THE HUNTER OF DARKNESS

Sky of Sword

Sky Sword

Energy surged out of every pore on Lung Wei’s body. Her black staff trembled violently as the power she released grew more intense.

“You’ve underestimated me, boy! I’ll show you that the Warrior of the Serpent Valley is not just an empty title!” Lung Wei growled in irritation at Fang An’s blatant disrespect.

“Hehehe... that’s only what you think, Lung Wei. I never underestimated you—I'm simply confident that I can kill you!”

“It’s the same, fool! That means you're looking down on me!” Lung Wei’s voice rose sharply. The veins on her wrinkled neck bulged, revealing the immense force behind her tone.

“Come, attack me first, Lung Wei! But forgive me in advance if this sword tears your wrinkled skin apart.”

“You bastard...! Filthy brat...! Die, you wretch!” Lung Wei could no longer contain her fury.

With a stomp of her right foot, her aging figure shot toward Fang An, the serpent-headed tip of her staff leading the charge.

The wind howled around her as she sliced through the air. Each swing of her staff created a sharp whistle that pierced the silence.

Fang An remained cautious, never taking his eyes off her movements. He knew full well that the old woman’s strength was not to be taken lightly. Every missed strike from her echoed with a chilling hum—proof of the powerful inner energy she was channeling.

Dozens of slashes and thrusts came his way, but Fang An managed to dodge them all with relative ease. However, as time passed, Lung Wei’s speed increased. Fang An was forced to block using both swords in his hands.

Yet after only a few exchanges, his swords were no longer usable. The blades had dulled and bent, their edges too blunt to serve any purpose.

“Damn it!” Fang An cursed as he tossed the ruined weapons aside and swiftly drew the sword slung over his back.

Lung Wei jumped back several steps, her eyes narrowing. She could feel a powerful energy radiating from the blade now in Fang An’s hand. A glowing blue aura shimmered along its edge.

“The Sky Sword!” Lung Wei whispered, a deep furrow forming on her wrinkled brow. “How could you possibly possess that sword? Who are you, really?”

Fang An chuckled quietly. He knew his mother’s sword was one of the most powerful heirlooms ever created. According to her, the blade she had passed down to him was the second most powerful weapon in all of China—surpassed only by the Thunder Sword wielded by Wan Fenli. Moreover, only his mother's descendants could wield it.

There was one other artifact said to be the most powerful of all: the Dragon Flame Sword, belonging to his father, Fang Yun. However, he couldn’t wield it because the two elemental spirits of Earth and Fire that resided in it were currently in deep hibernation.

His father once said that after defeating the Dark King twenty-three years ago, the two spirits chose to rest indefinitely and would only awaken when Fang Yun or his descendants were in dire need of their power.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions, Lung Wei. Are you here to fight or to chat?” Fang An mocked.

Lung Wei’s blood boiled. The taunts hurled by this arrogant youngster had stirred her emotions to a dangerous level. But she had to think carefully. Whether she liked it or not, her staff’s power was clearly several tiers below the radiant blue sword her opponent now held.

“Let’s end this fight here, boy. As for my subordinates you killed, I won’t make a fuss about it. Let’s just say it was all a big misunderstanding.” Lung Wei swallowed hard, trying to moisten her dry throat.

“What makes you so sure I’d agree to that, Lung Wei? Is it because you’ve run out of options, or are you simply afraid to end up like your fallen subordinates?”

Lung Wei forced herself to stay calm. If anyone else had spoken to her like that, she would’ve already torn their mouth apart. But this was different—there was no forcing this fight anymore.

“That’s not it, boy. We’ve never had any personal grudge or history between us. This battle was just a misunderstanding.”

“So that’s your excuse, huh? You’re right—I’ve never had a problem with you or your sect,” Fang An said, a thin smile curling on his lips.

Lung Wei sighed in relief. Her hopes of avoiding further conflict seemed to have paid off.

“But,” Fang An continued suddenly, “I have a duty to help anyone who’s harmed by people from the dark sects like yours!”

Lung Wei swallowed again. She now realized that the young man had no intention of letting her go. Since diplomacy had failed, it would have to come down to a fight to the death.

“You filthy brat! I tried being civil with you, and this is how you repay me? Don’t expect me to give you another chance to live!” she shouted.

The leader of the Heretic Mask Sect twirled her staff twice. As she did, a dark aura burst from the serpent-shaped handle, enveloping her entire body.

Fang An smiled faintly, lowering himself into a solid stance. His sharp gaze followed every subtle movement Lung Wei made. He knew her technique involved poison—and that meant he had to finish this fight quickly.

Though he lacked real battle experience against masters of advanced martial arts, he had trained countless times with his father—once the most formidable warrior in all of Swarnadwipa before stepping away from the martial world.

Fang Yun may have lost his strength, but he had never forgotten any of the techniques he once mastered. And the lessons he gave about identifying poison-based martial arts had been etched into Fang An’s mind.

Thanks to those lessons, Fang An could recognize Lung Wei’s technique as a deadly venomous one.

He had also frequently sparred with his mother, a martial master in her own right.

With a single breath, the two warriors—one young, one old—charged at each other. Lung Wei leapt high into the air, bringing her serpent-headed staff down in a fierce arc.