Immortality Begins with Krypton Life

Chapter 285 Sword and Robe - A Heartfelt AdmirationChen Mu looked into his eyes, seemingly reading what he was thinking.

”Good.”

He nodded, acknowledging that one word.

Jiang Yuheng was stunned; he clearly hadn’t expected Chen Mu to agree so readily. He had assumed Chen Mu would offer some polite refusal or find an excuse to avoid it, as the minor grudge between them hadn’t fully blown over yet.

Yet, Chen Mu had just agreed.

The stifled feeling in Jiang Yuheng’s heart dissipated slightly, replaced by a rush of adrenaline. He took a deep breath, removed his outer robe to reveal the martial attire underneath, and strode toward Chen Mu.

Ling Xiaoning sensibly retreated to the edge of the field, but did not forget to whisper a reminder to Chen Mu.

”Chen Mu, be careful. His swordsmanship is truly formidable.”

Chen Mu nodded, his gaze falling on Jiang Yuheng.

Jiang Yuheng stood firm and drew the long sword from his waist; the blade glinted coldly in the sunlight. As he gripped the sword, his entire demeanor changed instantly. The arrogance and stifled frustration vanished, replaced by a sharp intensity.

He was already an expert in the Dao of the sword; with a blade in hand, he possessed an Aura of exposed sharpness.

Chen Mu also drew his blade, and the two began to spar right there in public.

Though called a spar, neither held back from the start. When Jiang Yuheng’s sword struck, it was fast and ruthless; the tip of the blade glinted coldly in the sun. Every strike aimed straight for vital points, yet carried no Killing Intent—a habit formed from years of hard training, where every strike was an all-out effort.

Chen Mu dodged the first strike, then horizontally blocked the second with his soul-slaying blade. As blade and sword met, sparks flew.

Jiang Yuheng’s swordsmanship was indeed ingenious. His sword path differed from that of ordinary Martial Artists; as he struck, the blade trembled slightly, the tip tracing an arc. With a mix of feints and real strikes, it was difficult to discern which strike concealed the true lethal Move.

After exchanging a few blows, Chen Mu recognized this as the inherited swordsmanship of the Jiang Family of the North. The Moves were ancient yet concealed lethal intent, as if every strike had been honed through countless life-and-death battles.

Yet, the more Jiang Yuheng fought, the more alarmed he became.

He had already lunged thirty-four times, each strike with full force, aimed directly at Chen Mu’s vitals. Yet, Chen Mu’s blade remained steadily positioned before his sword, unhurried and composed.

At times, he thought he had found an opening and thrust his blade straight at Chen Mu’s ribs, but Chen Mu would merely tilt his body slightly, his blade flicking up in a fluid motion, forcing Jiang Yuheng to withdraw his sword to defend.

Sometimes he would strike from an unexpected angle, a feint with the real lethal Move hidden behind the blade, but Chen Mu seemed to anticipate it, shifting his feet just enough to narrowly evade the edge.

Jiang Yuheng’s breathing grew ragged; he could sense that Chen Mu was not even using his full strength.

Every time the blade met his sword, the force was perfectly measured—neither so light that he felt he could easily break through, nor so heavy that he couldn’t parry. Every shift of footwork was terrifyingly precise, giving him no time to change his Move, yet never allowing him to land a strike on a vital point.

Chen Mu was just practicing with him.

As this thought surfaced, the stifled frustration in Jiang Yuheng’s heart surged once more.

He was unwilling to accept this; he truly refused to accept it.

He had practiced the sword for over a decade, training through the harshest winters and hottest summers. The beatings he had endured and the injuries he had suffered were too numerous to count. He had believed that even if he couldn’t compare to those prodigies, he was at least among the best of the younger generation.

Yet, what about Chen Mu? Someone several years younger than him, a newcomer who had only joined the organization for two months.

Jiang Yuheng gritted his teeth, and his sword momentum shifted abruptly.

The long sword in his hand no longer feinted or tested; every strike hacked solidly toward Chen Mu. The blade whistled through the air, all his strength concentrated at the tip.

He would use the clumsiest method and the most direct Moves to force Chen Mu to use his full strength.

Chen Mu frowned slightly.

He said nothing, and his blade technique changed accordingly.

The soul-slaying blade was no longer just blocking and dodging; it began to counterattack. Each counter was simple to the extreme—no flashy Moves, no redundant testing—just the most basic chops, slashes, and thrusts.

Yet, even with such simple Moves, Jiang Yuheng found it increasingly strenuous.

The blade came straight at him; he clearly saw the trajectory and calculated the timing. Yet, when he raised his sword to block, he found the blade had already moved to another position. When the blade slashed down, he had clearly dodged to the side, but the blade seemed to grow eyes, suddenly turning in mid-air to hack toward him.

How was this possible?

Jiang Yuheng didn’t understand, and had no time to figure it out. His swordsmanship had fallen into chaos; his originally continuous sword momentum was shattered by Chen Mu’s blade, and his steady footwork was thrown into a stumble.

Yet, Chen Mu never once struck with lethal intent.

Several times, Jiang Yuheng’s sword missed, leaving his chest and abdomen exposed to Chen Mu’s blade. If Chen Mu had wanted to, a single stroke could have ended the spar. But Chen Mu did not; he merely withdrew his blade and waited for Jiang Yuheng to steady himself before continuing.

The stifled frustration in Jiang Yuheng’s heart was gradually replaced by another emotion.

He knew it now: Chen Mu was stronger than him, and by more than just a little. Yet, he refused to admit it. He simply gritted his teeth and continued to strike, continued to attack, pushing himself to the limit.

Sweat streamed down his temples, blurring his vision. His arms had begun to ache, and the hand gripping his sword trembled slightly, yet he did not stop.

He wanted to force Chen Mu to use his full strength, wanted to see just how deep Chen Mu’s true power ran, but Chen Mu never did.

Until the very last moment, when Chen Mu’s blade and his sword met again. This time, Chen Mu did not hold back. The blade slid down the length of his sword, carrying an irresistible force that knocked his sword aside, nearly sending it flying from his grasp.

He staggered back two steps, barely managing to steady himself, and looked up to meet Chen Mu’s gaze.

Chen Mu looked at him. There was no triumph in his eyes, no mockery, not even scrutiny—only calm as he sheathed the soul-slaying blade and nodded toward him.

”Brother Jiang, your swordsmanship is exquisite. I am impressed.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding Demon Hunting Soldiers who were watching the spectacle, and said calmly.

”Let’s call today a draw. What do you think, Brother Jiang?”

Jiang Yuheng was stunned.

A draw?

He looked down at his own trembling hand, then at Chen Mu’s composed demeanor, and understood perfectly.

Throughout the battle, he had been led by the nose by Chen Mu from start to finish. If Chen Mu had wanted to win, he could have done so long ago; there had been no need to drag it out until now.

Yet Chen Mu had chosen to hold back, and in front of so many people, declared it a draw, offering him a graceful way out.

The stifled frustration and unwillingness in Jiang Yuheng’s heart were now all churned together, an indescribable feeling.

He wanted to hate Chen Mu, but Chen Mu had clearly saved his dignity. He wanted to be grateful to Chen Mu, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Since when did he, Jiang Yuheng, ever need charity from others?

Yet he also knew that if Chen Mu hadn’t held back just now and had continued fighting, he would have lost without a doubt. In that case, he really would have been humiliated.

This man... he truly had real skill.

Jiang Yuheng had to admit it to himself. He had been proud of his martial arts for over a decade and had never yielded to anyone. But after today’s battle, he was convinced. At least on this drill ground, he was indeed no match for Chen Mu.

But while he was convinced in his heart, he certainly wouldn’t admit it with his mouth.

Jiang Yuheng took a deep breath, sheathed his long sword, glanced at Chen Mu, and said calmly.

”I will come to ask for advice again another day.”