Volume One: The Sword of the Son of Heaven Chapter 39: Raising the Sword

At the foot of the mountain, the aura of Elder Nan suddenly fluctuated, growing strong then weak, hinting at a loss of control. Shaoyang Gu struggled to suppress his laughter, feeling greatly relieved. The disciples of the Southern Courtyard all bowed their heads, not daring to look at their elder’s embarrassing state, while Yuanliang Zhou quietly edged further away, fearing he'd become collateral damage.

Qin Shangzhang, the Swordmaster, still gazed gently, and spoke: “Yun family, are you the Marquis of Yanmen?” Yun Que’s expression turned solemn; he saluted respectfully, replying, “My father is the Marquis of Yanmen. My current title is Marquis of Coldwater.” Qin Shangzhang deliberately avoided the title fraught with disgrace, instead addressing him as the Marquis of Yanmen, a gesture that deeply moved Yun Que. Whether out of forgetfulness or disdain for the royal family, at least he was afforded respect, unlike the shortsighted elder of the Southern Courtyard.

Qin Shangzhang smiled and nodded, his voice soft: “Your father’s mastery of the art of war is unrivaled in Yan Kingdom. What a pity.” What a pity he fell in battle at the frontier. The latter half was left unsaid; Qin Shangzhang sighed lightly, then stepped onto his sword and soared toward the mountain summit.

Shaoyang Gu and Quan Yu followed suit, rising into the air on their swords, vanishing in an instant. With the elders gone, the disciples at the mountain’s base breathed a collective sigh of relief. If they hadn’t left, Elder Nan would surely have exploded on the spot.

Yuanliang Zhou gave Yun Que a thumbs-up, full of admiration. To dare confront Elder Nan so fiercely—truly unprecedented! Qingyao Mu cast Yun Que an apologetic glance, faintly uneasy, worried his dignity had suffered a blow. Yun Que answered with a carefree smile.

A mere shrew’s scolding—what was that to him? He hardly cared. Since childhood, if not daily, he’d sparred with others in word and wit; at least half the year, as Marquis of Coldwater, he endured scornful looks and curses, the rest spent sleeping at his mansion. Whenever he stepped outside, peace never followed. Such trifling matters were nothing to Yun Que.

“Let’s head back. There are many wounded; we should return to the Sword Palace and bandage up quickly,” Yuanliang Zhou suggested, and the others immediately agreed. No one wished to climb the mountain again—their earlier ordeal was a nightmare.

Especially the female disciples of the Southern Courtyard; whenever they recalled being trapped by vines, awaiting death like trees, tears threatened.

Just then, a figure appeared from the far side of the mountain. Sword light skewed, and after landing, he staggered several steps before steadying himself. He was rough and aloof, his long hair wild and disheveled, his appearance haggard—clearly he'd been through something.

Yun Que recognized him. This man had appeared mid-mountain with Wenyan Xuan, the Eastern Courtyard’s foremost sword disciple. At that time, Da Chuan Wu had hoped for rescue, but the man had ignored them and walked away, leaving Wenyan Xuan free to do as he pleased.

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“Did any elders just climb the mountain?” The long-haired sword disciple’s voice was cold, his tone interrogative. Yuanliang Zhou pointed to the summit. “The Swordmaster came in person, alongside elders of the Eastern and Southern Courtyards. They left moments ago.”

Without a word of thanks, the long-haired sword disciple stepped onto his sword, as if it were only natural. He had flown barely twenty feet before suddenly halting. Turning, his icy gaze fixed on Yun Que, Da Chuan Wu, and Xiao Yu Luo.

“You’re still alive? Where’s Wenyan Xuan?” His voice, cold as frost, brimmed with murderous intent. Da Chuan Wu hurried to explain that none of them had seen Wenyan Xuan, but Yun Que stopped him before he could speak.

Thinking Yun Que wanted to explain, Da Chuan Wu promptly fell silent. But Yun Que said nothing, not even glancing at the sword disciple suspended in midair.

“I’m speaking to you! Are you deaf? Where is my junior, Wenyan Xuan?” The sword disciple shouted, a sharp sword floating before him.

Da Chuan Wu, terrified, retreated repeatedly, fearing he’d be slain. Even courageous Xiao Yu Luo dared not utter a sound before the Eastern Courtyard’s top sword disciple. Yet Yun Que still didn’t answer; instead, he turned and walked away.

“Let’s go, back to the Sword Palace,” Yun Que called to Wu Da Chuan and the others.

Whoosh! A flying sword stabbed into the ground, blocking their path less than ten feet from Yun Que.

“My patience is thin. I’ll ask one last time: where has Wenyan Xuan gone?” The sword disciple stared coldly at Yun Que.

“Are you talking to me?” Yun Que paused, turned around, and replied calmly, “Sorry, but you treated us like air on the mountain and left us to die. Now, I can only regard you as filth. Hmm, you stink—best keep your distance from me.”

His words startled the disciples nearby once more. This was the Eastern Courtyard’s foremost sword disciple! To tell him to get lost—such audacity! Had they not just witnessed Yun Que berate Elder Nan so fiercely, they would have gasped in shock.

In truth, Yun Que’s words were polite enough—he’d only told him to get lost, not cursed his ancestors. It was clear this sword disciple had seen Wenyan Xuan’s malicious intent and not only failed to intervene, but tacitly approved. Now he searched for his junior—what had he done before? Such arrogance deserved no courtesy from Yun Que.

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“You—say that again.” The long-haired sword disciple stared icily at Yun Que; two swords floated at his side, while the one embedded in the ground rose into the air.

Three swords at once! As the Eastern Courtyard’s top disciple, his skill surpassed Wenyan Xuan’s.

Yun Que took a deep breath, his smile faint. “You treat me as air; I treat you as filth. I, the Marquis, find you foul—get! Lost! Far away!”

Buzz!!!

In midair, the three swords hummed, their light flaring.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

On the ground, swords were raised from every hand, all pointed skyward.

Qingyao Mu, Yuanliang Zhou, Da Chuan Wu, Xiao Yu Luo, and the Southern Courtyard’s disciples—all without exception aimed their swords at the long-haired sword disciple.

Without Yun Que, none of them would have survived Mist Mountain. Calling him their savior was no exaggeration; naturally, they stood firmly with him, ready to fight if needed.

The long-haired sword disciple’s expression darkened. He hadn’t expected the Sword Palace disciples to be so united. Even aside from the others, Qingyao Mu, the Southern Courtyard’s top disciple, was a formidable opponent.

Both top disciples, their cultivation nearly equal; if they fought, the outcome would be uncertain.

The long-haired sword disciple gradually withdrew his swords, his cold gaze sweeping over Yun Que, Da Chuan Wu, and Xiao Yu Luo. He said icily, “Even lowly sword servants like you could walk unscathed from Mist Mountain. If Wenyan Xuan comes to harm, it must be your doing.”

With that, he rose on his sword, flying toward the summit without another glance.

“Finally gone—what a piece of work! Bah!” Da Chuan Wu muttered under his breath.

“Left us to die and then kicked us while we were down. He still counts as a Sword Palace disciple?” Xiao Yu Luo rolled her eyes dramatically.

Had Wenyan Xuan not lured the beast, they would never have fled into the mountain’s heart, nearly becoming fodder for the vines.

Not only the Northern Courtyard group, but even the Southern Courtyard disciples felt he’d gone too far, and found Yun Que’s response refreshing.

“I’ve wanted to curse him for ages. Yan Xu acts like some grand cultivator, but he’s only ninth level Qi Refinement—what’s he got?” Yuanliang Zhou grumbled.

“Not just ninth level.” Qingyao Mu said gravely, “Yan Xu has already reached the tenth level of Qi Refinement.”