Han Qingyu had no idea how he had unleashed that strike either.
Most likely, the press of the Great Spikes had simply been too suffocating and their formation too neatly aligned; staring down an unmistakable threat to his life, he had swung out with utter abandon.
Because he had exerted far too much force on top of his constant state of high tension, his palms were slick with sweat, and the blade had even flown right out of his hand.
Fortunately, no one had seen it.
The surroundings abruptly fell silent. Standing with his back to the canyon, Han Qingyu focused with intense longing, trying to recapture that sensation from just moments ago—that surging might that had erupted in an instant beneath the crushing weight of terror.
Even now, he remained completely unaware of what was happening outside.
Yet to the crowd watching from beyond, the spectacle took on an entirely different light.
First, there was the slash severing the iceberg that had just collapsed... All right, pulling that off was not actually exceptionally difficult; many Supers could likely manage it if they gave it their all.
Then came the butchered remains of Great Spikes still clattering from the sky, looking to be around a dozen or so.
That feat was not strictly easy, but they were low-tier Great Spikes after all. If one truly unleashed a full burst of power, there were still several people around today capable of pulling it off. Thus, it did not prove anything—at least, not enough to prove he had recovered.
"Clang!" A crisp ringing sounded.
"Clatter, crash..."
A dead iron warblade—his iconic weapon—was tumbling down from high above, clattering against the glacial cliff face as it dropped ledge by ledge.
So, had the swarm of Great Spikes been blown apart using Rusty Sister Dimple Slash?
After all, he did not appear to have been equipped with column swords in Antarctica; he hadn't brought either the large or small one, leaving him with only two blades. Rumors claimed that Major Qing could no longer wield column swords the way he used to—that near-teleportation mutual attraction between man and sword, the true three-dimensional maneuverability he had spoken of in his earlier years, was something he could no longer perform.
Dimple Slash was hardly a surprise either; he had already used it in Shenghai.
"Clearly, a rational explanation can be found for everything..."
"Yeah."
"Then why do we still have that feeling?"
The exchange took place among the circle of heavyweights watching the spectacle from afar. Because this was a monumental spectacle of Pegmont picking a fight with Stream Vanguard, quite a few renowned Supers on the Antarctic Peninsula had gathered, including God Lü and Hua Bixuan of the Huaxia Front.
Right now, every one of them shared that very same feeling.
"What feeling?"
"That terrifying bastard is back."
"Now that you mention it, I feel it too! But why on earth? That slash wasn't nearly exaggerated enough to warrant it, was it?"
That strike clearly did not prove a thing.
And yet, it gave people an unmistakable impression that he was making his return.
"You don't need to overthink it. Frankly, it's just because he's standing there with his back turned to us. If you feel that needs an 'and nothing more,' then add 'and nothing more.'"
Hua Bixuan's sudden remark laid bare the true source of what everyone was feeling deep down.
The scene before their eyes—the sight of Major Qing standing with his back turned after concluding a battle or slaughter—had long since, without anyone noticing, become a profound imprint of this era.
It was imprinted in the clumsy imitations of millions of young soldiers, and imprinted in the terror of others.
It lived on, too, in the memories and nostalgic sighs of the old-timers.
"And what's more, he's about to go pick up his blade."
God Lü walked over and added another line. Whether to protect the few remaining strands of his hair or because his bald head feared the cold, he was wearing a hat here in Antarctica.
He was going to pick up his blade.
If memory served, the image of Major Qing picking up his blade had first appeared in a famous photograph titled "Banner on the Shoulder."
Back then, facing and heavily wounding a Red Shoulder for the first time, he had been gravely injured, his consciousness drifting in a daze. At that time, too, he had stood amid ice and snow upon a snow-clad precipice.
Later on, due to Rusty Sister Dimple Slash, the sight of Major Qing calmly walking through heaps of corpses after a battle to retrieve his blade occurred time and again, gradually turning into a hallmark of its own.
The world remembered that just as vividly.
Within their sight, Han Qingyu's back moved numbly as he took several steps toward the base of the adjacent cliff, leaned over to pick up the warblade that had tumbled from above, straightened up, and sheathed it across his back.
Only then did the onlookers notice that his other blade did not seem to be in his hand either.
Having recovered the first blade, Han Qingyu began walking into the canyon. Ahead lay the recent battlefield, the ground littered with piles of Great Spike corpses, severed limbs scattered everywhere amidst thick, foul-smelling blood.
His other blade seemed to be buried in the heap of corpses, and he was searching for it with great focus.
"Fuck! Has he really recovered?! Is that why he won't even spare me a proper glance?!"
Pegmont struggled to pull himself out of the same sensation everyone else was trapped in. Torn and conflicted, he glanced back toward the people of Stream Vanguard.
Wait, no—they didn't seem happy or excited at all... As if this wasn't the first time they had seen it.
*So this is actually quite ordinary and doesn't prove a damn thing. Besides, why did both blades go flying? Isn't it just because he can only use Dimple Slash now?* Pegmont tried hard to convince himself.
*But what just happened really looked like he was down in the canyon, heard what I said out here... and used that slash to sever a mountain slope just to tell me to shut up.*
*It matches his old style way too much—that outrageously pretentious posturing.*
*Besides, if he hasn't recovered, could he possibly have this kind of presence and confidence?*
At that thought, Pegmont suddenly felt an urge to back down. He contemplated saying a few pleasantries to save face before making an exit, rather than having his dignity trampled in the dirt.
His heels were already unconsciously exerting pressure; in half a second, his feet would pivot away...
"...FUCK! I'm Pegmont, once the greatest rookie of this era! How could I let myself be scared off like this?! Even if I can't beat him, I should at least try, shouldn't I? It's not like he'd kill me anyway."
After another internal struggle with himself, Pegmont gritted his teeth. The ball of his foot came down, planted firmly, exerting force as his heel lifted and kicked outward... Having turned and braced himself to sprint, he reached out and gripped his hilt.
He decided to give it a shot.
Although Pegmont still had no clear idea what his own trait was, an intangible impulse was stirring within him, constantly egging him on.
*Defeat him. Step over Han Qingyu. Defeat him, and before you will lie only the open sky and the river of stars.*
*Does defeating an amnesiac Han Qingyu count?*
*Of course. Defeating him in the past and proving he's washed up now lead to the exact same outcome: you become the strongest. So why fuss over it?*
*Makes sense.*
Around this time, Han Qingyu leaned down and turned over a Great Spike corpse. Instead of kicking it aside with his foot, he bent at the waist and used his hands, making him appear calm and extraordinarily patient.
*Whoosh!* An explosive burst of power erupted without warning.
"Hey! Did you really lose your memory? Let's spar—I'll help you find your groove!" Pegmont's voice drew out into a long streak across the air, for the moment he opened his mouth, he had already charged out at full throttle.
Chapter 779