Chapter 1223: One Sword Parting 8,000 Meters of the Sea
Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
More than 2 million units of vitality coalesced into a formidable vitality barrier, its thickness measuring a substantial three feet—impenetrable and resilient.
Braydon Neal, armed with 80,000 swords, emanated an aura of both a banished immortal and a formidable swordmaster.
“80,000 swords!” Lyrik Hull uttered hoarsely, his voice revealing awe. “Mount Sino Sword Art, level nine! Who are you?!”
The martial artists of the South Pole Island had firsthand experience of the Mount Sino Sword Art’s terror.
In the gathering place of influential families on the island, white-robed youths adorned with small silver sword embroidery cultivated in a courtyard.
The swords in their hands subtly trembled, as if responding to a mystical call.
Simultaneously, within a thatched cottage nestled in the courtyard, a white-haired, frail man slowly rose, his visage reflecting exhaustion.
He looked in Braydon’s direction.
All the white-robed disciples bowed respectfully.
“80,000 swords. Young Master must have graced South Pole Island. According to the secret letter sent by Winslow Jansky, Young Master has indeed mastered the Mount Sino Sword Art,” the white-haired man murmured softly, his frail form expressing deep insight.
A middle-aged man approached to assist him.
“Master, you’re injured. You should be up and about. You need to recuperate.”
“It’s fine. I want to see who dares to bully the Young Master of Mount Sino on the South Pole Island. Bring me my Banished Immortal Sword!” the white-haired man asserted with determination.
The disciples’ eyes gleamed with fanaticism and reverence.
It had been three decades since their grandmaster last wielded a sword.
As the white-haired man spoke, a three-foot-long blade, its surface glinting with cold light, remained sealed in the scabbard.
It had not tasted blood for thirty years.
When the white-haired man grasped the hilt, the sword emitted a clear, resonant cry.
A formidable sword intent surged from the courtyard, reaching a height of 9,000 meters, enveloping the entire South Pole Island.
Instantly, leaders across the South Pole Island were taken aback, and in the Yanagi residence, Finley Yanagi calmly sipped tea while Sitara Nichols massaged his shoulders.
“I’ve said it before. When Braydon is in danger, there will be someone more anxious than me,” Finley remarked, his smile serene.
“Thirty years ago, didn’t someone say that the abandoned disciple of Mount Sino died in battle in the wilderness?” Sitara inquired in astonishment.
“He attained the emperor realm thirty years ago,” Finley disclosed, unveiling the long-kept secret.
“What?” Sitara exclaimed.
“Thirty years ago, he nearly broke through to the emperor realm in the 14th ruin but was thwarted by Lekan Yiga, the Divine Priest of the Oracle Palace. His path to the emperor was shattered, and he regressed to the quasi-emperor realm. His once-black hair turned white, and his life force was impaired,” Finley revealed, divulging the hidden truth.
However, no one could forget the formidable appearance of the white-haired man.
Swoosh!
With a mere thought, Braydon seized control of the world, tapping into the power of heaven and earth.
“Your mental power isn’t weaker than mine?” Lyrik questioned, his tone a mix of shock and anger.
“Is mental power very difficult to cultivate?”
“A thousand swords with a thought, and ten thousand swords break through time!” continued Braydon.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The swords’ speed eluded the naked eye, surpassing even the speed of a supreme pinnacle’s mental power.
The unstoppable scarlet sword moved at such rapidity that a few swords couldn’t withstand its extreme speed and were destroyed.
Lyrik bore a sudden crimson hole in his left shoulder as a sword pierced through, a testament to the sword’s incredible speed.
The 10,000 swords had the ability to break through time.
The intense brightness of the crimson light compelled the formation of a vitality barrier—an involuntary defense mechanism.
Lyrik’s fate mirrored that of his third brother, Zsolt.
A prominent figure from the South Pole Island was now infuriated.
His third son had already fallen, and Braydon showed no signs of halting; he was determined to eliminate Lyrik.
The Hull family’s elder roared like a lion, his fury and pressure cascading in waves.
A hundred-meter-tall swell surged on the sea’s surface as he proclaimed, “You killed my child. Does the Neal family want to have a blood feud?”
These words, laden with pressure, aimed to compel Braydon to cease his relentless pursuit.
However, the mighty King Braydon couldn’t be easily intimidated.
Wilder observed silently, gripping his sword hilt, as a black dot emerged in the distance.
The Banished Immortal Sword quivered!
Swoosh!
The three-foot-long sword was unsheathed, its green blade cutting through 8,000 meters of the sea.
The seawater parted, creating a corridor in the water.
A formidable sword intent accompanied the strike, its essence invisible.
“Six Strikes of the Banished Immortal! Wilder Jansky, you’re still alive!” the distant black dot exclaimed angrily, blood scattering across the sky.
“You clown, say another word, and I’ll slaughter your entire family!” Wilder asserted calmly.
“Why you!” The Hull family head shouted angrily from afar.
Swoosh!
Wilder held the Banished Immortal Sword in his right hand.