I Really Am A Villain
Ch. 73 - Sword Intent

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Due to excessive blood loss, Yan Buhui’s face grew even paler. He knelt on one knee, clearly no longer capable of fighting.

“Give up already,” Xu Ren said as he walked forward and kicked Yan Buhui over.

Yan Buhui’s body slammed heavily into the iron chains at the edge of the platform, and both his swords clattered to the ground.

Xu Ren stepped forward, planted his foot on Yan Buhui’s sword, and bent down to retrieve his own.

In the outer court competitions, it was forbidden to kill your opponent. Although accidents sometimes happened in combat, with Yan Buhui already incapable of resisting, Xu Ren couldn’t very well deliver a fatal blow, especially with elders watching nearby.

But when Yan Buhui saw his sword pinned beneath Xu Ren’s foot, his bloodshot eyes widened. Summoning strength from who-knows-where, he lunged at Xu Ren.

Startled, Xu Ren instinctively stepped back.

Yan Buhui grabbed his sword and gently wiped away the footprint on his blade.

“What’s he doing?” murmured the spectators, confused by his actions.

To Yan Buhui, there were two things in life he could never betray, one person and one object.

The person was his mother. He would not allow anyone to slander her.

His mother had died from illness when he was young. It wasn’t even a serious illness, any major clan like the Huang Clan could have easily cured it with a single pill.

But no one had bothered. No one had cared. He was only seven years old when he watched his mother die before his eyes.

It was then he swore he would rise above everyone, become someone powerful enough to destroy the Huang Clan and avenge her.

The object was his sword.

Ever since his mother died, this sword had been his only companion.

He had no friends, no use for so-called blood ties. The sword was the one thing always by his side.

It was more than a weapon. It was a brother, a confidant. Whenever he held its hilt, he felt an endless sense of hope and confidence.

It was his own strength.

And now, that sword had been stepped on.

His blood continued to flow, soaking the blade in crimson. The sight was jarring.

Yan Buhui felt his head growing heavy, his vision dim.

He lay back on the martial arena. His ears rang, and the sounds around him turned into distant noise.

“Just a loser. Trash. Worthless.” He could barely hear the scornful murmurs of the crowd.

The sword wept.

He could feel the emotion of his blade. Ever since he was small, he'd been able to sense it. Later he would learn that he had accidentally awakened its spirit.

…

His vision blurred further, and his eyelids grew heavier.

As he lay there staring quietly at the weeping sword, he could feel his life force slipping away.

Memories flashed through his mind.

The day he first got the sword, how much he loved it.

After his mother died, how he slept with it every night, how it never left his side.

They had shared so many days and nights together…

Watched the moon, laughed, grown together…

He had poured every thought and feeling into it.

…

“Damn it… He’s not just some cold piece of steel. He’s my brother. How could I let him be stepped on like that?!”

A faint smile of acceptance crossed his lips as he recalled those lonely nights with only his sword for company.

Suddenly, it was like a beam of light shot up his spine and exploded in his mind.

“What is a sword?”

A thunderclap rang out in his heart, and his mind went blank. Never in his life had he experienced such clarity.

The world before him faded into a haze of gray, as thunder roared in his ears and countless lines of sword light crisscrossed his mind.

“I ride the wind through the heavens… With a three-foot dragon sword in hand!”

Outside, his sword began to tremble.

Strands of swordforce slowly wrapped around his body.

As the sword aura swirled, thunder crashed and the fog lifted, Yan Buhui slowly stood up.

All things possess a presence, be it trees, flowers, or men of greatness. Everything has its own aura.

And swords have their own as well, Sword Presence.

When that presence converges, when your vision clears in a way it never has before, you begin to see the world differently.

“Intent. That is Sword Intent.”

…

“Is it over already?” muttered the spectators below.

“Newbies always think they’re something special. This should teach him the outer court isn’t a playground.”

“Challenging Senior Brother Xu Ren… what a joke.”

“I saw this ending coming from the start. Predictable.”

Xu Ren looked down at Yan Buhui, lying there like a dying dog. He shook his head and stepped forward, intending to kick him off the platform and end the match.

The gap in cultivation wasn’t something that could be closed with will alone. Xu Ren himself had once been a proud genius when he first joined the court.

But the world was full of geniuses.

True strength lay in humility, and in the end, those with reverence and perseverance were the ones who prevailed.

Just then, a burst of swordforce slashed toward him.

Startled, Xu Ren shifted to the side and narrowly dodged it.

His eyes darted forward.

Yan Buhui, previously at death’s door, was now surrounded by waves of terrifying swordforce. That young man, bloodied and broken, had picked up his sword and stood once more.

Yan Buhui felt an overwhelming heroic ambition rise within him, as though he were a slayer of demons standing tall between heaven and earth.

His pupils contracted. A chill shot down his spine, and inspiration exploded through his mind like fireworks.

The gathered aura around him transformed. Something had awakened.

The seed of sword intent had been planted.

His momentum surged, ominous and wild like a coming storm.

His sword hummed joyously in his hand, and the dense sword aura surged like a tidal wave over the dueling platform.

He opened his eyes, cold, sharp, brilliant.

Countless sword lights rippled and erupted forth.

“W-What is that?” Xu Ren’s expression changed. Instinctively, he took two steps back, staring at the sword aura now dancing across the sky.

Yan Buhui gently waved his sword, and all the accumulated sword aura found its outlet, rushing toward Xu Ren.

As he watched the storm of sword light engulf the arena like a prison of blades, Xu Ren knew he couldn’t dodge.

He raised his sword in defense.

With a deafening clang, the swords collided, sparks flying.

Xu Ren’s hands went numb.

His face twisted in shock and fear, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

Even with the massive difference in cultivation between them, that one burst of swordforce had nearly overwhelmed him.