If your eyes are sharp enough, if your eyes are the eyes that never underestimate the enemy, you will know how amazing this sword is.
At least in Mo Qingdi's eyes, this sword is not static and ordinary.
That sword was not a branch, but a real sword. A truly amazing sword.
It was trembling slightly, out of fear, but also out of excitement. Perhaps because of its own birth.
It was the sword that was shaking, not Qianye Bingbu's hand. He had thrust out hundreds of millions of swords, and no matter what the circumstances, his hand holding the sword never shook.
The sword has life and independent consciousness.
It aimed at the old drunkard's brow, eyes, throat, as well as his chest, heart or abdomen.
It can even attack the lower body quickly, directly piercing the 29 acupoints between the old drunkard's crotch and 72 acupoints on his calves and calves.
It covered all the vital points on the old drunkard's body, and it also covered all the acupuncture points on his body.
The name of the sword is Wuyi!
In other words, at the moment of the final attack, even Chiba Hyobu himself did not know where it would stab.
Just a few tenths of a second, or maybe even less.
You don't have time to blink, you don't have time to breathe, your heart doesn't beat. The gap between the previous heartbeat and the next heartbeat is even shorter than this.
Chiba Hyobu disappeared from the spot and stabbed the old drunkard in the throat with a sword.
Yes, at the last moment, he finally locked on to his target.
throat!
A sword stabs the throat!
One sword to the throat!
The old drunkard finally moved.
He rushed towards Chiba Hyobu with a long stick in his hand, leaving a trail of afterimage on the spot, and his body turned into nothingness.
With an ugly and seemingly extremely barbaric and rude posture, he raised the long stick in his hand and stabbed towards Chiba Hyobu.
The stick didn't even have a sharp tip.
Their bodies brushed past each other. Or rather, two unclear shadows brushed past each other.
It was just a change of position, a change of the mode of getting along, from standing opposite each other to standing with their backs to each other.
Chiba Bingbu stood at the place where the old drunkard had just stood, and the old drunkard also stood in Chiba Bingbu's footprints.
Then, everything stopped.
Their bodies gradually became clearer and turned into two living bodies instead of blurry shadows.
The gray sky looks like someone's black face, and the white world is so dreamy.
Two men in wide robes and big sleeves stood in an independent and narrow courtyard. Because of the smallness of the courtyard, their figures seemed unusually tall and majestic, like the kings and gods of war in ancient times.
The branch in Chiba Hyobu's hand was dripping blood, one drop, two drops, three drops - the red blood slowly melted a piece of snow on the ground.
The chest area of the old drunkard's gray robe was stained brown by blood. When the old drunkard thought that his sword would stab his throat, Chiba Bingbu suddenly changed his tactics and attacked his chest again.
There are only a few people in this world who can accelerate again at such a fast speed.
The wooden stick in the old drunkard's hand flew towards the wooden door of the courtyard and pierced into the middle of the door like a spear. Half of the stick was inserted into the door, leaving only a short section exposed in the yard.
"Why?" asked the old drunkard in a heavy voice.
"I lost to you 20 years ago." Chiba Bingbu said softly. His voice was gentle and kind, as if he was reluctant and relieved.
"Is that the reason?"
"Twenty years later, I lost to Fang Yan."
"Is that the reason?"
"China is too powerful." Qianye Bingbu sighed and said, "Chinese warriors are too powerful. Twenty years ago, I was ambitious to conquer China with the Oriental swordsmanship and show my Oriental sword power. Unfortunately, I was forced back by you before I took that step."
"Twenty years later, I mustered up the courage to go east again. The result was even worse than the last time. I was defeated by an unknown young man in Huacheng. Fang Yan is a martial arts genius, and there are not many geniuses like Fang Yan in China. Even a young girl who is familiar with Fang Yan, with her talent and qualifications, will not be inferior to me in future achievements. "
"Even though I was defeated by you, I still had hope. I hoped that one day I would come with a sword in hand and wash away the shame with blood. However, when I saw them, I was truly desperate. There are too many talented people in China, and the young people in China are too strong. It's a pity that there is not even one such young man and woman in Japan. Not even one. God is so unfair to us."
"I have always been curious about what kind of magic this land of China has, and why it can raise its children to be so outstanding and courageous. When I am alive, they regard me as a god and the hope of Eastern warriors."
"I know very well in my heart that I am not their hope. I can only bring them illusory psychological comfort and a short-term spiritual medicine. This psychological comfort and spiritual medicine can deceive them and paralyze them - let them still have expectations and fantasies. I believe that one day, one day I will bring them victory and glory."
"The consequences are too disastrous. You fought on dozens of islands in the East with your sword, enjoying great glory, but you also completely trampled the dignity of the East warriors under your feet. You created the Chinese Azure Dragon, but no East warrior has emerged again. Everyone hides in their own little home licking their wounds - our generation has completely lost, what about the next generation?"
"When a young man like Fang Yan truly grows up, when he becomes a sharp sword like you, when he does what you did back then, rushing into the East with one sword - at that time, who among the young people of the East can resist him? Who can be his enemy?"
"My generation lost, which brought fear to the younger generation of warriors. If the next generation of warriors lose, what kind of psychological impact will it have on the next generation of warriors? Every time we lose, morale drops. If we lose three times in a row, where is the morale? Where are the talents? Who will protect my people? Who will guard my country's gates?"
Chiba Bingbu covered his throat and coughed softly twice, and the bright red blood stained his palms red.
Blood flowed out from between his fingers, drawing a beautiful abstract picture.
"Don't underestimate the enemy. I really envy you - I envy you for being born in this great China, I envy you for having this piece of black land under your feet. I envy you for having so many talented people, I envy you for being proud and fearless - it would be great if Fang Yan was a Chinese. It would be great if Fang Yan was a Chinese? If that were the case, why would I end up on this path?"
"Why is it so?" The old drunkard sighed. "Only by being alive can there be hope, and only by being alive can we see a longer-term future. Being alive is the most important thing. From the Blue Dragon of China to the drunken waste that is now, the tendons of the hand are broken, and there is no hope of recovery. The woman you love most has left you, and your heart is trapped in the quagmire and hell forever. Every day you are awake, you feel pain. Every time you think, you feel sad. A poor person like me is still trying to survive. If I had to die, I don't know how many times I would have died."
"You are alive because you still have hope in your heart." Qianye Bingbu said softly: I haven't seen him for many years, but I never thought that my old friend who was once famous in China would fall into such a state. "Your meridians are cut off because you believe that it will break through the cage one day. The woman you love most left you because you believed that she would come back one day or she would always be there. I am really hopeless to live. Twenty years and twenty years, how many twenty years can I have? In the next twenty years, when I am old and gray, will I still have the courage to cross the sea to challenge the heroes of China again? I am afraid that I can't even hold the sword steady at that time, right?"
"I can't save the Eastern Martial Arts while I am alive. Only when I die can they be completely despaired." Qianye Bingbu said with an extremely firm voice. He believed in the future he expected. "Only when people are most desperate can they burst out with potential that is unimaginable to the world. I believe in tens of millions of Eastern warriors, and I look forward to their future. I know that among them, countless young talents like Fang Yan will grow up. Only in this way can we have the prosperity of Eastern Asia and the revival of Eastern Martial Arts."
"What do you regret?"
"Regret?" Qianye Bingbu thought for a moment and said, "I hope that in my next life I won't be worshipped as a god by others. Because once I go up, I can never come down. I just want to be a swordsman."
Chiba Hyobu slowly knelt on the ground, then lay flat on all fours in the snow.
The stick pierced through his abdomen, leaving a dark hole there.
His white clothes were dyed red by the blood, and the white snow on the ground was also dyed red by the blood. The white clothes and white snow became red clothes and red snow.
Chiba Hyobu opened his eyes and looked at the sky above his head, and said: "We in the East don't have such land, so I let myself be buried here - I turn myself into a handful of dust here, blessing my people to have more heroes, and blessing my East to have a prosperous military fortune."
"Please forgive my selfishness." Chiba Hyobu chuckled. "Because only death in your hands can truly bring me relief."
"I forgive you." The old drunkard said in a gentle voice: "The strong are lonely, and Fang Yan also needs an opponent to sharpen his skills."
"We said that whoever wins will toast to the other." Chiba Bingbu said with a smile. This smile came from the heart, warm and peaceful.
The old drunkard walked to the corner, picked up a large jar and started drinking wildly.
His head and face were covered with alcohol, and his stomach was full of alcohol.
He poured the remaining half jar of liquor next to Chiba Bingbu's head. Chiba Bingbu smelled the rich aroma of the liquor and closed his eyes with a look of satisfaction on his face.
The Eastern Sword God Chiba Hyobu has fallen! (To be continued)