Chapter 17: The Sword Immortal of the Azure Lotus

As his will stirred, the Literary Dao Spirit Treasure shattered, dissolving into nothingness.

A radiance of ten thousand feet burst forth, illuminating the world and drawing the attention of every savage beast.

The chant of the Great Dao intoned—

The wanderer’s scarf fluttered in the wind, the Wu blade gleamed with frosted brilliance.
A silver saddle upon a white steed, swift as a shooting star.
With every ten steps, a man falls; a thousand miles, yet no trace remains.
When the deed is done, he brushes off his robes, concealing both his form and name.
At leisure, he drinks with Lord Xinling, sword unbelted, resting across his knees.
Roasting meat for Zhu Hai, raising a cup to urge Marquis Hou Ying.
Three cups and a solemn promise, the Five Sacred Peaks weigh lightly in his heart.
Dizzy eyes and ears aflame, his spirit soars like a rainbow.
To save Zhao, he wields a golden hammer, startling Handan before all others.
For a thousand autumns, two heroes’ fame blazes in the city of Daliang.
Even in death, the bones of a hero are fragrant, never shamed among the world’s finest.
Who among men can record your story? The Grand Mystery remains unread with white hair.

These one hundred and twenty characters expanded to monumental proportions, swirling through the skies and stirring violent winds.

In the end, they gathered into a current of literary majesty, condensing into a vague, ethereal silhouette.

Yang Tian was moved—perhaps this figure was none other than the Immortal Poet, Li Bai.

His eyes seemed to pierce the veils of time and space, beholding Li Bai himself.

Bright and spirited eyes, a flowing white robe fluttering in the breeze—refined and unrestrained.

A sword gripped in his left hand, his right hand clasped behind his back, his gaze haughty and heroic, radiating supreme confidence.

A banished immortal descended to the mortal realm, exuding the bearing of both sage and spirit.

Wang Fu stood stupefied, utterly lost before the spectacle.

This was the poem written by the young master—a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure.

To see it used so suddenly, without even a chance to intervene, left him dumbfounded.

But could a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure truly take human form?

Detonating such a treasure should only amplify battle power severalfold, or dozens of times—was the record mistaken?

Wang Fu fell into deep doubt.

The figure drew its sword; countless invisible blades crisscrossed the air.

Everyone saw it—the sky was adorned with endless blue lotuses.

Each surge of sword qi transformed into azure lotuses, piercing the bodies of the beasts.

Boom!

Thunderous roars echoed across the land.

One after another, the savage, violent beasts collapsed in death, sending showers of earth into the sky.

The Immortal Poet, Li Bai—

Also known as the Azure Lotus Sword Immortal.

Amid the horde of beasts, the figure roamed at ease, casually wielding his sword, felling beast after beast.

Unimaginably effortless!

An immortal among mortals, annihilating his foes like so many ants.

Yet, it was after all the manifestation of a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure, rooted in the qi of literary brilliance—its duration was limited.

The beasts’ savage onslaught hastened its depletion.

The figure grew increasingly insubstantial, yet retained an ethereal, immaculate aura, untouched by the chaos.

Only three minutes passed before the figure dissipated.

The myriad sword lotuses vanished.

If not for the mass of beast corpses strewn across the ground, it would have seemed as if nothing had happened at all.

The results were astonishing—over four hundred beasts had been slain.

Yang Tian was well satisfied.

Though he wished the image of the Sword Immortal, Li Bai, could have lingered longer, to annihilate every last beast.

Of the remaining beasts, six or seven hundred survived, most of them wounded.

The pressure on Desolate City was greatly eased.

The city’s destruction was no longer imminent, and the danger had lessened.

But it was not enough!

Even so, many more would still die before they could hold out for reinforcements.

The city might yet endure.

But what Yang Tian could not accept was seeing so few soldiers left, or that out of more than forty thousand in Desolate City, only twenty or thirty thousand would survive the battle.

His body was utterly drained—the literary brilliance within him exhausted.

He could not recover in a short time, and could not use another Literary Dao Spirit Treasure.

After the shock faded, all the soldiers looked toward Yang Tian with awe and gratitude.

They knew Yang Tian was the new Lord of Desolate City.

At first, they had thought the new lord was merely putting on a show, and would soon flee the city to escape the peril, for the beast assault was truly fearsome this time.

They never expected the new lord to possess such formidable means.

To annihilate hundreds of savage beasts in an instant—

It meant fewer of them would die, and perhaps their families could be protected.

If Desolate City stood, their homes would remain.

“Glory to the Lord! Glory to the Lord!” the people cried of their own accord, voices swelling with genuine passion and resolve.

They threw themselves into the fight with even greater determination—Desolate City must be defended at all costs.

Yang Tian was gratified—his efforts were not in vain.

To win the hearts of the people is the hardest thing of all; this was a promising start.

It was only a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure—well worth the cost.

Wang Fu supported Yang Tian, his expression indescribably complex.

“Uncle Fu, I have another Literary Dao Spirit Treasure for assault. See if you can activate it,” Yang Tian said weakly, producing another slip of paper from his robe.

Of the three new treasures, only one was for attack; the other two were for support.

Depending on the content and the Dao’s acknowledgment, once formed, each Literary Dao Spirit Treasure held a different power.

Besides attack and defense, the rest belonged to supportive functions.

But using such a treasure was not easy—only the creator was unrestrained.

Anyone else could only activate it if they were sufficiently attuned to the treasure.

The greater the resonance, the stronger the effect.

With his literary brilliance depleted, Yang Tian could only ask Uncle Fu to try.

Wang Fu was astonished yet again, shaken by Yang Tian’s words, unable to keep his composure before the young master.

Another Literary Dao Supreme Treasure?

He knew the young master had composed another masterpiece, recognized by the Literary Dao, just last night.

Yet to create such a treasure was more than a hundred times harder than before.

Even a thousand years ago, before the Literary Dao was severed, among a thousand practitioners of the ninth rank, not one might create a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure.

The young master was truly extraordinary!

With the Dao broken, in just a month, he had produced two treasures.

Could he really be the reincarnation of a Literary Sage?

A thousand thoughts whirled through Wang Fu’s mind as he took the slip.

Just an ordinary piece of paper—who would believe this was a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure?

He opened it and read carefully.

He could not help but marvel—indeed, another masterpiece, worthy of the Literary Dao’s recognition.

But even so, could such a thing truly become a spirit treasure?

There was no time for doubt. Wang Fu composed himself, focused his mind, and tried to nourish the treasure with his own literary brilliance, seeking resonance.

But after ten minutes, nothing happened.

He had failed.

Wang Fu was dejected.

For a cultivator of the Literary Dao—especially in these waning times—to resonate with a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure, to wield it in battle, was an unimaginable honor.

Yang Tian was disappointed as well.

But it was not Wang Fu’s fault; to resonate with a Literary Dao Spirit Treasure was never easy.

Watching the soldiers give their lives to defend Desolate City, dying at any moment—

Though it was their duty and calling, war was ever so cruel.

Yang Tian closed his eyes and meditated, seeking to restore his literary brilliance as quickly as possible.

The spiritual strain from detonating the treasure could not be healed in an instant.

No matter—he felt it was worth it.

If he could slaughter the remaining beasts, the corpses of more than a thousand would be an immense fortune.

A few days of headaches were bearable.

To gain resources, Yang Tian was willing to risk another outburst.

He focused all his efforts on recovery; time passed swiftly, and dusk gradually fell.

After hours of ceaseless battle, the soldiers were exhausted, enduring solely on sheer willpower.

The savage beasts, still brimming with stamina, continued their frenzied assault.

There was no rest—only perseverance.

Torches were lit, and the struggle continued through the night.

Yang Tian had recovered less than half of his literary brilliance—enough to detonate another Literary Dao Spirit Treasure, but to maximize its power and slay the greatest number of beasts, he would have to endure further sacrifices from the soldiers to buy more time.

Necessary sacrifice was the price of greater victory.

Otherwise, the final detonation would only kill a handful of beasts, and the battle would remain unchanged.

“I killed your cubs! If you want revenge, come and kill me—ha ha ha…” In the depths of night, Wu Yong’s voice echoed from behind the lines of savage beasts.