The night in the Thang Long Imperial Capital seemed to stretch on for a millennium. While the vast majority of the common folk slumbered, blissfully unaware, an earth-shattering tempest was unfolding in the most sacred heart of the dynasty. The Imperial Palace tonight was no longer a sanctuary of peace; it had transformed into a veritable battlefield.
At the gates of An Lac Temple, the combat was ferociously intense. The Eighteen Arhat Monks, though each only at the peak of the Qi Condensation Realm, had formed the Arhat Array. Their offense and defense were unified and flawless, as impregnable as a fortress of iron and steel. Yet, their adversaries were the Shadow Guards—mindless killing machines nurtured by the Marquis of Vinh An for decades. They possessed no emotions and knew no pain; their techniques were ruthless and sinister, targeting only fatal acupoints.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The cacophony of Zen staffs clashing with blades rang out sharply. Black miasma and golden Buddhist light warred fiercely against one another. The Arhat Array was formidable, but it was being whittled away, inch by inch, by the sheer numbers and madness of the Shadow Guards.
"Amitabha!" One Arhat Monk, to protect his junior martial brother behind him, unhesitatingly used his own body to block a lethal saber strike. Fresh blood dyed his brown kasaya crimson, but the old monk did not retreat a single step. Both hands firmly gripped his Zen staff; in his eyes, there was no terror, only boundless compassion. He fell, but his sacrifice created a fleeting opening for his comrades to counterattack. His martyrdom fanned the flames of righteous indignation within the remaining monks. They roared, the Buddhist light radiating from them growing even more resplendent as they fought with absolute disregard for their lives.
Meanwhile, in the inner courtyard, the duel between the two Foundation Establishment experts had reached its climax.
Uncle Sword and Old Shadow: two men walking entirely divergent martial paths. Uncle Sword's Sword Intent was ethereal and untethered, like drifting clouds and flowing water. He did not rely on brute force to clash; he used "Intent" to guide. Every swing of his wooden sword seemed to harmonize with the wind, the leaves, and the moonlight itself, tracing unpredictable trajectories that effortlessly neutralized his opponent's strikes.
Conversely, Old Shadow was the very incarnation of darkness and death. His movement technique was eerie, flickering in and out of the courtyard's shadows. His weapons were a pair of short, pitch-black daggers that reflected absolutely no light. Like the venomous fangs of a viper, every strike aimed for Uncle Sword's most vital points.
CLANG!
The wooden sword and the twin daggers clashed once more. Uncle Sword retreated three steps, his expression turning grave. Old Shadow's cultivation was not inferior to his own; in fact, it was slightly superior. If this stalemate continued, he would be the one at a disadvantage.
"Hahaha, is the Sword Cultivator of Duke Dinh Quoc's Estate only capable of this much?" Old Shadow sneered, his voice shrill. "How much longer can you protect that girl?"
He knew that if he simply dragged out the time until his subordinates shattered the Arhat Array, Uncle Sword would surely perish.
But he had forgotten one crucial detail. In this game, Uncle Sword was not fighting alone.
At that exact moment, from within the meditation room, a gentle aquamarine halo suddenly radiated outward. The light was not blinding, but it carried a surge of vitality and a bizarre sense of profound harmony. Lam Vy had exhausted her strength to activate the Lac bird relic.
The aquamarine glow bathed the entire courtyard. The shadows Old Shadow relied upon to conceal himself instantly paled under this light. His eerie movement technique was, in an instant, severely restricted.
"What?!" Old Shadow cried out in horror.
Would Uncle Sword let such a golden opportunity slip by?
Thank you, Mistress, he murmured inwardly, not speaking aloud. Then, his aura abruptly transformed. The ethereal fluidity vanished, replaced by a peerless sharpness. The wooden sword in his hand was no longer a mere branch. It had become a streak of lightning.
A streak of lightning capable of tearing the night asunder.
However, Old Shadow was a grand expert after all. With a furious roar, he did not retreat. Instead, he channeled his demonic arts to the absolute limit. Crossing his twin daggers, he formed a spiraling drill of black qi, preparing for a desperate, life-risking clash.
Just as the two destructive attacks were about to collide, a resonant sutra chant suddenly echoed from the main hall, where Grandmaster Phap Chan remained seated. It was not loud, yet it was exceptionally clear, drowning out the clamor of clashing steel.
"OM MANI PADME HUM!"
The six-syllable mantra, carrying boundless Buddhist light, transformed into an invisible sonic wave that swept across the courtyard without attacking anyone. When the sonic wave passed over Uncle Sword, it felt like a spring breeze, causing his Sword Intent to become even more corporeal. But when it swept over Old Shadow, it struck like a sledgehammer directly against his Divine Soul.
"Urgh!" Old Shadow coughed up a mouthful of black blood, the demonic arts within him instantly plunging into chaos.
And that was the split-second that decided life and death. Uncle Sword's lightning strike arrived.
Meanwhile, outside the Imperial Palace.
"BREAK!!!"
The main gates of the Marquis of Vinh An's Estate, forged of Profound Iron, were finally shattered under the combined assault of Duke Dinh Quoc and Tao Chinh. Thousands of elite soldiers and experts from the Six-Feathered Gate surged in like a torrential flood. The Marquis's Estate, once a supreme epicenter of power, was instantly transformed into a blood-soaked battlefield.
Tao Chinh did not partake in the slaughter. Leading Black Crow and his most elite hidden guards, he headed straight in a single direction. The Marquis's secret chamber!
BOOM! The secret door was blasted open.
But inside, it was not a trembling, terrified Marquis Vinh An that awaited them. It was an eerie altar. And a melancholic emerald-green flame... blazing more ferociously than ever before.
The Net of Heaven had closed.