Chapter Eleven: Never Bowing Down

The Heavenly Blade strikes with vigor, its edge sweeping across the four seas. Such is the reputation the world has bestowed upon Song Jue.

Song Jue’s "Eight Methods of Bloody Battle" is a saber technique honed through countless slaughter-filled campaigns. By channeling a heart of pure carnage into the essence of his blade, he leaves nothing behind but the steel itself, earning him the title of the "Invincible Blade under Heaven." Among the six great sects of the Great Tang, if one were to list the grandmasters of the age, a seat must surely be reserved for the Heavenly Blade, Song Jue.

Even without the clash of their blades moments ago, Zhu Wen would have certainly understood that Song Jue was an opponent far beyond his measure.

At this moment, dozens of rebel cavalrymen from the ranks of the Grass Army had pursued them from both flanks. Yet, seeing Song Jue standing firm with his blade held horizontally, his gaze casting a sideways glance toward them, the riders were struck with such terror that they dared not advance. Such was the terrifying deterrent power of merely a sidelong look.

Conversely, the Pinglu Army’s armored cavalry, who had been fleeing in disarray following the death of Ye Luoliang, erupted into cheers upon seeing Song Jue arrive to intercept. Their morale was restored in an instant.

"You need not advance," Song Jue said, his gaze like torches, his voice cold. "Since this brat dares to venture so deep into our lines alone, I would like to see just how much he is worth."

"However," he continued, "you are young to possess such martial arts mastery. It would be a pity to die in vain today. Why not submit to my command? The rank and treatment I can offer you would far exceed anything you enjoy among those grass-thieving rebels."

Facing Song Jue’s condescending offer of surrender, Zhu Wen merely squinted and sneered, "You? Has that old brain of yours been scorched by too much Five-Stone Powder? Why don't you go find a rooftop, climb onto the ridge-beast statue during a thunderstorm, and strip off your clothes to cool down? Perhaps a bolt of lightning could cure your senile arrogance."

"Very well, very well!" Song Jue’s face changed color, his eyes glinting with sharp light. The fleeting spark of appreciation he felt for the youth’s talent vanished like dust in the wind, and veins began to bulge on his forehead. "If you refuse to accept a toast, you shall be forced to drink a forfeit. Since you will not accept my kindness, you shall have to accept my Heavenly Blade with your neck!"

The Pinglu cavalrymen nodded like chicks pecking at grain, secretly thinking that this hateful boy who had killed their commander, Ye Luoliang, and who was foolish enough to reject Song Jue’s mercy, was surely doomed to die.

While berating Song Jue felt satisfying, once he calmed down, Zhu Wen realized the direness of his situation. He was not afraid of death, but he could not die here, for there were too many things he had yet to accomplish.

Zhu Wen’s mind raced. In times of extreme crisis, one’s thoughts must be as clear as a mirror on an autumn lake, reflecting every factor to find a path through the trap and seize a sliver of survival through wit.

He began to feign his inner fear, making his body tremble, wearing an expression of terror on his face as he pulled his horse back several paces.

Song Jue laughed with satisfaction. He loved seeing the fear in the eyes of arrogant, ignorant youths when they encountered him. This fear, as if meeting a deity, made him feel the beauty of power, status, and martial might.

Song Jue spurred his horse, the "Jade Lion that Shines in the Night," and raised his Heavenly Blade. As he channeled his internal strength, the weapon erupted with a brilliance like the blazing sun.

Zhu Wen struggled to raise the Dragon Sparrow, employing the saber techniques he had refined under the guidance of Wang Xianzhi. He parried continuously, using the sharpness of the Great Summer Dragon Sparrow to deflect the fierce radiance of the Heavenly Blade, while simultaneously channeling his power to dissipate the force through his horse’s legs into the earth. As Zhu Wen fought and retreated, the horse’s legs visibly buckled, a testament to the mountain-toppling, sea-splitting power contained in the Heavenly Blade.

Song Jue, calculating the situation, concluded that one more strike would surely fell Zhu Wen. His heart soared, feeling as if he were riding the wind. His expression grew increasingly grave, his eyes radiating a killing intent like a white rainbow, and the Heavenly Blade shrieked, shaking heaven and earth.

"The Fifth Form of the Eight Methods of Bloody Battle: Cleaving Mountains and Rivers."

Song Jue’s words hit the ground like iron. "In the past, I used this strike to slay the Moon-Worshipping Envoy of Nanzhao. For a brat like you, it is enough to die by this blade. You should have no regrets in this life."

The blade’s glow was frigid, a hint of bloody malice hidden within the white light. It descended, tearing through the sky and seemingly absorbing all sound from the space around them. The world seemed to fall silent, as if the strike possessed the power to carve the heavens and cleave the earth.

"Regrets? Go to hell! I’m killing your horse!"

A roar exploded. Just as Song Jue thought the blow would claim Zhu Wen’s head, the youth suddenly shifted his body, sliding out from under the oppressive pressure of the blade’s aura like a swimming fish. He braced himself in the stirrups, leaned low, and swung the Great Summer Dragon Sparrow in a sweeping arc.

The Jade Lion let out a mournful neigh as its neck was sliced through like tofu. Blood erupted, the head crashed to the ground, and a fountain of gore drenched Song Jue’s face and body!

With his mount killed, Song Jue stumbled as the horse’s corpse collapsed. He teetered for a moment before steadying himself, his "Cleaving Mountains and Rivers" strike hitting nothing but empty air. Now, the grandmaster had lost his steed and was covered in horse blood, looking like a disheveled, demonic specter.

Zhu Wen knew that a grandmaster like Song Jue would inevitably harbor contempt for a youth like him. Song Jue had been using a technique to channel his internal power into his horse to enhance its strength, which required him to split his focus. It was this distraction that gave Zhu Wen his chance.

The Dragon Sparrow was incredibly sharp, cutting iron as if it were mud. Zhu Wen’s single strike had decapitated the beast.

The spectacle of the great Song Jue falling in such a wretched state, covered in filth, caused an uproar. No one had expected that a man of his standing, famous for decades, would fail to strike down this mere boy and instead suffer such humiliation!

"Damn you!" Song Jue gnashed his teeth, his blood-splattered face turning hideous, stripped of all grandmasterly grace. "You dirt-grubbing rebels! If you wouldn't farm the land and instead insist on rebelling against your sovereign and father—you are an educated man, yet you behave like a beast without lord or kin!"

"Little thief, I will make you realize your own insignificance before you die."

"If this world were not governed by us, the high-born clans, how could it have functioned for thousands of years? You, a lowly peasant enslaved for generations, dare to challenge the order of this world?"

"Today, I shall use the blade in my hand to make you realize your base bloodline and your treasonous actions, which are nothing but a fool’s dream and a path to self-destruction!"

With that, Song Jue raised his blade. The edge shimmered with ghostly, demonic illusions, accompanied by the sound of wailing spirits.

Zhu Wen hurriedly raised the Dragon Sparrow, its red glow flaring to parry. But fueled by extreme rage, Song Jue’s power had reached its zenith. Even with all his effort, Zhu Wen struggled to block, the force driving both him and his own horse to stumble backward. The sound of their clashing blades was enough to rupture the eardrums of the surrounding cavalry.

In a split second, their blades collided dozens of times. The continuous metallic ring seemed never-ending, and tidal waves of force hammered against Zhu Wen’s blade. He realized that if the Great Summer Dragon Sparrow were not a legendary weapon of peerless hardness, it would have shattered under Song Jue’s ferocious onslaught.

He had not expected that by killing the horse, he would provoke Song Jue into an even more savage and relentless fury.

"No one come forward!" Song Jue let out a hideous cackle. "Before I tear this base-born wretch to pieces and feed him to the dogs, I will break every bone in his body and dismember him to sacrifice to my beloved steed!"

"Old man, do you think you know why there is unrest in the Guandong region, why the people are suffering, and why refugees are everywhere?" Zhu Wen’s voice remained proud, even condescending, as if he were the one in control. "How could the great Tang have fallen into such a state?"

This tone infuriated Song Jue further. "It is because of lawless, mischievous scoundrels like you! Otherwise, the world would be at peace! Little beast, die!"

"I’m afraid not. It is precisely because there are too many fools like you—worthless, yet convinced of your own noble pedigree—that the Tang has become this way."

"Song Jue, you are nothing but a slave to a slave, a dog raised by the five surnames and seven clans! How dare you bark at me here!"

Song Jue snapped, his eyes bulging until they threatened to tear, his face contorting into that of a vengeful demon.

"Die... you little beast, you deserve to die! Even if I killed you a thousand times, it would not be enough! Die!"

The Heavenly Blade struck down like a thunderbolt, pinning the Dragon Sparrow. Song Jue pressed down, the weight of two Mount Tais crushing Zhu Wen’s shoulders.

Zhu Wen’s insults had been satisfying, but Song Jue’s rage-fueled pressure was immense. The power flowing through the blade left Zhu Wen unable to move, trapped in a quagmire, struggling to breathe.

His own horse let out a final, mournful cry, blood flowing from its eyes, ears, and nose. Its legs snapped with a sickening crunch, and it collapsed, crushed by the sheer weight of Song Jue’s power. Zhu Wen’s feet slipped from the stirrups, leaving him standing on the ground.

A look of triumph appeared in Song Jue’s eyes as he tasted his revenge. He licked his lips and pressed harder. Zhu Wen, holding his blade with both hands and exerting every ounce of his strength, could not stop his body from slowly sinking under the pressure.

At this moment, though he felt regret, he felt no fear. He remained strangely calm. The regrets of his life floated by like colorful bubbles—visible, yet impossible to grasp. He looked at Song Jue with cold, indifferent eyes, as if looking at a pile of refuse.

Song Jue did not know where this mud-born boy found the confidence to look at him this way when death was at his door. His rage only surged higher, like a wildfire consuming the heavens.

"Get on your knees!" Song Jue roared like thunder. The massive force surged into Zhu Wen, and his shoulder blades began to crack under the strain, just as the horse’s legs had.

"You brat, I’ve seen many young men who thought they had strong bones, only to cry and beg for mercy before they died."

"Today, I shall see if your bones are truly harder than the legendary Heavenly Blade in my hand!"

But Zhu Wen knew in his heart: with the pride he had carried for over twenty years, as an upright man, if he were to die, he would die standing.

He would never bow his head. He could never bow his head.