Each sword strike carried immense power; as the sword shadows flickered, it was as if countless silver snakes were weaving and intertwining in the air, and the surrounding dust was swirled into small vortices by the sword wind.
Youming could only barely parry, his long sword wielded with impenetrable skill, yet he was still forced to retreat step by step by this fierce attack.
His breathing became increasingly rapid, his breath heavy like a bellows, his eyes filled with panic, his gaze wandered, and his steps began to falter.
General An Yuan spotted an opening and his longsword transformed into a streak of cold light, piercing straight into Youming's chest with the speed of a shooting star chasing the moon.
Youming dodged in a panic, but was still slashed on the shoulder by the sword. Blood instantly stained his clothes, the blood as bright as a blooming red lotus, dazzling in the sunlight.
The sharp pain from his wound made him stagger and nearly fall off his horse. He quickly grabbed the horse's mane with his left hand to steady himself.
But Youming was no ordinary person. He endured the pain, roared like thunder, and swung his sword in retaliation. This strike was infused with all his strength.
The wind howled, blowing away the dust in front and creating a fan-shaped clearing. General An Yuan remained calm and composed upon seeing this.
With a light step, he sidestepped the fierce attack like a feather, and at the same time, he swung his sword backhand, the hilt of which slammed heavily onto Youming's wrist holding the sword.
A dull thud echoed as the sword hilt struck his wrist. Youming winced in pain, nearly dropping the longsword, his fingers instantly going numb.
He gritted his teeth, squeezed his legs tightly around the horse's belly, and the warhorse, in pain, galloped wildly. Taking advantage of the horse's momentum, Youming attacked from the side with his sword, the blade flashing like a silver ribbon.
General An Yuan leaped high into the air, flipped in mid-air to dodge the attack, and drew a graceful arc with his long sword as he swung it down.
The sword aimed directly at Youming's face, its blade gleaming with a deathly cold light in the sunlight. Youming hurriedly tilted his head back to dodge, his helmet being knocked off by the sword, and a lock of his hair being cut off.
A few strands of hair fluttered in the air. At this moment, the battlefield was swept by howling winds, and the military flags fluttered fiercely, as if cheering on this life-or-death struggle.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and dust, a pungent odor that filled the air and made everyone want to vomit.
Seeing that the situation was not good, Youming's forehead veins bulged. He was anxious and wanted to activate the power of the sub-gu, but he was too flustered to concentrate.
At this moment, a fierce wind howled across the battlefield, with sand and stones flying everywhere. The wind seemed to have a mind of its own, swirling between the two, as if trying to interfere with this life-or-death struggle.
General An Yuan, with his keen eyesight, had already anticipated his movements. A disdainful sneer curled at the corner of his mouth, and with a cold snort, his sword aura swept towards Youming like a surging, raging tide.
His movements were nimble, as elusive as a ghost. He first skillfully used a feint, his longsword drawing a seemingly sharp but actually mysterious arc in the air.
This prompted Youming to instinctively swing his longsword to defend himself. In the instant the longsword deflected, General Anyuan lightly stepped forward and approached Youming like a gust of wind.
The longsword in his hand resembled a nimble dragon, winding and coiling along the blade of the Netherworld Blade before suddenly twisting it.
The force of this twisting was like Mount Tai pressing down, or the sound of a great bell ringing out. Accompanied by the sharp, ear-piercing sound of metal rubbing together, Youming felt as if his tiger's mouth had been exploded, and the pain was unbearable.
He could no longer hold onto the long sword, which flew out of his hand, twirled a few times in the air, and then crashed to the ground with a thud, raising a cloud of dust.
General An Yuan swiftly stepped forward, his sword tip firmly pressed against Youming's throat. Youming could clearly feel the icy chill emanating from the sword tip.
The chill seemed to penetrate the skin instantly, reaching the depths of the soul. General An Yuan's face was stern, and he said in a cold voice, "You treacherous brat, today is your death day."
Having said that, he exerted a slight force on his wrist, and gently pushed the longsword forward. The movement seemed gentle, but it contained endless determination.
Youming's eyes widened, filled with terror and resentment. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something but could not utter a sound.
Blood gushed from his throat like a spring, slowly trickling down his neck and staining his chest armor crimson. His body slowly collapsed, falling heavily from his horse.
The moment it landed, it stirred up dust on the ground. The dust swirled in the air, as if lamenting its destruction, before being swept away by the gale.
Upon seeing that Youming was dead, the Tianxuan army erupted in a deafening roar, a sound like thousands of thunderbolts exploding simultaneously, echoing through the sky.
It was like a surging tsunami sweeping in, overwhelming everything. General An Yuan stood tall and straight, like a war god descending to earth, raising his long sword high.
The long sword gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, like a banner of victory. He led his soldiers like hungry tigers charging towards the enemy.
Upon witnessing the murder of their commander, Youming, the soldiers of Xuanyuan Kingdom turned ashen-faced, and their morale collapsed. They hastily retreated back into the city, and their once orderly attack instantly became weak and ineffective.
Seeing that their commander was dead, the archers on the city wall fired their arrows weakly, which flew crookedly through the air without any accuracy. Some even fell before reaching the enemy lines.
At this moment, dark clouds began to gather in the sky, as if they could not bear to look at the bloody battlefield and wanted to cover it with dark clouds.
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