fear.

Controlling thousands of swords? This was a method only a Golden Core Stage Sword Cultivator possessed!

"Demonic Technique?"

Ye Feng's eyes were icy. He grasped the air with his right hand. "This is the funeral bell I send to you."

As he swung his arm down, the massive metal torrent above his head, like a bursting river, surged straight toward Mo Yuanshan with earth-shattering momentum.

"Block it! Block it for me!"

Mo Yuanshan screamed, once again offering up the cracked Profound Yin Bell.

He spat out a mouthful of essence blood onto the bell. The Profound Yin Bell swelled in the wind, transforming into a small black mountain blocking his path.

Dong—!

The first sword struck it and shattered.

Then the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth.

There were no fancy techniques, just the purest stacking of quantity, the most brutal head-on collision.

Sparks sputtered like a rainstorm.

The Profound Yin Bell wailed incessantly. A tiny crack on the originally thick bell wall began to spread rapidly, crawling over its entire body like an ugly centipede.

"No... impossible! This is a Medium Grade Profound Rank Magic Treasure!"

Mo Yuanshan's desperate roar had not yet faded.

Crack!

A crisp sound rang out.

The indestructible Profound Yin Bell exploded with a boom. Countless black fragments scattered into the ground like shrapnel, kicking up a sky full of dust.

Having lost his Magic Treasure, Mo Yuanshan was affected by the backlash of Qi; he spat out a massive amount of blood and fell backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into the ruins of the high platform.

The dust had not yet settled.

A rhythmic sound of footsteps came from mid-air.

Thousands of eyes in the audience stared fixedly at mid-air, as if they had witnessed a miracle.

Ye Feng was not flying on a sword; he was simply walking calmly.

He stepped out with his left foot, and a steel longsword beneath his foot instantly disintegrated, turning into a ball of pure energy to support his sole before dissipating into ash.

He stepped out with his right foot, and another sharp blade sacrificed itself to pave a step.

One step, one sword, one disintegration.

Just like that, stepping on the "corpses" of countless weapons, he walked through the Void Realm, arriving step by step at a position level with the high platform.

At this moment, Ye Feng was surrounded by an aura of golden martial might so thick it could not be dissolved. Against the backdrop of the dancing broken swords in the sky, he looked like a young Sword God walking in the mortal world.

Mo Yuanshan lay paralyzed on the ground, looking at those eyes that now held no emotional fluctuation, and finally felt a bone-chilling coldness.

He wanted to beg for mercy, but no sound could come from his throat.

Ye Feng looked down at this old dog from above and slowly raised the rusted broken blade fragment in his hand.

The hundreds of broken swords surrounding him that had not yet disintegrated seemed to have received a summons; they stopped rotating, their tips turning in unison to point at the broken blade in Ye Feng's hand, concentrating all their sharpness and keen Qi onto that single point of cold light.

Ye Feng's gaze passed over the trembling Mo Yuanshan and landed on the huge plaque behind him, which had been hanging for a hundred years with peeling gold paint.