If one's eyes were sharp enough, if one's eyes were the eyes of Mo Qingdi. Then one would know how marvelous this sword was.
At least in Mo Qingdi's eyes, this sword was not static and ordinary.
It was not a branch, but a real sword. A peerless sword.
It was trembling slightly, out of fear and excitement. Perhaps it was because of his birth.
It was the sword that was trembling, not Chiba's hand that was trembling. He had stabbed out tens of millions of times. No matter what the situation was, his hand that held the sword never trembled.
The body of the sword had a life of its own. It had an independent consciousness.
It aimed at the Old Drunkard's eyebrows, eyes, throat, chest, heart, or abdomen.
It could even attack the lower body of the Old Drunkard, piercing the twenty-nine acupoints of the Old Drunkard and the seventy-two acupoints of the Old Drunkard's calf.
It covered all the fatal points on the Old Drunkard's body, as well as all the acupoints on the Old Drunkard's body.
The name of the sword was unintentional!
In other words, at the moment of the final attack, even Chiba himself did not know where he would stab.
It was only a few tenths of a second, or even less.
You couldn't blink, you couldn't breathe, and your heart didn't beat. The interval between one heartbeat and the next — it was shorter than that.
Chiba disappeared from where he stood and stabbed at the Old Drunkard's throat.
Yes, at the last moment, he finally locked on to the target he wanted.
The throat!
The sword pierced the throat!
The Old Drunkard finally moved.
The Old Drunkard finally moved.
He rushed toward Chiba with the long stick in his hand. He left an afterimage where he stood, and his body turned into nothingness.
In an ugly and barbaric manner, he raised the long stick in his hand and stabbed it towards Chiba Shinobi.
The stick didn't even have a sharp spearhead.
Their bodies brushed past each other. Or it could be said that two blurry shadows brushed past each other.
It was just a change of position. It was just a change of the way they interacted. From standing face to face, they stood with their backs to each other.
Chiba stood where the Old Drunkard had just stood, and the Old Drunkard also stood in Chiba's footprints.
Then, everything became still.
Their bodies gradually became clearer, and they became two living bodies, no longer a blurry shadow.
The gray sky was like someone's black face, and the white world was so dreamy.
Two men in loose robes with big sleeves stood in a small independent courtyard. Because of the small size of the courtyard, their figures seemed strangely tall and imposing. Just like the War Gods of ancient times.
The branch in Hashimoto Chiba's hand was dripping blood. One drop, two drops, three drops — the red blood slowly melted the snow on the ground.
The chest area of the Old Drunkard's grey robe was dyed brown with blood. Just when the Old Drunkard thought that the sword would stab his throat, the Thousand Leaves Soldier changed his move and attacked his chest again.
There were only a few people in this world who could accelerate at such a fast speed.
The wooden stick in the old drunkard's hand flew away towards the wooden door of the small courtyard. Like a spear, it stuck in the middle of the wooden door. Half of the stick went in, leaving only a short section exposed in the courtyard.
"Why?" the Old Drunkard asked in a heavy voice.
"20 years ago, I lost to you," Hashimoto Chiba said softly. His voice was soft and gentle, as if he was reluctant to leave and relieved.
"That's the reason?"
"20 years later, I lost to Fang Yan."
"That's the reason?"
"Hua Xia is too powerful." Hashimoto Chiba sighed and said, "Hua Xia is too powerful. 20 years ago, I had the ambition to conquer Hua Xia with Japanese Kendo and make it more powerful. Unfortunately, before I could take that step, I was forced back by you. "
"20 years later, I gathered the courage to go east again. The result was even worse than the last time. I was defeated by a nobody in Huacheng — Fang Yan is a genius in martial arts, and there are not many geniuses like Fang Yan in Hua Xia. Even a young girl who is close to Fang Yan, with her talent, will not be inferior to me in the future — "
"I still have hope after losing to you. I hope that one day, I will come back with a sword and wash away the shame with blood. But, when I saw them, I really lost all hope. There are too many talents in Hua Xia, and the young people in Hua Xia are too powerful — it's a pity that we don't have any young men and women like them. Not even one. God is so unfair to us. "
"I've always been curious, curious about what kind of magic the land of Hua Xia has, how it can raise its children to be so outstanding and brave. I'm alive, they see me as a god, as the hope of Japanese martial arts. "
"I know very well that I'm not their hope. I will only bring them illusory psychological comfort and a temporary dose of spiritual medicine. This kind of psychological comfort and spiritual medicine can deceive them, can numb them — let them still have expectations and fantasies. I believe that one day, one day, I will bring them victory and glory. "
"The consequences of this are too heavy. You single-handedly fought against dozens of Japanese islands, your glory was boundless, and you completely trampled on the dignity of Japanese martial arts. You made Hua Xia the green dragon, but none of the Japanese martial arts came out. Everyone hid in their own small homes and licked 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 an incomparably sharp sword like you, when he does what you did all those years ago, charging into the East Ocean alone with a sword — when that time comes, who among the East Ocean's youths will be able to stop him? Who can go against him? "
"My generation has lost, bringing fear into the hearts of the young martial arts. If the next generation of martial arts loses, what kind of psychological impact will it have on the next generation of martial arts? Every time we lose, the morale will drop. After losing three times in a row, where will the morale be? Where will the talents be? Who will protect our people? Who will guard our country? "
Chiba of the Army covered his throat and coughed lightly. Fresh blood dyed his palms red.
Blood flowed out from the gaps between his fingers, drawing a delicate abstract picture.
"Don't underestimate your enemy, I really envy you — envy that you were born in the great Hua Xia, envy that you have this black land under your feet. Envy that you have so many talents, envy that you are proud and fearless — how good would it be if Fang Yan was from our country? How good would it be if Fang Yan was from our country? If that's the case, why would I have to walk on this path of no return? "
"Why would it be like this?" The old drunkard said with a sigh. "Only when you are alive will there be hope, only when you are alive can you see a longer future. Living — is the most important thing. From the Azure Dragon of Hua Xia to the drunkard of today, the tendons in his hand are broken, and there is no hope for him to recover. The woman you love the most has left you, sinking your heart into a swamp, and plunging you into eternal hell. Every day you are sober is a day of pain. Every time you think, you are sad. I am such a poor person, but I still live. If I were to die, I don't know how many times I would have died. "
"You are alive because you still have hope in your heart." Chiba Hirobumi said softly, "I haven't seen you for many years, but I didn't expect that my old friend, who was famous in Hua Xia, would fall into such a situation." "Your meridians are broken because you believe that they will break out of the cage one day. The woman you love the most has left you, because you believe that she will come back one day, or that she has always been there. " "There is really no hope for me to live." "Twenty years after another twenty years, how many more twenty years can I have?" "In the next twenty years, when my hair is white, will I have the courage to go east again with a sword to challenge the heroes of Hua Xia?" "At that time, I am afraid that I can't even hold the sword steadily, right?"
"I can't save the Japanese martial arts if I am alive. Only when I am dead can they be completely desperate. "Chiba Hirobumi said with a very firm voice. He believed in the future he hoped for. "Only when people are at their most desperate can they burst out with unimaginable potential. I believe in the thousands of Japanese martial arts practitioners, and I look forward to their future. I know that countless young talents like Fang Yan will grow up among them. Only then will there be the prosperity of Japan and the resurgence of Japanese martial arts. "
"Do you have any regrets?"
"Regrets?" Chiba Hirobumi thought for a moment and said, "I hope that I won't be put on a pedestal by others in my next life. Because once I go up, I can never come back down. I just want to be a swordsman. "
Chiba Hirobumi's body slowly knelt on the ground, and then he lay flat on all fours in the snow.
The wooden stick had pierced through his abdomen, leaving a pitch-black hole there.
The white clothes on his body were dyed red by the blood, and the snow on the ground was also dyed red by the blood. White clothes and white snow had become red clothes and red snow.
Chiba opened his eyes and looked at the sky above his head, saying, "We Dong Yang do not have such a land, so I will bury myself here — I will turn myself into a handful of dust here, bless my people to have more strong men, bless the martial arts of Dong Yang to prosper."
"Please forgive my selfishness," Chiba Hirobumi said with a chuckle. "Because only dying in your hands is a true liberation for me."
"I forgive you," the old drunkard said gently, "the strong are lonely, and Fang Yan also needs an opponent to sharpen himself."
"We've agreed that the winner will drink to the winner," Chiba Hirobumi said with a smile. The smile came from the bottom of his heart, warm and peaceful.
The old drunkard walked to the corner, picked up a large jar, and gulped it down.
His head and face were covered in alcohol, and his stomach was filled with it.
He poured the remaining half of the jar next to Chiba Hirobumi's head. Chiba Hirobumi smelled the rich fragrance of the wine and closed his eyes with a gratified expression.
The Japanese Sword God Chiba Hirobumi had fallen!
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