Reincarnation of the Strongest Sword Maniac

They Thought I Was the Weakest Blackwood

The assassin never saw the second strike coming.

Bang!

Alexander’s stolen sword slammed against the man’s chest. The assassin flew backward like a broken kite, crashing through a wooden wall and vanishing into the darkness.

Silence fell. Several black-robed figures stared at the hole in the wall.

One of them finally shouted, “He’s only a Body Tempering cultivator!”

Another sneered. “Then what are you waiting for? Kill him!”

Five figures rushed toward Alexander simultaneously.

Alexander sighed. “Five?” He glanced at their swords. “At least bring twenty.”

The nearest assassin swung downward. Alexander tilted his head. The blade passed beside his ear—too slow. He stepped forward and tapped the assassin’s wrist with his sword.

Crack!

The man’s fingers bent unnaturally. His weapon dropped. Alexander caught it before it touched the ground and immediately threw it behind him.

Whoosh!

The sword pierced another assassin’s shoulder. “One.”

Alexander turned. A second attacker came from behind. He didn’t even look. He simply stepped sideways. The blade missed him by an inch. Alexander grabbed the assassin’s arm and used the man’s own momentum to throw him over his shoulder.

BOOM!

“Two.”

A third assassin appeared above him. Alexander looked upward as the sword descended toward his head. He raised his blade.

Clang!

The two swords collided. The assassin grinned. “You can’t block my strength!”

Alexander looked at the man’s sword, then at his own. “You’re right.”

The assassin’s smile widened. “Then die!”

Alexander released his sword. The attacker’s blade suddenly passed through empty air. Before the man could react, Alexander stepped inside his guard and punched him directly in the stomach.

BOOM!

The assassin flew backward. “Three.”

Alexander caught his sword again. The remaining two assassins exchanged glances. Something was wrong. Very wrong. This wasn’t the weak young master they had been told about.

One of them whispered, “He’s reading our movements.”

The other nodded. “Impossible. He’s only sixteen!”

Alexander heard them and smiled. Reading their movements? No. He wasn’t reading them. He had simply spent three hundred years fighting people far stronger than these assassins. Their swordsmanship was so crude that he almost felt insulted. A three-year-old swinging a stick could be more unpredictable.

The two assassins charged. Alexander stepped forward. His sword moved—once, twice, three times.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Three sword strikes. Three weapons fell. The assassins froze. Alexander stood between them. Neither had been injured, but both swords had been knocked cleanly from their hands. The two men looked at their empty palms, then at Alexander. Fear finally appeared in their eyes.

Alexander sighed. “Don’t look so surprised.” He raised his sword. “I used to be much better.”

---

Across the courtyard, William Blackwood was fighting another group of assassins. His sword flashed through the darkness.

Slash!

Blood sprayed across the ground. William kicked one attacker away. “Who are you people?!”

The assassins didn’t answer. They continued their assault. William’s expression grew increasingly grim. There were too many. Even worse, their movements were coordinated. These weren’t ordinary bandits. They were trained killers.

An elder shouted, “Patriarch!”

William turned. An assassin had slipped past the defensive line and was heading directly toward the inner courtyard—toward Emily.

William’s face changed. “Emily!”

Alexander heard his father’s voice. His expression instantly became cold. He turned. The assassin was already inside the courtyard. Emily stood frozen as the man raised his sword.

“Die!”

Alexander disappeared.

BOOM!

The assassin suddenly slammed into the ground. Alexander stood between him and Emily. The attacker’s sword stopped less than an inch from Alexander’s chest—caught bare-handed. Blood dripped from his palm.

Emily’s eyes widened. “Brother!”

Alexander didn’t look back. “Stay behind me.”

The assassin stared at him. “You…”

Alexander slowly pulled the sword from his hand. His wound healed slowly. His current body was weak—too weak. Even a small cut hurt. But he didn’t care.

The assassin suddenly shouted, “Kill him!”

More black-robed figures rushed toward him. Emily grabbed the edge of Alexander’s robe. “There are too many!”

Alexander smiled. “Then stay close.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He raised the sword. “…I’m about to get serious.”

---

Alexander’s breathing changed. One breath. Two. Three. His posture shifted completely. The joking expression vanished. His feet settled into a strange stance, the sword pointed downward.

The assassins didn’t understand. But William did. From across the battlefield, he suddenly froze. He had seen countless sword techniques, yet his son’s stance was strange—extremely strange. William had never taught Alexander that.

Alexander whispered, “First Form.”

His sword moved.

Shing!

A black-robed assassin fell.

Another attacked. Alexander turned.

Shing!

Another fell.

A third. Shing!

A fourth. Shing!

Four enemies. Four strikes. No wasted movement. No unnecessary force. Every stroke landed exactly where it needed to.

Alexander wasn’t using spiritual energy. He wasn’t even using a proper cultivation technique. He was using experience—three hundred years of it. His body was weak, but his understanding of the sword had reached an unimaginable level.

An assassin attacked from his left. Alexander moved before the man even completed his step. Another came from the right. Alexander ducked. A third attacked from behind. Alexander turned his wrist.

Clang!

The blade was deflected. He stepped forward.

Bang!

His elbow struck the man’s throat. The attacker collapsed.

Emily stared, mouth hanging open. She had never seen Alexander fight like this. “Brother…”

He didn’t answer. He was focused, eyes scanning the battlefield. There were too many enemies. And something else was bothering him. These assassins were exactly like the ones from his memories—except for one difference.

In his previous life, there had been thirty-seven attackers.

Tonight, there were more than a hundred.

Alexander’s expression darkened. *The future has already changed.*

A powerful aura suddenly erupted.

BOOM!

Everyone stopped. A figure slowly walked through the broken gate, wearing a dark red robe. His cultivation pressure swept across the estate. Several Blackwood guards immediately fell to their knees.

William’s expression became serious. “Spirit Foundation…”

The newcomer smiled. “William Blackwood.”

William raised his sword. “Who sent you?”

The man ignored the question. His eyes moved toward Alexander. “Is that him?”

Alexander looked back. The man’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.” He stared for several seconds, then smiled. “The information was correct.”

Alexander’s expression changed. “What information?”

The man laughed. “That the useless young master of the Blackwood family would be the first person to die tonight.”

Emily stepped forward angrily. “Don’t call my brother useless!”

Alexander gently held her shoulder. “Emily. Stay back.”

The red-robed man laughed. “You?” He pointed at Alexander. “You’re going to fight me?”

Alexander looked at him, then at the man’s sword, then at his cultivation. Spirit Foundation. In his previous life, Alexander had needed years to defeat someone at this level. Now he was sixteen, his cultivation practically nonexistent.

Alexander smiled. “Yes.”

The man laughed even louder. “Hahaha!” He raised his sword. “Then I’ll grant your wish.”

His spiritual energy exploded.

BOOM!

The ground beneath his feet cracked. He disappeared. In an instant, he appeared in front of Alexander, sword thrusting toward his heart.

Emily screamed. “Brother!”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. The world seemed to slow. He saw the angle, the man’s shoulder movement, his foot placement, his breathing, his killing intent—everything.

Alexander’s fingers tightened around the sword. *Too slow.*

He stepped sideways. The blade passed through empty air. The red-robed man’s eyes widened as Alexander’s sword touched his throat. The man froze. A thin line of blood appeared.

Alexander leaned closer, voice calm. “You’re strong.”

The man’s face relaxed—then Alexander smiled. “But your sword… is terrible.”

Slash!

Blood sprayed across the courtyard. The red-robed man staggered backward, hand covering his throat. He stared at Alexander in disbelief. “You…”

Alexander lowered his sword.

For the first time that night, the entire battlefield became silent. William stared at his son. The elders stared. The assassins stared. Even Emily stared. Nobody understood what they had just witnessed.

A sixteen-year-old boy with almost no cultivation had wounded a Spirit Foundation cultivator.

Alexander looked at the blood on his sword, then frowned. “This sword is too light.”

Emily blinked. “That’s what you’re worried about?!”

Alexander looked at her. “Yes.”

She covered her face. “You’re hopeless.”

Alexander smiled.

Then suddenly the red-robed man laughed. “You think you’ve won?”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. The man pulled a black jade token from his robe. The moment the token appeared, the sky changed. A terrifying pressure descended upon the Blackwood Estate.

Alexander’s smile disappeared. He knew that token. He had seen it once before—three hundred years ago. The same symbol. The same black jade. The same organization.

He stared at the strange emblem carved into its surface: a throne surrounded by nine stars. His fingers tightened around his sword. His voice became barely audible. “The Celestial Court…”

The red-robed man smiled. “You know our name?”

Alexander looked at him. “No.” He slowly raised his sword. “I know how many people you killed.”

The man’s smile vanished.

Alexander’s killing intent erupted. For the first time since his reincarnation, the Sword Maniac released a trace of his true aura. The entire courtyard trembled. The assassins felt their legs weaken. William’s eyes widened. Emily stared at her brother.

And far away, somewhere beyond the Blackwood territory, an ancient man suddenly opened his eyes. His face became pale. “That sword intent…”

He stood, hands trembling. “Impossible. He’s supposed to be dead.”

Alexander looked toward the distant darkness. A smile slowly appeared on his face. “So… the game has started earlier than I expected.”

And this time—

Alexander Blackwood was ready.