Chapter 65: Might of the Basic Sword Moves
The ground trembled violently.
The demonic horde surged like a flood of nightmares, their twisted bodies crawling and sprinting over the broken earth with terrifying speed. Their roars echoed like a chorus of agony and hatred—a sound meant to shatter sanity itself.
Yet Yuexin stood still.
She didn't flinch. She didn't retreat.
She simply reached for her sword.
Shing.
In one smooth motion, her slender hand reversed the grip of her lunar blade—the hilt now faced down, the blade curving backward like a crescent moon about to fall from the sky.
Reverse grip.
Her stance was low, grounded, compact. The blade angled behind her back like a serpent coiled to strike, her shoulders loose yet perfectly aligned, her feet rooted into the charred earth like ancient pillars.
A posture that defied conventional swordplay—almost crude in appearance. But the pressure she exuded in that moment made Su Tianhao's breath catch in his throat.
Then she vanished.
Her movement was so fast, so fluid, it was as if space itself bent to accommodate her.
The first demon lunged with a screech, claws bared—but before it even reached her—
Slice!
Its body froze mid-air. A clean diagonal line appeared across its chest. Then it crumbled, neatly bisected.
She spun mid-air. Another reverse grip slash carved through three more in one swift arc—like wind brushing through dead leaves. No excess force, no resistance. Just inevitability.
"What beautiful swordsmanship," Su Tianhao whispered, eyes wide. "Is this what it means to be strong?"
Yuexin's movements flowed like a deadly rhythm—duck, turn, strike.
Every step precise. Every kill clean.
The reverse grip gave her a brutal grace—slashing from angles that normal swordsmen would never consider. Her blade moved like moonlight reflecting off shattered glass—unpredictable, fragmented, but beautiful in its destruction.
In mere moments, dozens had fallen.
Blood and black mist filled the air, yet not a single drop touched her white robes.
Watching from a safe distance, Su Tianhao's throat tightened.
"So this... is the Reverse Grip Slash," he muttered in disbelief.
He had never seen swordsmanship like this—strange, fluid, precise, and utterly deadly. It wasn't just slashing differently. It was fighting as if form had no meaning and only pure instinct ruled the sword.
And Yuexin was that instinct given perfect form.
By the time the last creature fell with a dull thud, the entire battlefield fell silent. The ground was covered in blood, sinew, and torn flesh—a horrific testament to the gap between the ordinary and the extraordinary.
Yuexin stood calmly amidst the carnage, sword lowered, expression tranquil—as if she hadn't just performed a one-sided massacre.
Her voice rang out gently.
"When enemies surround you... you must not resist them head-on. Turn your grip. Change your rhythm. Become the chaos they cannot predict."
The words echoed deeply in his mind, craved into his very soul.
"Become the chaos they cannot predict..." he repeated softly, a bright smile spreading across his features as he absorbed the scene before him.
For some reason, he wasn't terrified by what he'd just witnessed. While most people his age would see it as a traumatic nightmare, he only saw opportunity—something that would help him temper his mind and spirit while refining both his swordsmanship and killing intent.
'Perhaps it's because of my vast inherited memories,' he thought. 'Bloodbaths like this aren't rare in the cultivation world. Or perhaps it's the indifference of my dragon bloodline.'
He shrugged it aside. 'It doesn't really matter now—I can already feel my killing intent becoming more refined, and my understanding of swordsmanship has deepened significantly.'
The moment those thoughts settled, the surrounding landscape began to collapse. The apocalyptic world crumbled around him like shattered glass—space fractured violently—and once again he found himself standing in the beautiful mysterious courtyard illuminated by gentle moonlight. Drifting petals glided freely around him like dancing spirits.
"We're back," Su Tianhao said with a quiet exhale of relief.
Although he hadn't been affected by the massacre, that didn't mean he'd been comfortable in it. He'd felt a distinct unease and coldness there—a complete opposite to the peace, warmth, and intimacy of this courtyard.
His gaze swept around until it landed on Yuexin's otherworldly figure standing at the center, a warm maternal smile on her strikingly beautiful face.
"What you've seen today, cherish it deeply. True swordsmanship is forged through war and bloodshed... Let this memory sharpen your mind and will."
Su Tianhao nodded with fierce determination burning in his eyes.
Even without her telling him, he could already feel it. Just witnessing that scene had noticeably refined both his killing intent and his understanding of the sword. This memory would serve him for years to come.
Yuexin's smile widened slightly before her expression turned serious once more.
"Come at me again with killing intent—but this time, don't charge blindly."
"Huh?" Su Tianhao raised an eyebrow. "What's this about?"
Yuexin's expression remained calm as she explained.
"The eighth move is Deflect. Deflect is redirecting the force of an opponent's strike with minimal effort—requiring precise timing and finesse. Unlike Parry, which is about seeing through your opponent and neutralizing the attack at its source, Deflect is about control through adaptation, not confrontation. It is the art of soft overcoming hard."
Su Tianhao's eyes narrowed as his analytical mind immediately began processing the concept. Then they brightened with sudden understanding.
"Parry—I stop you before you start. Deflect—I let you come and guide you aside."
Yuexin's expression remained unchanged as she continued with her own explanation—naturally unable to hear his independent observations.
"Deflect goes beyond simply redirecting an incoming strike. To execute the perfect Deflect—don't meet strength with strength. Flow around it. Let the storm pass through your blade, not against it."
Su Tianhao nodded solemnly, hands tightening on Shadowfang's hilt.
"Now come at me."
He didn't hesitate.
Taking a deep breath, Su Tianhao closed his eyes. This time he visualized the scene of Yuexin slaying through the demon horde—every kill, every slash, every moment of slaughter. When his eyes snapped open, there was an eerie calm in them—dangerous and unpredictable. His killing intent surged forth, far surpassing anything he had ever manifested before.
Swoosh!
He moved.
His blade surged forward—controlled this time, refined. The scene of Yuexin's massacre still played like a recording in his mind, sharpening his focus.
"Reverse Grip Slash!"
Shadowfang flashed forward in a reverse grip, blade angled upward menacingly—a swift diagonal slash aimed directly for Yuexin's exposed chest.
Yuexin's eyes flashed with quiet intensity. She raised her sword to meet the attack.
Their blades met.
In that same instant, Yuexin shifted her body lightly—her sword tilting with elegant precision. Not blocking. Redirecting. His strike slid harmlessly past her like water off a leaf.
Su Tianhao's stance faltered completely, his own momentum carrying him forward until he crashed to the ground.
He lay there for a moment, brows furrowing—not bothered by the embarrassing fall at all, his mind reeling with understanding.
'So that was Deflect... I didn't even realize what happened until I hit the ground.'
'If this had been a real battle, I'd be dead right now.'
Minimal movement. No direct confrontation. Only perfect control.
Su Tianhao pushed himself to his feet, fists clenched, heart burning with renewed determination.
His gaze landed on Yuexin's figure—standing a few meters away with the elegant, untouchable aura of a true master.
Seeing him return to his feet, she raised her sword again, her stance returning to neutral.
"And finally—the ninth move. Feint."
Her voice rang clear and calm under the moonlight.
"Feint is deception. A false strike—a misdirection of intent. It is not trickery for the weak, but a tool for the wise. The sword that does not strike is often the deadliest."
Su Tianhao's brow twitched slightly.
"A sword that doesn't strike..."
He had always seen swordsmanship as direct and honest—strength versus strength, speed versus speed. A clash of pure skill and power. But now—
Before he could fully process the implication, Yuexin moved again.
Her sword slashed toward him with apparent intent—but at the last possible instant, her wrist twisted subtly. The blade veered sharply to the side. Su Tianhao instinctively parried where the blow should have landed—only to feel the cold of Yuexin's blade tap gently against his exposed neck.
A clean hit.
His eyes widened in complete disbelief.
"So fast..."
He corrected himself immediately. "So deceptive."
He had seen the attack coming. He had applied the principle of Parry exactly as he'd been taught—"your sword should arrive before theirs truly begins... you must not only see the attack, but the intention behind it." Those exact words had played clearly in his mind. And he had tried to replicate them precisely.
Yet the intention behind that attack had simply vanished—arriving at an angle completely outside his perception.
Yuexin pulled back gracefully, silver robes fluttering in the moonlight like wings.
"To master the sword, you must not just wield strength," she said with quiet finality. "You must wield intent, precision, and control. The Nine Basic Sword Moves are not just forms—they are the foundation of all swordsmanship. Each one contains a law... and all laws together form the Dao."
Su Tianhao stood in silence, Shadowfang trembling lightly in his grasp.
He wasn't injured.
But he felt profoundly shaken.
Not by raw power—but by skill. Depth. Intent.
Yuexin's calm voice echoed one last time as she looked directly into his eyes.
"When truly mastered, even the most basic of moves... can shatter the heavens themselves."
Su Tianhao's gaze burned with fierce, unwavering light. He would remember this night forever.
The Slash. Thrust. Cleave.
Parry. Draw Slash.
Riposte. Reverse Grip. Deflect.
Feint.
Nine basic sword moves.
Nine eternal truths.
One unshakable path forward.