Alex, the Ghost Hand Sword Saint, had once flashed his hidden weapon skills at Liu Zhengfeng's Jinpen Retirement Conference, but rarely used them formally since.
Instead, his mastery of controlling the sword with qi left the martial world in awe.
Taoist Chongxu, who had crossed blades with Alex, knew the terror of his power. Before Alex, his sword felt like a thousand-pound burden, barely able to swing. How could one wield swordsmanship?
At Blackwood Cliff, Alex had manipulated both the White Dragon sword and Taoist Chongxu's blade simultaneously. Chongxu had seen it, but that was merely two swords. How could it compare to this breathtaking scene?
A hundred swords soared as one. Under Alex's command, over a hundred blades moved like loyal soldiers, hovering behind him, their sharp edges aimed at the righteous sects.
Facing this storm of swords, the crowd stood frozen in horror.
"In this world… such swordsmanship exists?" Taoist Chongxu whispered, stunned. "This is no mere skill—it's a divine art, beyond mortal reach!"
If those swords rained down, dense as a monsoon, who could stand against them?
"Amitabha, is this the Sword Saint?" Dingxian murmured, her voice soft. "Such power… it crushes all will to fight."
"No wonder he came alone, dismissing the world's heroes," Master Fang Zheng said, his face bitter.
Indeed, numbers could overwhelm masters—the saying "two fists can't match four hands" held truth.
But Master Fang Zheng saw that this wisdom failed against Alex.
If these hundred swords struck together, how many sweeps would it take to slaughter every righteous sect member in the square?
Numbers? Just a matter of a few more passes.
"Master Fang Zheng, decide…" Taoist Chongxu sighed, turning to him as Alex's swords loomed.
Decide? What choice was there?
Master Fang Zheng's face darkened, understanding Chongxu's meaning.
The Five Mountains Sword Sect's disciples looked defeated. Master Fang Zheng knew this battle was lost before it began.
Alex targeted only Shaolin and Wudang. The Five Mountains Sword Sect might fight for justice, but not at the cost of annihilation. They wavered.
After a heavy silence, Master Fang Zheng spoke. "Master Alex, wait. We accept your terms!"
His voice trembled, as if the words drained his strength.
"Since you've chosen, bring the items quickly," Alex said, his tone calm, unsurprised.
Master Fang Zheng sent a monk to the Sutra Library to fetch the Yi Jin Jing.
Taoist Chongxu, equally decisive, borrowed pen and ink from Shaolin, wrote a manual, and handed it to Alex.
Alex, trusting Shaolin wouldn't deceive him, glanced at the Yi Jin Jing and stored it. But Taoist Chongxu's manual caught him off guard.
He'd expected the Taiji Sword, but instead received the Zhenwu Seven-Section Formation.
"Wudang's pinnacle is the Taiji Sword," Taoist Chongxu explained, sensing Alex's surprise. "But as the Sword Saint, sword techniques may be redundant. The Zhenwu Seven-Section Formation, our strongest sword array, suits you better. If you prefer the Taiji Sword, I'll provide it."
"You're a forthright old Taoist," Alex said, nodding.
With his goals met, Alex had no reason to linger. With a flick of his finger, the hundred swords behind him surged skyward, then plummeted like rain, embedding in the earth around him.
The White Dragon sword, lithe as a dragon, floated before him.
With a light step, Alex mounted the blade. It bore him upward, soaring higher and farther, vanishing into the horizon.
The righteous sects stared at the swords studding the ground, then at Alex's fading figure. Silence hung heavy, the air thick with defeat.
This day's events would become legend in the martial world.
A hundred swords in flight, a warrior riding his blade—this was the stuff of myths.
"Between life and death, preserving our legacy matters most…" Master Fang Zheng sighed, relief mingling with fear.
Had he fought, Shaolin's thousand-year foundation might have crumbled in his hands.
"Ten years of seclusion...." Taoist Chongxu murmured. "The Sun Moon Sect will dominate the martial world. This is the tide of fate…"
Seclusion would wound their sects, but it spared them conflict with the Sun Moon Sect. Blessing or curse, only time would tell.
"Such peerless martial arts, unseen in history," Mo Da of the Hengshan Sect sighed. "One man humbled the entire martial world…"
Days later, tales of Alex's Hundred Swords Flying Together spread like wildfire, a storm sweeping the martial world.
His sword-mounted departure cemented his legend.
Yet Alex stood in Blackwood Cliff's back mountain, before Dongfang Bubai's tomb.
Beside him, Lin Pingzhi, now Sun Moon Sect's leader, listened with bowed head.
"The Sun Moon Sect is yours now," Alex said, waving a hand. "I'll live in seclusion, never to tread the martial world again."
"Master, where will you go?" Lin Pingzhi asked, voice thick with reluctance. "I…"
"Enough, don't act like a child," Alex cut in. "Go."
"Thank you, Master, for granting me a new life. I'll never forget you!"
Knowing Alex's resolve, Lin Pingzhi knelt, kowtowing nine times with solemn reverence, then departed, glancing back with every few steps.
"I'm leaving," Alex said softly, gazing at Dongfang Bubai's tomb. "I promised to show you the Yi Jin Jing…"
Having memorized the Yi Jin Jing, Alex lit a fire stick, set the manual ablaze, and placed it before the tomb.
"Alas…"
As the Yi Jin Jing turned to ash, Alex sighed, guilt weighing his heart.
In the world of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer, he believed he'd wronged no one, owed no debts.
Except to Dongfang Bubai, a debt he could never repay.
With his sigh, the computer pattern on his palm glowed, then shattered into starlight.
A vortex swirled in his hand, and Alex's form vanished, sucked into the twisting space, leaving the world of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer behind.