Chapter 126: A Smile, Eyes Like Crescent Moons

"Nan Luo?" Daoist Mosquito echoed, bewildered, upon hearing the purple-clad woman's cry. He did not recognize the name, though he had been hounded by the woman for years precisely because of this figure; he had never known his adversary’s identity.

"Is she trying to scare me away with a name? Heh, if that is her game, she has miscalculated. I do not know what kind of divine being this person is, but I, Daoist Mosquito, am not one to be easily cowed."

As the woman called out the name, the streak of light in the sky halted and dispersed. It revealed a three-foot-long sword. The blade shimmered like flowing water, etched with divine light; its hilt was a deep cyan, carved with intricate patterns, and the guard resembled the wings of a phoenix.

The Qingyan Sword hovered in the void, trembling as if greeting the woman, or perhaps assessing the severity of her wounds. Then, the air vibrated, and a voice resonated from the blade: "I shall kill him." The tone was imbued with the sword's own killing intent—cold, biting, and absolute. It spoke with such certainty that it seemed as if slaying Daoist Mosquito were a trivial task.

Daoist Mosquito’s slit-like eyes widened in fury. The disdain in that voice—the implication that killing him would take no effort—ignited his wrath. The ugly man surnamed Luo chuckled, but before Daoist Mosquito could retort, the Qingyan Sword shuddered, unleashing a heaven-shaking aura of death. It transformed into a beam of light and struck down toward him.

The killing intent was overwhelming, piercing the soul. It was a strike so fierce it seemed destined to cleave the Daoist in two. Suddenly, a short, pitch-black needle appeared in the Daoist's hand, radiating a chilling glow.

*Clang!*

Daoist Mosquito, ever vigilant, had raised his Nether Needle just in time to parry the blade as it descended toward his throat. The impact sent a shockwave through him. He had watched the great shaman Da Feng be slain by a single strike earlier, thinking that the great shamans were not so formidable after all. Now, facing that power himself, he realized that had he not been at peak readiness, he would have surely perished.

Even though he had blocked the blow, a surge of murderous intent surged through the needle and assaulted his mind. It was cold, ruthless, and pure—a chilling deluge that washed over his consciousness. Before he could recover, another strike descended.

*Clang!*

Panic seized him. The killing intent from the first strike still lingered, and now a second followed. If a third came, he would surely die. The sword light was dazzling; the killing intent, a rising tide.

In the moment the blade was blocked, it suddenly morphed into supple silver filaments. They flowed fluidly around the Nether Needle, spiraling past it to wrap tightly around the Daoist's neck. In an instant, his head was severed, falling silently through the air.

As the head and body plummeted toward the earth, the attacker showed no mercy. The silver filaments shook in the void, erupting into endless sword light that engulfed the falling remains.

Suddenly, the head and body burst into billions of black mosquitoes, scattering in every direction. The sword light descended, but amidst the radiance, a sheet of flame ignited, incinerating countless insects.

Then, a hand emerged from the void—pale white, yet covered in black scales across the back. Wherever it passed, it moved like a fish through water, stirring silent ripples. The Qingyan Sword, with its boundless light and killing intent, was swallowed by the void. No one could see its form, yet that hand reached calmly into the sea of fire and sword light.

The brilliance vanished instantly; the killing intent dissolved. The Qingyan Sword reappeared in the air, gripped firmly in that hand. It was the ugly man surnamed Luo. A faint, supremely confident smile played on his lips.

But his smile froze. His left hand moved in a strange, rapid gesture, tracing an arcane seal. He slid his fingers along the blade, and blood welled up, flowing along the steel. Instead of dripping off, the crimson liquid coated the metal, sealing the sword in a blink.

"Heh, a fine blade. From today, it belongs to me, Luo Yan."

The ugly man, calling himself Luo Yan, stroked the blood-sealed sword with an obsessive, lover-like tenderness, his eyes filled with delight.

Nearby, the black mosquitoes that had survived the flames gathered once more, and Daoist Mosquito reappeared, seemingly unscathed. His head and body were restored, though his face was pale—whether from shock or injury, it was unclear.

"Brother Luo’s divine arts are profound indeed," the Daoist said. "Had you not intervened, I would have struggled to escape."

"Brother Mosquito, you are too modest," Luo Yan laughed. "Even without my help, you would have escaped, though perhaps at the cost of many clones."

Daoist Mosquito smiled, saying nothing, his eyes fixed on the purple-clad woman. Luo Yan continued, "This eastern land is truly a remarkable place. For this sword alone, the trip was worth it. Hahaha..."

His laughter cut short. The fingers that gripped the sword, once pale and smooth, were instantly covered in black scales. Fear flickered in his eyes. The blood-seal on the Qingyan Sword cracked, and a surge of sword energy erupted, violent as a tidal wave.

Luo Yan tried to maintain his hold, attempting to seal it again, but the sword transformed into a silver filament that coiled around his arm. Before he could release it, his arm was severed, the sword light churning it into a mist of blood.

The filaments, as light as willow catkins, multiplied—one became two, two became four... In the time it took Daoist Mosquito to blink, he was already enveloped by thousands of them.

Seeing the sword break free, Daoist Mosquito’s eyes flashed with terror. Without a second thought, he disintegrated into a swarm of black mosquitoes and fled. Luo Yan, still in shock and unable to react, was sliced into countless pieces by the shimmering filaments.

Where blood should have gushed, there was none. The severed pieces of Luo Yan and the dying black mosquitoes rained down toward the Luoling Mountains. As the fragments fell, they trembled and vanished into thin air.

Where the pieces of Luo Yan had disappeared, a hideous, terrifying monster emerged—a serpent-like creature with fish-like fins on its back. It opened its mouth, revealing two rows of razor-sharp, chilling teeth.

The Qingyan Sword slashed down, but the creature twisted in the void and vanished just as the blade struck.

The void fell silent. The battle, just moments ago, felt like a fleeting dream. In the blink of an eye, two great shamans of the Witch Clan had met an unknown fate, and two powerful enemies were defeated, fleeing for their lives.

A cool breeze stirred. To the creatures of Luoling Mountain, it felt as if an age had passed.

"Nan Luo, is it really you?" the purple-clad woman, floating on a slab of snowy rock, asked in joyful disbelief. She seemed unable to fathom that the person who had carried her away back then now possessed such formidable power.

The Qingyan Sword hovered in the air, stirring up a mist. The mist slowly condensed into a figure. It looked identical to Nan Luo, though lacking his spirit and appearing somewhat stiff. It wore cyan robes, its hair tied behind its head. The Qingyan Sword had already returned to its sheath at the figure's waist.

This was not the true Nan Luo, but a construct formed of his essence and the Five Elements.

"Heh, it is indeed me," Nan Luo said with a smile.

Though his time in cultivation was but a single retreat compared to the lifetimes of others, he could not help but feel a pang of emotion upon seeing the woman. He knew few people in this world, and fewer still with whom he could stand as an equal. Despite having met this woman only twice, he felt a long-lost sense of kinship.

"Hehe, it really is you! You’ve become so strong... this is wonderful, hehe..." Despite her ashen, bloodless face and festering wounds, her smile was radiant upon confirming it was him. Her voice remained as clear as a silver bell, her eyes curving like crescent moons, and her white teeth revealed a joy that came from the depths of her heart.