Chapter Sixty-One: Trapped and Strangled

“Second Senior Brother!”

Naturally more rational by disposition, Tianfen hurriedly intervened, “We can’t act recklessly before we understand the situation. Moreover, I observe these two—though young, their cultivation is quite exceptional. Clearly, they hail from prestigious sects. If you attack them with the sword formation without distinguishing right from wrong and their elders come seeking justice…”

“Silence!”

“Do you still see me as your Second Senior Brother?” Tianqian barked furiously. “Tianfen, if you still acknowledge me as your senior, then stand aside and keep quiet. No matter who these two might be, today I shall execute these arrogant fools. If their sects come for vengeance later, I alone will bear the consequences!”

“Second Senior Brother…”

“Enough!” Tianqian shot Tianfen a dissatisfied glance, then solemnly commanded the eighty-one disciples of the Return to Ruins Hall, “Form the formation! Execute the evil!”

At the command of their Saint Son, the eighty-one disciples soared into the air in unison, descending in perfect order around Lingyan and Bai Mu. The positions they took as they landed were precisely aligned with the trigrams of the innate Eightfold diagram, indicating that, though the Ninefold Demon Execution Sword Formation was named for its extreme number, its layout still followed the ancient methods.

Once they had surrounded the pair, the disciples divided into groups, standing at the eight directions: Qian, Zhen, Kan, Gen, Kun, Xun, Li, Dui. Eight per group, forming a formidable array; the extra one hovered midair, a faint halo shimmering around him, his posture almost divine.

“What do we do?” Bai Mu glanced anxiously at the impenetrable formation encircling them, inwardly cursing his luck.

He had entered the world only to wander as a free swordsman—a hero untamed by convention. Yet scarcely a month from leaving Eastward Mountain, he had become the sworn enemy of both the Return to Ruins Hall and the Profound Sword Sect. It was only a matter of time before all the wilderness hunted him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lingyan said calmly.

“This formation is formidable, but not invulnerable. They’ve formed eight sword groups; you and I will each take on four, hold them fast, and then search for a weakness. What do you think?”

“Agreed.” Bai Mu nodded, gripping his Ancient Azure Dragon Sword, ready for battle.

Lingyan’s face turned as cold as ice; she conjured her Jade Chill Flute, eyes filled with a resolute willingness to face death as she stared at the sword formation before her.

The battle was about to erupt.

The four sword groups behind Bai Mu struck first.

Forty swordsmen, each wielding a gleaming blade, unleashed a torrent of sword energy. They swung together, conjuring a force like tigers roaring and dragons howling, which surged violently toward Bai Mu’s position.

This formation was truly astonishing. Once established, it allowed all participants to share their spiritual power at will. Alone, a single disciple might be insignificant, but forty formidable Return to Ruins disciples channeling their sword energy was a force not to be underestimated.

Not enough to kill gods, perhaps, but more than sufficient to destroy an unknown youth.

The sword energy approached with ferocious momentum, its sharp, murderous aura shrieking even before it reached Bai Mu, unsettling him.

He hurriedly marshaled all his cultivation to steady his spirit, then raised the Azure Dragon Sword overhead, using seventy percent of his power to strike forward.

As Bai Mu swung, the blade flashed with silver, ancient sword energy transforming instantly into a primordial dragon, charging at the Return to Ruins disciples and meeting their sword energy head on.

Boom… boom, boom.

Deafening explosions erupted across the field.

The dragon created by Bai Mu’s sword energy dissipated instantly under the onslaught, and the backlash shattered his own momentum, forcing him to retreat several paces before he managed to recover.

But the impact awakened the ancient Azure Dragon sword energy within him—usually dormant except on nights of the full moon—which now stirred restlessly in his spiritual cauldron.

Alarmed, Bai Mu quickly forced the residual sword energy back into the cauldron, containing the threat. Fortunately, only a small portion had leaked out and he had reacted swiftly, so no harm befell him.

Looking at the forty Return to Ruins disciples who had clashed with him, they too appeared battered.

Though their combined strength was immense, the formation was meant for eighty-one; with forty less, its power was diminished.

Thus, after the collision, the forty disciples were thrown backward by the shockwave of the sword energy, cries of pain echoing across the field.

As they retreated, their water-blue robes fluttered in the air, creating a stunning spectacle.

Though Bai Mu’s single strike nearly triggered his own sword energy, the disciples hadn’t gained much advantage either, and their formation was left in disarray. Bai Mu felt a flicker of accomplishment.

Turning to Lingyan’s side, he saw that her battle was locked in stalemate.

Lingyan, clever as ever, did not attempt to meet the formation head-on, but instead leveraged her agility, weaving through the enemy ranks, occasionally disrupting their array with a deft move, fighting with palpable enjoyment.

Still, Lingyan’s opportunities to attack were limited. She could easily defeat any single disciple, but the forty, though scattered, could reform instantly, morphing into lethal attacks targeting her.

Seeing Lingyan holding her own, Bai Mu felt reassured.

Meanwhile, the formation Bai Mu had shattered had already regrouped under the command of the glowing, airborne youth, forming four teams of ten, advancing from the four directions—east, south, west, and north.