Chapter Thirteen: The Blade Without Edge

A heavy sword without an edge, the greatest skill lies in the lack of artifices. This was a sword both long and broad.

As the blade withdrew farther from its sheath, Xiaoshan felt as if something struck his mind; in an instant, his thoughts went blank, and he nearly let go of the mother sword.

At that crucial moment, a sudden shock thundered through his mind. By some miracle, the sword that had almost slipped from his grasp was held fast.

Yet the murderous aura within the sword continued to assault his consciousness, making his hand tremble uncontrollably.

After a while, his mind gradually returned to normal; the influence was not as overwhelming as before, now only sporadically invading his thoughts, its effects insignificant.

At last, he had time to examine the sword before him.

Ordinary swords measured sixty or seventy centimeters, but this one was nearly a meter long.

Ruoxi's eyes widened in astonishment. She held her own Frightening Soul Sword and compared it to the one in Xiaoshan's hand. She hadn't noticed before, but now she was startled—the two swords differed by a considerable margin.

"How much does this sword weigh?" Ruoxi asked.

"About forty or fifty kilograms, but I'm still controlling it," Xiaoshan replied, turning the sword in his hand to observe it.

"Forty or fifty kilograms!" Ruoxi's eyes grew even wider in disbelief. He could actually hold such a heavy blade.

"What is it?" Xiaoshan asked.

Across from him, Haopo wore an expression of utter disbelief. He could not accept that Xiaoshan had so "easily" lifted the mother sword.

"Didn't you say no one today could wield this murderous sword?" Haotian questioned Haopo.

This sword, bestowed by an emperor of the Tang dynasty, had claimed countless lives on the battlefield. Its only defeat came when it first tasted blood in war, and so it was forged into this edgeless blade, steeped with a bloody aura.

Ever since, its murderous energy became so overwhelming, its mastery so demanding, that the family lacked successors. Not only did no one use it in battle, but none could even draw it fully from its sheath.

Because his father saw that Xiaoshan possessed a fierce spirit—much like the original master, gifted in this regard—he allowed him to attempt to wield the blade.

The challenge was daunting; Haopo himself wanted to use his own sword and claimed it would be easy, seeking to make things difficult for Xiaoshan.

He also looked down on Xiaoshan's pride, making it seem as if Xiaoshan were the one asking for a favor.

Unexpectedly, though Haopo had been in contact with the sword for years, he never dared to fully draw it. Xiaoshan, however, succeeded in a single attempt, making it look effortless.

Following the wisdom of the prehistoric era: the first effort brings the greatest vigor, the second wanes, and the third is spent.

The first attempt is fueled by courage; with the second, confidence falters; by the third, one subconsciously believes the sword cannot be drawn.

Martial training is much the same. A heart that charges forward is vital; timidity and hesitation prevent one from reaching any height.

For Xiaoshan, this was his first attempt, pressured by others, fearful and without protection—burning his bridges often brings the best results.

He had only one chance, not a second or countless more.

"He's different," Haopo said.

"Is he wielding the sword like an axe, hacking everywhere?" Haoyun observed Xiaoshan swinging the blade as if it were a cleaver.

"He's getting familiar with it—the sword is simply too heavy," Haopo explained.

"It's not easy to handle."

"Do you think he's killed many people?" Haoyun asked.

"Look at his stance, too unstable. Clearly a beginner; no way he's slain so many," Haopo affirmed.

To a martial artist, the flaws of the untrained are obvious. Those who train cover their weaknesses to become flawless.

For example, practicing fistwork strengthens the arms and increases punching speed, allowing for quicker reactions in combat.

Training the legs makes them sturdy as iron, able to withstand blows.

Long-term training gives muscles instinctive strength; the feet grip the earth, and the center of gravity can shift at will, making it hard to be toppled in a fight.

Xiaoshan had only been training for a few days. His stance was far from supple; both legs strained, and if struck, he would likely stumble. The gap between a martial artist and the untrained is vast.

Thus, Haopo was certain: however many lives this sword had claimed, Xiaoshan, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, could not possibly have killed so many, even if he had killed before.

The wind stirred, rustling the branches in jubilant dance.

The birds of the forest, startled, took flight with raucous cries.

"There is murderous energy nearby," Haopo said, scanning the surroundings.

Haotian and the others immediately grew alert, observing the area. Their swords slowly slid from their sheaths, ready for any danger.

The branches shook ever more violently, swaying the grass below as well.

The trunk of a man-eating tree trembled in the wind, as if afraid. Its drooping limbs quickly retracted, wrapping around the trunk in self-preservation.

A vast patch of grass was exposed; the surroundings became eerily open.

There were only man-eating trees and grass—no animals. Only leaves stirred. Yet their caution made them feel as if enemies might burst forth at any moment.

"Rapidly approaching," Haopo said gravely.

"All sides! We're surrounded!" Haotian stamped the earth, stretching his muscles, his expression tense.

"What are they?" Ruoxi, drawn into the tense atmosphere, slowly drew the Frightening Soul Sword, preparing for danger.

"They seem like cheetahs—social animals. Everyone be careful, keep watch!" Haopo took up his sword in a ready stance.

Xiaoshan's heart pounded violently, his heartbeat accelerating—fear and anxiety gripping him.

He glanced at Ruoxi; her expression changed little, only showing caution.

The more nervous he grew, the tighter he gripped the sword. The murderous aura in his mind intensified, his thoughts blank, unsure what he was thinking.

His hands trembled; he felt he was losing control.

"Closer and closer! They could strike from any direction at any moment," Haotian added.

"Left side! Dodge!" Haopo warned, watching the violently shaking grass ahead.

Ruoxi responded instantly, glancing behind. From the grass, a wolf leapt out, snarling, charging straight at Xiaoshan.

Ruoxi immediately looked at Xiaoshan, who stood frozen, sword in hand, unmoving, not even turning.

She grabbed his right arm and pulled him forcefully, shielding him in her embrace.

The wolf leapt, missing its target, landing in the grass ahead.

Its failed attack did not deter it; instantly, it turned and fled to the right, disappearing swiftly into the grass.

All transpired in a flash—Haotian's sword had no time to strike, and the wolf was gone, its shadow vanishing, as if nothing had happened at all.