HolyMouse
patreon
Cultivation Nerd: Chapter 375
🕑 Added 2026-01-12 03:52:39 +0000 UTCChapter 375 - Innescapable Silver Kiss
Seeing that I had killed one of her opponents, Jiang Yeming reacted immediately. She rushed forward at the stunned wind cultivator like a ghost, the sword in her hand wrapped in a translucent chain.
But her opponent recovered faster than she expected. Before she could reach him, he snapped back to his senses, raising his blade to parry her strike as it came down. The thin chain coiled around Jiang Yeming’s sword lashed out like a newborn serpent, trying to wrap around his arm.
However, having just witnessed his teammate crushed by a far larger version of that very chain, the wind cultivator showed no hesitation. He disengaged at once, leaping back several dozen feet and opening distance between them.
“Guys, it’s time to finish this. We’ve made quite the commotion, and we’re deep in their territory. Their reinforcements might arrive before ours,” Jiang Yeming said.
She didn’t call me teacher, nor did she use any title that implied seniority. Doing so would have marked the leader as the primary target. It was a simple but effective tactic, one that often prevented the enemy from focusing their efforts too early.
The opposing side had already deduced that Jiang Yeming was the leader of our small team, which was why they had pressured her so aggressively. Her ability to hold her own against three opponents only confirmed their suspicions.
Tingfeng didn’t reply. He was locked in a violent storm of steel with his opponent, blades clashing again and again. Still, he gave a brief and barely noticeable tilt of his head, something that might have passed for a nod.
During one of their countless exchanges, Tingfeng’s sword met his opponent’s with slightly less force. He parried, guiding the attack along the arc of his own blade and subtly redirecting it off course.
Then, in a smooth and beautiful motion, Tingfeng swung. His glistening sword traced a clean arc, the very tip nicking the side of his opponent’s neck.
At first, the man didn’t even realize he had been struck. The cut must have felt no worse than an insect bite. He reset his stance, lifted his sword, and prepared to attack again.
Then blood burst from the wound.
His eyes widened in shock as he dropped his weapon and clutched at his neck, fingers pressing desperately against the gash. But the red liquid kept spilling through his grip, soaking his hands.
“How? When? Which attack went past my guard?” Tingfeng’s opponent asked, his voice unsteady, a bit delirious from blood loss.
Or perhaps he was one of those rare lunatics more concerned with how he had lost than with the fact that he was about to die.
Damn. He and Tingfeng might have been good friends, as he seemed just as obsessed with the blade. What a waste. This war was cutting down talent like common weeds.
“It was when I parried your attack,” Tingfeng explained.
That was uncharacteristic of him. He rarely bothered to explain his swordsmanship to anyone.
“How? I should have been just out of your range,” said the other man, his eyes dimming as blood loss drained his strength.
“There are techniques that make Qi resemble lightning, fire, wind, and many other things. There is even someone I know who can turn his Qi into amazing structures with exquisite detail,” Tingfeng said. As he opened his hand, his sword tilted as if it were about to fall, yet it clung stubbornly to his palm. “I don’t know if this can even be called a technique. And even if it can, it would be a weak Mortal Grade one. It makes my Qi a bit sticky, and my sword sticks to my hand. I let go of the sword slightly when attacking you. During the battle, I noticed you relied on instinct to dodge, always moving just a hair away from being hit. So I simply increased the distance a little by loosening my grip.”
Oh? I hadn’t even noticed Tingfeng doing that. To me, it had only looked like a clean cut.
It was astonishing what some people could come up with.
“How embarrassing, to die to a cheap trick like that,” the opponent murmured, his voice barely audible.
“Do not worry. There is a good chance I will become the greatest swordsman to ever live. So you will be remembered as one of the people I had a tough battle with on my journey to the top,” my disciple said.
Tingfeng imbued the tip of his sword with Qi. The blade rippled and trembled, creating the illusion of a zig-zagging, serpentine form, before he thrust it forward like a spear.
“What a liar,” said the dying man with his last breath. “I was never even able to give you a challenge at all.”
Tingfeng was still several steps away, yet the thrust unleashed a piercing, bullet-like projectile of Qi. It shrieked through the air and punched straight through the man’s skull. The force of the impact sent fragments spraying from the back of his head as his body collapsed.
“Do not put yourself down so much. At least I could learn a couple of new things about the sword from you,” Tingfeng said, sheathing his weapon.
The man who had originally been my opponent, the one who had refused to surrender, suddenly charged at Tingfeng like a madman.
He must have realized that he had little chance of killing me. While the others fought and I observed, he kept trying to land a hit on me, but failed every time.
So he chose this moment instead, hoping to take someone down with him. In his eyes, Tingfeng looked distracted.
Should I let Tingfeng handle this?
Normally, I would. I would treat this as a test, one about never letting your guard down. And I was confident Tingfeng would pass it with flying colors.
But at the same time, he was the man I had decided to spare, and I could not allow him to become a problem for someone dear to me. It was a matter of principle more than anything else.
Falling Moon Claw!
I swung my hand as if clawing at the air, releasing a pressurized blade of wind. It had been a while since I last used the technique.
The invisible, nearly silent wind blade shot forward, faster than the man could reach Tingfeng. A faint whirring cut through the air before the man halted mid-stride. I cancelled the technique immediately, ensuring it wouldn’t travel any farther than necessary.
His sword slipped from his grasp.
Then his head slid cleanly from his shoulders.
As his body collapsed, the air trembled violently. A powerful gust erupted outward, thrashing the surrounding beech trees, uprooting them and sending massive trunks hurtling through the battlefield. Some crashed close enough to rattle the ground near me, while others smashed down onto the corpses scattered across the earth.
Tingfeng raised a hand and released an invisible slash. One of the fallen trunks was diced into neat wooden cubes mid-air, the cut so precise it was almost artistic.
I walked calmly to his side, already predicting the paths of the falling debris and adjusting my steps so that none came near me.
When I reached him, Tingfeng was still staring at where his opponent had been. Or rather, where the corpse used to be, now reduced to a smear beneath shattered wood and splintered bark.
“Isn't it a shame when talented people die so young?” I asked, understanding where his thoughts were drifting. “He would have made a fine rival.”
“That he would have,” Tingfeng agreed. “If he had fixed his posture and not stuck so rigidly to the Titanic Blade Sect’s sword forms, he would have been harder to defeat. And who knows what he could have created after that.”
Damn… he really was the disciple who understood me best.
I placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.
“Hang in there a bit longer, and I’ll show you a world where every genius can live to their full potential,” I said.
He needed it. Anyone would, after realizing what it meant to kill someone like that.
“I can't wait to see that day coming, and wouldn't mind helping you achieve that goal,” Tingfeng replied.
“Be careful what you ask for,” I chuckled. “Don’t be too scared when the time comes for your talent to be challenged by peers who’ve fully realized their potential.”
“To be defeated in a sword battle… I can't wait for that day to come either,” Tingfeng smiled. A rare expression on his usually blank face.
Jiang Yeming was still locked in combat nearby, her battle kicking up enough noise and destruction that every farmer within five miles would have noticed it. Not to mention cultivators with sharpened senses.
We couldn’t afford to linger here any longer.
“Jiang Yeming, take care of your opponent as fast as you can, or we are going to be surrounded!” I called out.
Helping her directly wasn’t even a viable option. I would rather deal with being encircled and forced into a desperate escape than rob my disciples of valuable combat experience.
Jiang Yeming didn’t lack experience, but she could always use more. Also, I wanted some techniques from the future that she was keeping as her trump cards.
She nodded at my call, and her body moved like a silver beam reflected between mirrors. She darted through the battlefield like a ghost, leaping from tree to tree, her footsteps stamping onto logs, branches, and even fallen leaves.
Her movements blurred even to my eyes as she activated a technique that seemed to increase her speed with every step.
Her opponent, meanwhile, showed no concern. A violent tornado had formed around him, shredding and pulverizing trees, dirt, rocks, and leaves within the whirlwind. It was both offense and defense at once, an ultimate technique of sorts, but one that devoured Qi at an absurd rate. More importantly, he seemed rooted in place while using it.
“Why does this have to be such a pain,” Jiang Yeming muttered under her breath as silvery Qi gathered around her left hand.
She halted mid-motion. By the time she stopped, a ball of silver, gaseous Qi the size of a basketball had formed in her palm. She winced as she looked at it, then hurled it straight at the wind cultivator.
He didn’t seem worried at all. He simply stared at the slow-moving mass of silvery Qi drifting toward him, confidence evident in his stance.
My first thought was poison with some strange technique Jiang Yeming had developed to channel toxins through Qi. But the wind cultivator wasn’t stupid. That was likely his first thought as well, which meant he trusted his tornado defense to deal with poison gas or similar attacks.
What he didn’t expect was for the silvery sphere to slip straight through the roaring winds without slowing down in the slightest.
His eyes widened in shock, yet he still didn’t move.
That confirmed my suspicion. It wasn’t just that he chose not to move; his technique likely made it impossible for him to move. Stepping into its shredding range would mean being torn apart by his own hurricane.
The silver mist engulfed his head and stopped there, clinging to him. A choking sound escaped his throat as he began coughing violently, clawing at the haze with his hands. His fingers passed straight through it, as if grasping at fog.
He tried again, this time flooding his hands with Qi. That had some effect; the mist distorted slightly, but it was like pushing through thick slime. Slow and ineffective.
His coughing grew frantic.
A faint buzzing sound emanated from the silver haze, as though something inside it was burning its way through him. Not his skin, but something far deeper inside him.
The wind cultivator began canceling the technique that sustained the tornado around him. His coughing turned wet, as though something were gurgling deep in his throat. He bent forward, looking like he was about to vomit, yet nothing came out. Instead, he clawed at his neck as his face slowly turned blue.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, wide with desperation, as if searching for any chance or any miracle to survive. He groaned and gurgled, trying to say something, but no words came.
His defensive wind technique finally collapsed just as it looked like he was about to pass out, and he immediately darted backward.
It didn’t help.
The silver mist clung stubbornly to his head.
He opened his mouth as if screaming, yet no sound emerged. His body convulsed, and dark spurts of blood bubbled up from the back of his throat. His face drained of color, pale as a corpse, before he toppled forward into the wet mud, landing face-first as his body slowly sank.
“That is quite a dangerous move, and well constructed,” I said to Jiang Yeming.
“It has weaknesses,” she replied. “But not the kind someone can figure out while their lungs are full of smoke and they’re trying to breathe.”
“Yes, but perhaps you should just make it a poison cloud at this point,” I said. “That was very gruesome to watch.”
After confirming the kills, we didn’t linger. We moved immediately, leaping from branch to branch with the effortless balance only cultivators possessed. It was a half-hearted attempt to cover our tracks.
Wherever there were no trees, we avoided stepping into the mud.
There were better ways to erase our trail, methods that weren’t difficult or time-consuming, but sometimes a bad cover was better than an overly careful one.
As the wind whipped through our hair, Jiang Yeming kept glancing at me, her gaze oddly intense, like someone harboring a secret.
“What?” I asked, turning toward her as we fled.
“Nothing,” she said. “It just feels weird sometimes how you rarely use the same technique twice in a fight. And how you rarely use your strongest moves.”
Techniques that cut the fabric of space weren’t particularly useful in fights like this. Killing without meaning was just senseless slaughter. If I had to kill someone, I preferred to see the culmination of their life’s effort first.
Maybe that was a bit psycho.
But if the day ever came when I was on the other end of that blade, I would want the same courtesy, to show everything I had before dying.
“It feels like sometimes you’re going easy on them,” she added. “There have even been moments where I sense enemies before you do.”
Where was that regressor confidence now? Shouldn’t she assume her future knowledge made her superior in every way?
“You’re just better at sensing Qi,” I said. “We’re on the same major stage now, and nearly at the same level of cultivation.”
Often enough, I sensed what she sensed too, roughly. I was simply waiting for the moment her senses failed her, when she’d realize just how dangerous it was to rely on foreknowledge alone.
Still… those future techniques of hers were solid. Who knew what her actual sensory limits were?
Being a teacher was difficult when your students were like this.
Comments
NoGoodStories
Yes! Every compliment is backhanded because he’s like… “this all you got? You came back from the future and these are your plans? These are your techniques??”
Bookworm bibliophile
"culmination of their life’s effort" it more like culmination of their combat effort.
Green0Photon
I just find it so funny how he analyzes Jiang Yeming
