Chapter 18 — Sword God Appears

At night, the full moon hung high in the sky, silver light spread throughout Vong Hon Alley, where mist began to creep up from the ravine, obscuring the steep cliffs on both sides. Bach Trinh stood alone in the middle of the canyon, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword. His heart returned to the memory of the rainy night eighteen years ago, when he knelt down and hugged the body of his sworn brother in a pool of blood on this stone floor.

He remembered the feeling of extreme helplessness that night, when his hands trembled while hugging Thanh Phong's cold body, when his own screams echoed off the cliff without anyone responding. For eighteen years, he had dreamed about this moment countless nights. Sometimes in his dreams he arrived on time, sometimes he didn't arrive on time and had to witness that heartbreaking scene repeat over and over again, each time he woke up it left a new cut in his already wounded soul.

Everything didn't seem to have changed much compared to his memories, the same soaring cliffs, the same sound of wind passing through the ravine, creating a groaning sound like the wailing of the past that had not yet subsided. Only Bach Trinh was different, no longer the panicked and helpless young man of old, but an experienced swordsman, carrying both the burden of eighteen years of torment and the iron determination of someone ready to face the darkest part of his own past.

From the end of the canyon, a figure appeared, walking slowly but menacingly. Wei Thien Ba had arrived, no longer wearing the black cloak embroidered with the image of an eagle like before, but only wearing a simple ash-gray martial arts uniform, a long sword strapped to his waist, his face in the moonlight looked even more austere, as if all the layers of authority he had built up over the past eighteen years had now been completely peeled away, leaving only a naked man facing his own sins.

"You're on time," Thien Ba said, his low voice echoing in the quiet space of the canyon. "That's right, Vu Bach Trinh has never been a faithless person." Bach Trinh did not answer, just pulled his sword out of its sheath, the cold steel reflected the moonlight, and stood in the familiar defensive position of Hidden Wind Sword Technique. "I didn't come here to talk any more," he said, his voice cold as ice. "I have come to end what should have ended eighteen years ago."

Thien Ba smiled faintly, also drew his sword, his eyes shone with a complex light, both a familiar challenge and a hint of deep fatigue of a person who had lived for too long in darkness and lies. "Okay, then don't blame me for not showing mercy." Having finished speaking, he rushed forward, his sword swinging with incredible speed, opening the duel that both of them had been waiting for, each in their own way, for nearly two decades.

Bach Trinh swung his sword in response, the sound of steel colliding was deafening, bouncing off the cliffs, creating a sound that echoed many times, as if this canyon itself was witnessing and remembering the fateful battle taking place. Both were the best swordsmen of the Tang Phong Mon at one time. Although their swordsmanship came from the same root, they went in two completely different directions: on one side, the pure Hidden Wind Sword Technique, patient but decisive when making moves, on the other side, the moves were changed, mixed with many malicious tricks learned from evil cults during the years of anonymity.

In the first ten rounds, Thien Ba attacked non-stop, each sword stroke carried the cold murderous aura accumulated during eighteen years of silence, as if he wanted to pour all the resentment of a person who had been underestimated into each slash. Bach Trinh was not in a hurry to counterattack, just quietly crouched down, dodged, parried, in the spirit of "hide patience before attacking" that Hidden Wind Sword Technique had taught him since the days when he was a clumsy teenager at the Tang Phong Mon sword practice yard. Sometimes Thien Ba's sword tip grazed his ear by just an inch, other times the steel blade stopped less than an inch from his throat, but he still patiently waited, letting the opponent expose his own loopholes through his own impatience, instead of jumping into a simple duel.

"Still having that fake patience?" Thien Ba raised his voice through each rapid breath. "You think you can beat me by just dodging and waiting? In the past, you were patient like that, waiting for the right moment to strike, and as a result, Thanh Phong died while you were a moment too late!" The words were like an invisible sword piercing straight into the most painful place in Bach Trinh's heart, causing his breathing to stop for half a beat. Thien Ba immediately seized that moment, launched a dangerous move to slip through the gap in the defense, tearing a long line on the hem of his shirt at his waist, blood seeping out and soaking the fabric.

But in that pain, something in Bach Trinh's heart suddenly broke. For the past eighteen years, he had still let the question "what if" haunt every sleep, considering it a worthy punishment to carry with him for the rest of his life. But tonight, in the middle of the same canyon that witnessed him arriving a moment too late, he suddenly realized that torment was not to foster more delay, but to remind him to never be allowed to be another moment late. He regained his composure, his eyes became as sharp as freshly ground steel, his breathing gradually returned to normal, and from that moment, the tide of battle began to turn.

At one point, Thien Ba unleashed a vicious chain of swords called Blood Shadow, a move that he had diligently trained for many years based on the foundation he learned from evil cults. Each sword stroke was aimed at different locations on the opponent's body, creating a dense network of murderous aura that was difficult to escape. Bach Trinh was forced to use all his acumen and combat experience to dodge each sword strike. At times, he was only a hair's breadth away from the line of life and death, and the hem of his shirt was torn by the tip of the sword.

Each of Thien Ba's sword moves carried cruelty and calculation, aiming straight at fatal weaknesses, without mercy. But Bach Trinh, with extensive experience and absolute calm, always found a way to neutralize each attack, counterattacking with sophisticated moves, forcing the opponent to constantly change tactics. The fog in the canyon became increasingly dense, sometimes obscuring both of their vision, but it seemed to increase the suffocating tension of the battle, each sword launched into the mist carried an unpredictable danger.

The more he fought, the more Bach Trinh regained the rhythm of his years as a famous sword god. He no longer just dodged, but began to counterattack, each sword strike was like the wind rushing through the ravine, quietly but fiercely, pushing Thien Ba back step by step on the dew-covered stone floor. At one moment, the tip of his sword passed close to Thien Ba's wrist holding the sword, forcing him to jerk his hand back, losing his breath, and the long sword almost slipped out of his hand. Thien Ba's breathing became more and more rapid, while Bach Trinh still maintained an unusually steady breathing rhythm amidst the cold mist.

"You are stronger than I thought," Thien Ba breathed, taking a step back, his eyes for the first time showing a real panic that could no longer be hidden. "But don't forget, little brother, even if you defeat me tonight, what you just heard me say this afternoon will still be there." He grinned, his eyes flashing with a final evil glint, then suddenly changed his stance, switching from defense to intense attack, pouring everything he had left into a series of the most cruel tricks he had learned during eighteen years of anonymity.

There were moments during the battle, Bach Trinh glimpsed in Thien Ba's eyes not only the ruthless aggression, but also the deep loneliness of someone who had locked himself in a shell of power for eighteen years, losing all sincere connections with anyone around him, even the most loyal subordinates only saw him as a scary symbol rather than a real person. Perhaps, he thought for a moment between the lightning strokes of his sword, this was a kind of prison no less harsh than the self-imprisonment he had imposed on himself in Tuyet Phong Coc.

After more than fifty rounds of fighting, both were tired, small blood stains began to appear on both of their shirts, traces of near-miss attacks. Thien Ba, realizing that he was gradually exhausted by his opponent's persistence, began to use the most dangerous moves he had learned, combining hidden weapons hidden in his sleeves with unpredictable sword strokes, trying to create a moment of opening to finish off his opponent.

In a dangerous moment, Thien Ba suddenly launched a poisoned dart from his sleeve, and at the same time attacked with a dangerous sword attack aimed straight at Bach Trinh's chest, forcing him to choose between dodging the poison dart or blocking the fatal sword attack. In that split second, time seemed to stretch out into discrete moments: the moonlight reflected on the spinning dart, Thien Ba's sword drew a streak of silver light and rushed straight towards his heart, and somewhere far away, his ears seemed to echo Doan Moc Thanh's instructions when he taught him the final sword move of Hidden Wind Sword Technique: never use it carelessly, unless you have accepted to exchange part of your body for it. exchange for a decisive sword strike. For eighteen years, every time he swung his sword to that final position in the middle of an empty martial arts training ground, his hand often paused for a moment, as if his body still hesitated before what his mind had long decided.

But that night was different. In the middle of the same canyon that had seen him arrive one moment too late eighteen years ago, Bach Trinh did not allow himself to be late another moment. He turned around to avoid the fatal sword attack by a hair's breadth, allowing the poison dart to graze his left arm, creating a bloody but not too serious wound. At the same time, the sword in his right hand swung with all his remaining strength, without a moment's hesitation, unleashing the same sword move that his hand often stopped at every time he practiced at Thanh Van Phai's yard: "Phong An Van", the ultimate move and also the final move. The final version of the Hidden Wind Sword Technique, for the first time, was actually unleashed in real life, not in the imagination.

The sword drew a strange curve in mid-air, like a wind rolling in a ravine before descending into a storm, passing through Thien Ba's weak defense, hitting his right shoulder, penetrating all the way to the bone, making him scream in pain, the long sword in his hand fell to the stone floor with a clatter. Thien Ba collapsed, his hand clutching the bleeding wound. His eyes looked up at Bach Trinh, no longer arrogant and defiant like before, but carrying the bitter acceptance of someone who knew he had lost.

The fog in the canyon had now risen to knee height, blanketing the space where the two had just fought, creating a scene that was both unreal and dreary, as if nature itself was holding its breath waiting for the final verdict on this nearly two-decade-long grudge. In the distance, the owl howled mournfully, mixing with the sound of the wind passing through the cliffs, creating a sad farewell song for a dark chapter about to close.

Bach Trinh stood in front of him, the tip of the sword pointed straight at his neck, his chest heaving because he had just gone through the most intense battle in the past eighteen years. The wound on his left arm was still bleeding, the poison from the dart was starting to make him feel a bit dizzy, but his iron will still kept him standing, unmoved by the enemy kneeling at his feet.

Blood from the wound on Thien Ba's shoulder dripped onto the stone floor, mixing with the opaque white mist, strangely reminding him of the puddle of Thanh Phong's blood that used to spread on this very stone floor every year. Bach Trinh looked at that scene, feeling like time was folding, past and present overlapping in just a moment, and he suddenly realized that no matter the outcome of this battle, this canyon would forever carry within it the traces of both tragedies, eighteen years apart.

"Let's end it," Thien Ba said, his voice weak but still retaining the last bit of pride. "I lost, this is a worthy end for what I have done." Bach Trinh stood still for a long time, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, his heart torn between the anger accumulated for eighteen years and a remaining part of his reason that reminded him of the words Thanh Phong once taught about tolerance, about not letting hatred completely dominate the actions of a true swordsman.