Chapter 581 | Demonic Beings? Obviously Auspicious Omens!

Duke Martial sat on a large rock with his legs crossed, a stalk of grass hanging from his mouth, and watched for a long time.

He remembered seeing Shitou on the drill grounds several times before. This boy was truly desperate when he practiced, his steel blade dancing with a fierce wind as if every strike were intended to cut down a mortal enemy.

However, Duke Martial could tell that the boy's style was far too reckless. Every strike was a desperate bid for a kill, leaving absolutely no room for error.

He was brave enough, but he lacked the discipline and methodology that a master of the military arts should possess.

A true master of the military arts knows that every stroke of the blade or spear has its own discipline—when to advance, when to retreat, when to feint, and when to strike for real.

With a style like Shitou's, he could finish off someone weaker than him in a single blow, but if he encountered someone stronger, he wouldn't be able to pull back his strike, leaving his openings completely exposed.

Duke Martial had wanted to give the boy some pointers before, but he had never found the right opportunity.

Lately, for some reason, a wave of learning had suddenly swept through the City of the Wrongfully Dead, and everyone had become diligent and studious.

Not only was the sound of reading loud and clear in the school, but even the vegetable vendors in the market were holding books in their spare time, muttering to themselves. Whether they were reciting medical scriptures or cultivation techniques, Duke Martial couldn't tell.

It made an unrefined man like him feel completely out of place in the City of the Wrongfully Dead.

He wasn't good at reading or writing, but he was an expert at fighting and killing.

Under this trend, Duke Wen and Duke Wu both had successors to carry on their legacies. What about him? He couldn't just take all his skills to the grave with him, could he?

Even if he was already a dead ghost.

Thinking of this, Duke Martial watched Shitou for a while longer, finding him more and more pleasing to the eye.

The boy's talent was decent: a Hundred-Refined Body and a Kui Gang Destiny. He was a natural-born general.

Moreover, he was diligent, desperate, and had a heart that didn't fear death.

His style was just too fierce and lacked methodology.

Wasn't that perfect?

He would teach the boy methodology, and the boy would be his disciple, inheriting his legacy and looking after him in the future.

With these thoughts itching at him, Duke Martial strode over and blocked Shitou's path.

Shitou was leading a patrol of paper people when a burly man suddenly blocked his way.

He frowned and looked up, but upon recognizing the newcomer, his frown immediately vanished.

“Lord Duke Martial,” Shitou said, cupping his hands in greeting.

Duke Martial sized him up, becoming more satisfied the more he looked, and reached out to clap him on the shoulder.

His fan-like hand slapped Shitou's shoulder, making the boy sink a bit into the ground.

“Boy, let me ask you, why do you practice the blade?”

Shitou said without hesitation, “To serve the Lord!”

Duke Martial asked again, “And how will you serve?”

Shitou puffed out his chest. “By killing enemies! Wherever the Lord points, I will strike!”

Duke Martial shook his head. “Just knowing how to strike isn't enough; you have to learn how to strike correctly.”

Shitou was a bit indignant. “My blade technique is the Tiangang Blade Technique personally bestowed by the Lord. I have practiced it for so long that I have never met a match among my peers.”

Duke Martial chuckled.

“Never met a match among your peers?”

He let go of Shitou's shoulder, took two steps back, and crossed his arms.

“Come, come. Use your most powerful blade technique to strike me. I'll stand right here and won't move.”

Shitou frowned. “This...”

“If I tell you to strike, then strike. Why all the nonsense?”

Shitou looked at Duke Martial, took a deep breath, and gripped the hilt of his blade. The bone blade left its scabbard, a cold light flashing.

The Kui Gang blade technique was indeed fierce. A single downward slash carried the sound of breaking wind, heading straight for Duke Martial's face.

This strike was fast, accurate, and ruthless. For an ordinary person of the fifth or sixth stage, the wind from the blade alone would have forced them back.

But Duke Martial didn't even blink.

He raised his right hand and gently caught Shitou's blade between his index and middle fingers, holding it perfectly still.

Shitou used all his strength, his face turning red from the effort, but the blade wouldn't budge an inch.

Duke Martial shook his head. “That's it?”

He released his fingers, and Shitou stumbled back, nearly falling over.

Duke Martial stood with his hands behind his back, looking perfectly calm.

“Boy, your blade technique is indeed good, but blade technique is not the same as the Dao of the blade. Every strike you make is at full power, leaving no room for error. It looks fierce, but in reality, it's full of openings.”

Shitou panted heavily, looking at Duke Martial with a trace of unwillingness in his eyes.

Duke Martial continued, “Look at that strike just now. You overextended your force; you couldn't even control your momentum before the blade even touched me.”

“When I caught your blade, you didn't even have a chance to change your move because all your strength was in the blade, leaving your body empty.”

“If you were facing a true master and your strike was blocked, they could kill you with a single kick.”

Shitou was silent for a moment, then sheathed his blade and cupped his hands again.

“Please guide me, Lord Duke Martial.”

Duke Martial grinned.

“That's more like it.”

He walked to the center of the drill grounds and casually picked up a wooden blade from a weapon rack. He weighed it in his hand, looked dissatisfied, and swapped it for another, still dissatisfied.

Finally, he threw the wooden blade aside and picked up a tree branch from the ground.

“Come, keep striking me.”

Shitou drew his blade again. This time he had learned his lesson and didn't strike with full force, instead holding back a few parts of his strength.

As he slashed down, Duke Martial stepped aside to avoid it.

Shitou immediately changed his move, sweeping the blade horizontally toward Duke Martial's waist.

Duke Martial took another step back, easily dodging it.

Shitou continued to strike, move after move, strike after strike in a continuous chain, but every single one was easily evaded by Duke Martial.

Duke Martial critiqued him while dodging.

“That strike was too fast; you didn't build up enough power.”

“That one was too slow; your timing was off.”

“The angle on that one was wrong; you wouldn't hit anything vital.”

“That one was alright, but your feet are like they're rooted in the ground. Keep up with your footwork!”

Shitou grew more anxious as the fight went on, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He had never encountered such an opponent—someone clearly right in front of him, yet impossible to hit no matter how he struck.

Furthermore, Duke Martial hadn't fought back once from beginning to end; he only dodged, occasionally using the branch to parry the blade aside.

After fighting for a full incense stick's worth of time, Shitou was gasping for breath, drenched in sweat.

The bone blade bestowed by the Lord now had several nicks on it, yet the branch in Duke Martial's hand was perfectly intact, not even the bark was scratched.

Duke Martial's gaze suddenly sharpened.

“Watch closely.”

He raised the branch and gave it a light flick.

Shitou only felt his wrist go numb as the bone blade flew from his hand, plunging into the mud at the edge of the drill grounds. Then, the branch was pressed against his throat.

Duke Martial stood before him, a trace of a smile on his scarred face.

“Boy, are you convinced? Do you want to learn?”

Shitou froze for a moment, then fell to his knees with a thud.

“Please take me as your disciple, Lord Duke Martial!”

Duke Martial burst into laughter and tossed the branch aside, extremely satisfied with Shitou's sensibility. He pulled Shitou up with both hands.

“Good! Good! Good!”

He said 'good' three times in a row, then slapped Shitou's shoulder so hard the boy's whole body shook.

“From this day forward, you are my disciple!”

“Come, come. Follow me to the drill grounds. I'll teach you your first lesson right now.”

Shitou nodded repeatedly and followed Duke Martial toward the center of the grounds.

The paper people behind them looked at each other, then quickly followed.

Once they reached the center, Duke Martial had Shitou stand straight while he paced back and forth beside him.

“Boy, first tell me, how did you practice with the blade before?”

Shitou answered honestly, “I swung my blade three thousand times a day—a thousand times each for slashing, chopping, and thrusting. Then I practiced the blade forms and occasionally sparred with Bai and Xiaoye.”

Duke Martial nodded. “The foundation is decent, but your approach is wrong.”

He picked up the wooden blade and weighed it.

“You can't yet appreciate the difference between blade technique and the Dao of the blade. First, I will teach you what methodology is.”

“Do you know why every strike you make is at full power?”

Shitou thought for a moment. “Because a full-power strike has the most strength.”

Duke Martial shook his head. “Wrong.”

“You use full power with every strike because you aren't certain that a single strike will kill your enemy.”

“A true master of the military arts never uses full power when they strike.”

“If you strike with full power, the blade is fast, but your body is left empty. If someone blocks it, you'll have nothing left but to wait for death.”

“Therefore, a true master only uses seven parts of their force for each strike, keeping three parts within themselves.”

“Seven parts to strike the enemy, three parts to save your life.”

Shitou looked thoughtful.

Duke Martial continued, “Also, your lower body is unstable.”

“When you were striking just now, your feet were constantly adjusting, but you were adjusting your positioning, not your footwork.”

“Positioning is where you stand; footwork is how you move.”

“You chased me around for half the day, following wherever I dodged, but did you notice how much of the strength in your blade leaked away while you were chasing me?”

Shitou recalled the fight, and his expression changed slightly.

Duke Martial nodded. “Exactly. When you were chasing me, the strength in your blade dropped by at least forty percent.”

“Because you were running fast, but the blade couldn't keep up with your steps. Your legs were running, your hands were chasing, and the blade was just wobbling in your grip.”

“For a true master, footwork and blade technique are one. Where the feet go, the blade follows; where the blade goes, the feet follow. The strength must not be scattered.”

Shitou listened intently, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

Seeing him like this, Duke Martial was even more satisfied.

The boy was a bit reckless, but his comprehension was good; he knew how to use his head.

Moreover, he had a sincere and pure heart. Once such a person decided on a direction, they would follow it to the very end.

In this world, such a temperament was far too rare.

Most people were either afraid of death, scheming against each other, or just following the wind.

In his over a thousand years of life, Duke Martial had rarely seen anyone as sincere as Shitou, whose only thought was to become stronger to serve his Lord.

“Come, I'll first teach you a set of footwork.”

Duke Martial tossed the wooden blade to Shitou and had the boy follow him.

“This footwork is called the Swimming Dragon Steps. It was originally compiled by that old fellow Duke Wen when he had nothing better to do. It was meant for dodging assassins, but I modified it and added some of my own stuff.”

Shitou took the wooden blade and followed Duke Martial's steps.

When Duke Martial took a step, he followed. When Duke Martial turned, he turned as well.

After walking for about the time it took to burn an incense stick, Duke Martial suddenly stopped and asked him.

“How much do you remember?”

Shitou closed his eyes to think, then said, “Seventy percent.”

Duke Martial's eyes lit up.

“Seventy percent?”

The changes in the footwork he just showed were complex. An ordinary person would be lucky to remember twenty or thirty percent after seeing it once, yet this boy remembered seventy?

Duke Martial suppressed his surprise and led him through it once more.

“Memorize it again.”

Shitou followed him through it once more, then said, “Ninety percent now.”

Duke Martial sucked in a breath of cold air.

He suddenly remembered Duke Wen telling him that after Wenxin Hall was built, the learning ability of all living beings within a hundred li radius had tripled.

But he hadn't expected the effect to be this obvious.

“Good! Good! Good!” Duke Martial said 'good' three more times. “My disciple is indeed brilliant!”

Shitou scratched his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. Just as Duke Martial was about to say something else, a gust of wind blew past.

The wind carried a rich aroma of alcohol.

Duke Martial's nose twitched. The scent was both mellow and strong, with an indescribable crispness to it, like the fragrance of sophora flowers mixed with something else.

The craving in his gut was immediately stirred.

Duke Martial licked his lips and looked in the direction the aroma was coming from.

He slapped Shitou's shoulder. “Boy, practice the Swimming Dragon Steps on your own for now. I'll be right back.”

Shitou was stunned. “Master, aren't you going to continue teaching?”

Duke Martial said righteously, “I've already taught you half of it; you must figure out the rest yourself.”

“When I was learning moves back then, my master taught me the same way.”

“The way of the military is not just about learning; it's about comprehension.”

“Practice on your own, and you'll understand as you go.”

With that, he turned and strode toward Dingnai Hall, walking faster and faster until he was practically jogging.

Shitou stood where he was, watching his master's back disappear around the corner, then looked down at the wooden blade in his hand.

He took a deep breath, recalled the Swimming Dragon Steps Duke Martial had just taught him, and began to practice on his own.

The Sword Sect paper people on patrol stood nearby, silently watching him.

Shitou went through the footwork again and again, becoming more proficient each time.

By the tenth time, his footwork was starting to look respectable.

By the twentieth time, his footwork began to take on a trace of sharpness.

By the thirtieth time, he suddenly stopped and used a tree branch to deliver a slash in coordination with the footwork. The wind from the strike was fierce, scraping a layer of sand and soil from the ground.

Shitou's eyes lit up.

He felt like he was starting to get the hang of it.

Meanwhile, Duke Martial followed the scent of alcohol and jogged all the way to Dingnai Hall.

Pushing the door open, he saw Wu Gou sitting at a table with a pot of wine and two cups before him.

Wu Gou's current appearance was that of a clean-cut young monk with a cinnabar mark on his brow and a gleaming shaven head. He held a wine cup, taking small sips.

Several side dishes were also laid out on the table, all special dishes made by Yu He, perfect in color, aroma, and taste.

At the stove nearby, Yu He was busy, his knife work exquisite as he sliced some ingredients.

Song Zi'an was squatting nearby peeling garlic, peeking at his master cooking while he worked.

Duke Martial strode over, sat down opposite Wu Gou, and unceremoniously grabbed the wine pot to pour himself a cup. Then, he said with great familiarity.

“You little bald ass, you have good wine and didn't call me?”

As he spoke, Duke Martial raised his cup and drained it in one go.

As the liquid entered his throat, a warm current rose from his stomach, rushing straight to his limbs.

The fresh fragrance of sophora flowers exploded in his mouth, accompanied by the mellowness of the spiritual wine and a faint, lingering sweetness.

Duke Martial froze for a moment, then let out a long breath.

“Sss—good wine!”

He smacked his lips, feeling that this wine wasn't just delicious, but also carried an indescribable spiritual rhythm.

“What wine is this? I've never had it before.”

Wu Gou said, “Qianqiu Sophora Wine. It was recently brewed by Benefactor Yu He using the sophora flowers bestowed by the Lord, mixed with a few Nine-Age Crane Feathers, some unaging pine cones, and some spiritual herbs that you wouldn't know the names of.”

Duke Martial poured another cup, carefully examining the liquid in the cup.

The wine was crystal clear, with a faint amber hue.

Yu He turned around, wiped his hands, and explained, “Sophora flowers are rare treasures for calming the mind and settling the soul. Combined with the unaging pine cones and A Ling's feathers, it neutralizes the alcohol's nature, making the kick more enduring.”