Chapter 781 - The Determination to Kill Tianlong
The guard’s blade, the momentum, the Divine Integration-powered strike, could not stop. The steel, the sharp, unforgiving steel, hit. Not the young man. Her. The woman. The blade, through her back, through her chest, emerged from her sternum. The blood, the arterial spray, the red that mixed with the rain, was there.
She fell. Her body, the pierced, bleeding body, collapsed. Into the rainfall. Onto the wet stone. Her eyes, her beautiful, tear-filled eyes, found the young man.
"Brother..." she whispered. Her voice, the fading, gurgling, dying voice, was there.
The young man, his eyes, the horror, the grief, the world-ending grief of a man watching the woman he loved die for him, was there. His body, the trembling, the rage, the grief, the fusion of emotions that transcended human capacity, was there.
Both of them, hero and heroine, the tragic lovers, looked at the villain. At Tianlong. At the man standing on the cliff edge, hands behind his back, smirking.
The young man stood. His body, the wounded, bleeding body, rose. His sword, the Heavenly Sword, was raised. The qi, the spiritual energy, the Soul Formation power, blazed. The sword intent, the pure, concentrated, condensed sword intent of a prodigy, radiated.
"I am the sword genius!" he screamed. His voice, the raw, primal, defiant scream of a man who had nothing left to lose, filled the storm. "Born once in ten thousand years! I will not fall to the likes of you!"
He attacked. His sword, the Heavenly Sword, the prodigy’s blade, struck. The qi, the condensed, focused, desperate attack, was there.
Tianlong moved. His hand, from behind his back, came up. The gesture, the small, minimal, almost lazy gesture — a flicker. Just a flicker of his hand. The sword intent, his sword intent, the divine, transcendent, absolute sword intent, was generated.
The clash, the collision, the impossible mismatch between Soul Formation desperation and Divine Transcendent casualness, was there. The young man’s sword, the Heavenly Sword, blocked. But the force, the divine, overwhelming force, went through. Through the blade, through his arms, through his body.
He flew. His body, the struck, thrown body, was hurled. Off the cliff. Into the abyss.
"I WILL ONE DAY RETURN AND KILL YOU!"
The scream, the fading, echoing, falling scream of a man plummeting into darkness, was the last sound. Then silence. Then the rain. Then the wind. Then nothing.
~~ The Awakening
His eyes opened.
The ceiling, the wooden, plain, unadorned ceiling of a stable loft, was there. The light, the pale morning light through the gaps in the boards, was there. The smell, the hay, the horses, the earthy, animal smell of a stable, was there.
He gasped. His body, the sweating, trembling body, was rigid. His hand, his right hand, went to his chest. The wound, the sword wound from the cliff, was not there. His chest, the skin, was smooth. Whole. Unmarked.
The dream. The memory. The past life.
He sat up. His body, young, lean, the body of a seventeen-year-old, was there. His face, handsome, sharp-featured, the face that had not yet grown into the warrior’s face of his past life, was there. His hair, dark, unkempt, fell across his eyes.
His eyes. The eyes that had seen the cliff, the rain, the woman dying, the fall — those eyes, now in this body, this young body, were sharp. Alert. Knowing.
"This dream," he whispered. His voice, the young voice, the voice that had not yet deepened into the man’s voice, was there. "Since my birth. This dream."
He exhaled. The breath, the long, slow, controlled exhale of a man who had been holding tension for seventeen years, was there. His hand, his right hand, went to his face. Covered his eyes.
The memory. The past life. The previous incarnation. He remembered. Everything. The woman. The cliff. The rain. The fall. The death. The betrayal. And the man. The crimson-robed, gold-eyed, smirking man who had taken everything.
Tianlong. Emperor Tianlong. The being who had killed him in his past life to steal his Sword Dao Bone.
And now, in this life, born again, reincarnated into this body — the body of a young man named Shen Mu, the son of a stable master in the Azure Cloud Province of the immortal dynasty — he remembered. He knew. He understood.
His eyes, from behind his hand, narrowed. The gaze, the sharp, calculating, dangerous gaze of a man who had lived and died and been reborn with a purpose, was there.
He had been acting weak. For seventeen years. Hiding his cultivation. Suppressing his talent. Not drawing attention. Not attracting the gaze of the Emperor. Because he knew. He knew that Tianlong, in his past life, had been searching for the reincarnated Sword Sovereign. Had been hunting for the prodigy who would one day challenge him.
And so Shen Mu had hidden. Had played the weak, talentless son of a stable master. Had opened his meridians in secret, cultivated in the dead of night, advanced his realm without anyone knowing. His cultivation, hidden beneath suppression formations he had carved into the stable walls, was at Soul Formation peak. At seventeen. A prodigy that, if revealed, would shake the immortal dynasty.
But he had not revealed it. Because the old man had not yet returned.
Until now.
He stood. From the loft, through the stable, to the door. The morning, the pale, cold morning, was there. The sky, the immortal sky with its denser spiritual energy, its spirit-clouds, its ambient qi, was there.
And in the sky, the ships.
A small fleet. Not the massive armada that had been reported in the mortal world, but a modest fleet. Three ships. Golden and crimson. The Long Dynasty crest. Moving through the sky, descending toward the imperial palace of the Azure Cloud Province.
Shen Mu’s jaw clenched. The muscles, the tightened muscles of a seventeen-year-old who remembered dying, were there. His hand, his right hand, the hand that had gripped the Heavenly Sword in his past life, gripped the doorframe.
"He has returned," he whispered. His voice, the low, controlled, dangerous whisper, was there. "That old man. He has returned to the immortal world."
Everyone knew. The news had spread. The Emperor of the Long Dynasty, the brother of the main family’s patriarch, had returned from his banishment in the lower realm. The ships, the fleet, the arrival — all of it, was the talk of the dynasty.
Shen Mu turned. From the sky, from the ships, from the sight of his enemy’s return, he turned. His back, the straight, rigid, purposeful back of a man with a mission, was there.
"I have to increase my speed," he said. His voice was quiet. The words, the plan, the resolution, were there. "To open the door of the Sword Domain. So that we can kill you."
The "we" was not just him. There was her. The princess. The woman who, in this life, was not his lover but his ally. His inside agent. The woman he had spent years cultivating a relationship with, not through romance but through prophecy. Through the knowledge of his past life memories, the events he had foretold that had come true, he had gained her trust. Her absolute, unshakeable trust.
And through her, he would destroy Tianlong. Again. Or rather, for the first time. Because in his past life, he had failed. He had fallen. He had died.
Not this time.