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The undead spirit had initially appeared lifeless and rigid, truly resembling a corpse that had lain dormant for millennia. But now, having learned Chen Xuanfeng's swordsmanship, it seemed to awaken suddenly, its tone and movements infused with vitality. Without waiting for Chen Xuanfeng's reaction, it continued, "However, don’t think you’ve been taken advantage of. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, your creation of this swordsmanship was aided by my contributions. Returning it to me now merely makes us even."

Chen Xuanfeng asked in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember these words? 'The dimensional image doubles the celestial image; to master space is to master the laws of celestial flux. Commencing from the 2,729 stars of the southern sky, they transform into eighteen spatial currents. The first is the dual-rotating flame-fragmented current, the second the scorpion-shaped soul-dark current, the third...'" The specter ignored Chen Xuanfeng’s question, instead reciting a peculiar passage fluently, covering thousands of words in moments.

Chen Xuanfeng’s mind reeled after just a hundred words. The reason was simple—the revenant was quoting the very text on spatial manipulation from the tome *Sword God Realm*, bestowed upon him by the "War Saint" Leimen. Leimen had once said that *Sword God Realm* was the final work of the "Ancestor of Sword Saints," Leinster, and that he had received it from "someone" on his way to the Isle of the Dead. Combined with the revenant’s earlier words, a terrifying realization surged into Chen Xuanfeng’s mind.

"You... you are the 'Ancestor of Sword Saints,' Leinster!"

*Heroic Werewolf Scroll*

Chapter 95: Sacred and Demonic Mad Dance

What does it mean for myth to become reality?

It is like a monk suddenly encountering the Buddha himself delivering a sermon; a fortune-teller stumbling upon Fuxi, the progenitor of divination; or a Confucian scholar abruptly finding Confucius, Mencius, Dong Zhongshu, and Zhu Xi gathered around him in conversation—that kind of feeling.

Then, what does it mean for a nightmare to descend?

It is like a diplomat realizing he must debate Su Qin, Zhang Yi, Lin Xiangru, and Yan Ying simultaneously; a strategist discovering his opponents are Sun Wu, Sun Bin, Zhuge Liang, and Xu Maogong united; or a warrior facing the combined assault of Bai Qi, Li Mu, Lian Po, and Wang Jian—that kind of scenario.

Right now, Chen Xuanfeng’s emotions were a blend of all the above.

"...Gods be damned."

Beyond those words, Chen Xuanfeng truly had nothing else to say.

In truth, as a martial artist, the person he most wished to meet in this world was the Ancestor of Sword Saints, Leinster—and yet, the person he least wished to meet was also the Ancestor of Sword Saints, Leinster. The desire stemmed from his deep admiration for this legendary warrior, who single-handedly pioneered the era of Sword Saints and, in his lifetime, ascended even further to touch the realm of divinity. The reluctance, of course, was because this man—more formidable and mythic than even the "War Saint" Leimen—had spent much of his life crushing orc champions. Facing him meant escape was nearly impossible.

Such thoughts had always been mere fantasy, for despite this mighty First SwordSaint having lived over two centuries, he had been dead for eight hundred years. Historical records clearly stated that after his death, he was interred in the Sword Mountain Mausoleum opposite the Moonlight Tower by the Nameless Lake, guarded for generations by his wife’s descendants, with outsiders forbidden even to pay respects. Such a thoroughly deceased figure could only exist in the imaginations of later generations.

Yet now, this very corpse stood animated and vigorous before Chen Xuanfeng.

And it intended to take his life.

At this moment, even someone as stubborn and arrogant as Chen Xuanfeng couldn’t help but consider surrender. If handing over the forbidden-spell mark crystals would make this undead Ancestor of Sword Saints leave, he might truly have chosen to yield. Unfortunately, Chen Xuanfeng knew all too well—that path was closed.

Had it been the initially lifeless black-robed revenant, it might have departed upon obtaining the crystals. But now, after witnessing and mastering the intricacies of Chen Xuanfeng’s "Heaven-Toppling Sword Dance," he was certain that in the revenant’s mind, acquiring the crystals had become secondary. The primary goal was unmistakable—the blazing necrotic energy in its eye sockets, burning with palpable battle-lust, conveyed one message loud and clear: *"Cross swords with me."*

"A true sword fanatic remains a fanatic, even centuries after death." Faced with an opponent whose battle-lust was fully ignited, Chen Xuanfeng could only sigh and steel himself for the fight. "His swordsmanship has reached mythic heights. Beyond learning my 'Heaven-Toppling Sword Dance,' who knows what other terrifying techniques he’s hiding? In that regard, I’m no match. But he is, after all, a corpse. Even if he brushed against divinity in life, death has stripped him of his combat energy. Though his necrotic energy is vast, it’s only at the level of a human Sword Emperor—less than a fraction of my own. There, I hold absolute advantage. As for skill, while Leinster instantly grasped my sword art, it doesn’t mean he’s infallible. My technique was built upon his theoretical framework. As the first SwordSaint, he possessed a flawless spatial domain—his familiarity with space likely surpasses mine. What he truly learned was merely the correct direction and the manipulation methods I’ve refined these past months. All things considered, I still have a fighting chance."

Overwhelming force against technique—against this peerless SwordSaint, renowned for eight centuries, this was the only strategy Chen Xuanfeng could devise.

Yet if Leinster had sought him out, how could he lack confidence?

Sure enough, as Chen Xuanfeng mustered his full strength, the hoarse voice of Leinster rasped, "Having witnessed your swordsmanship, I’ve gained much. Now, it’s only fair I share my own. Behold the sword art I’ve devoted four centuries to perfecting."

Then, with a slight tremor of the Century Demonblade in his hand, he murmured, "Though I never grasped the secret of weaving space into the blade, this sword—'Century Demonblade'—led me to comprehend the principles of temporal swordsmanship. This art is called the "'Heaven-Withering Sword'—a single stroke that brings time's desolation upon the world."