One after another, torches set into the walls light up with a blue flame that turns orange-red after a moment. The produced pools of light expand and spread out until the room becomes entirely visible.

A table sits in the middle of the room; three of its chairs are toppled over, and the remaining chair is several steps away from the table. There are no windows, no tapestries, and no decorations other than the torch sconces.

The air pressure, temperature, and humidity all suggest that this space is disconnected from the outside world — not merely in isolation, but as if this were a different world entirely.

However, the most striking feature of the room is the person at the other end of it.

Beneath the veil that covers most of her hair and face, only a pair of luminous red and gold eyes can be seen, reflecting also the glow of the flame. Flames burn in what little red hair is visible as if her hair itself is made of fire. Her red dress is lavish, decorated with flower themes of gold and silver, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulders.

It is the appearance of a bride-to-be. In the culture of these creatures, on the wedding day, the bride would don a red dress and a veil to hide her face. Only when the marriage is consummated would the veil be removed.

Behind this figure, orbs of fire burst into existence — blue at first, but then turning a bright yellow and orange. The impression she immediately leaves on me is one of tremendous danger. Her cultivation is so unfathomable that not even Lady Yue would be a comparison. She looks to be about the same age as Lan Xiaohui, but it wouldn’t surprise me if this person is truly an immortal.

The flames that burn behind her, in her hair, and reflect in her eyes, contain an immense amount of power. The manner in which they burn, pulsing madly, defies my understanding of nature. The qi that fuels those flames is as if it comes from an entirely different universe.

Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan understand their situation. They understand that the entity standing across from them is not a person, but a living myth. They understand that they find themselves in the lion’s den and that their lives hang in the balance. Nevermind the fox that was chasing them — that was merely their executioner. This creature may as well be their deity.

The red-haired girl’s frown becomes even deeper as the three stare at each other awkwardly. Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan do not even dare to speak a word. I assume that this is their evolutionary equivalent of playing dead. Maybe — just maybe — if they do not move or speak, this Godlike entity will forget that they exist.

The waves of oppression and hostility wane as the veiled girl tilts her head. “You are not who this princess was expecting. Who are you?” Her voice is crystal clear and her tone and cadence are bespoke of refinement and elegance. This title she uses to refer to herself — princess — is likely truthful and accurate. The arrogance of station, without the arrogance of that station’s power, is an intriguing trait that ordinary, mortal creatures are seldom known for.

“Senior, we are very sorry for disturbing your r—hrrrhk!”

“Ah, forget it,” the veiled girl speaks, suddenly standing in front of Lan Xiaohui. When she moved, or how she crossed this distance without me even sensing a burst of qi is something I failed to notice, even with my perfect perception.

What interrupts my owner is not the sudden appearance of the girl, but the fact that the red-haired girl’s hand is deeply buried inside my owner’s guts. Half of her forearm disappears inside Lan Xiaohui’s penetrated skin, with blood already pouring out of the wound.

“I lost interest,” the veiled girl adds.

My [World Eater] opens to full capacity, causing the qi of Heaven and Earth to rush into my mighty dynamo where it converts to sword energy. My form, hovering over Lan Xiaohui’s shoulder, has no leverage to physically lash out against this person, but with my sword energy, I should be able to execute a strike if I burn most of my lifespan.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

However, before I can release the energy, the veiled figure grasps my vessel by the blade and that contact alone is enough to completely suppress my inner energy and stop it dead in its tracks.

I don’t know if it is the sword cultivator in her, or the foolish girl with a strange attachment to me, but in all her confusion, shock, and disbelief at the sudden situation — especially after the hostility and killing intent receded — Lan Xiaohui weakly reaches out to grasp my hilt. Whether this is a final act of defiance and an attempt to slash the figure, or if she just wants to die holding me in her hands, I cannot tell.

There is a moment when the veiled figure turns those smoldering red-gold eyes toward me and I cannot deduce her thoughts. Is she surprised that I am an awakened treasure? Is she under the influence of my [Avarice]?

Slowly withdrawing her hand from my owner’s guts, causing more blood to pour from the wound, the veiled girl gently flicks her bloodied finger at Lan Xiaohui’s chest. The impact of the finger against Lan Xiaohui’s chest makes no sound, but the impact Lan Xiaohui’s body makes against Wu Yulan when she is sent flying is that of broken bones. When the both of them slam into the wall behind them, the sound is more like a wet paper bag filled with fruits slapping into the wall to the same effect; those fruits — their organs, including the hearts and lungs — are completely crushed.

The corona of blood that explodes around their bodies and onto the walls is enough for me to write them off the census of living entities, and I never thought that their lives would end like this — a red, bloody stain on a wall.

All their ambitions — seeking the Dao, killing Yu Shun, adventuring together, remarks that this continent is too small for them — all come to an end here and turn out to be meaningless. For Lan Xiaohui, having her cultivation broken, dragging her half-living corpse out of that forest, meeting Lady Yue and Wu Yulan, and joining a prestigious sect all amount to this: broken bones, crushed organs, and an ocean of blood on the walls and ceiling.

It is the same for me. My attempt at intervention wasn’t for loyalty’s sake. Whether Lan Xiaohui lives or dies is a matter I shouldn’t interfere with — if there exists a more powerful cultivator, naturally, if they kill Lan Xiaohui it would be advantageous for me to change owners.

This veiled girl may be powerful, but that suppression field outside, and this place, cannot be anything other than a prison. If I am left in the possession of this monster, my life will also evaporate.

That leaves but one last option.

Blood sprays from my black jade core, adding to the art on the wall, as I collapse the vitality of my body. Hundreds of cracks appear throughout my vessel, and my physical vessel’s perfection suffers greatly as I begin to circulate the first stage of the [Black Jade Emperor Body] cultivation manual.

Perhaps some might find it pointless to cultivate when my death is all but certain — even if completing the manual could extend my lifespan, there is no guarantee that it would be long enough to wait for whoever this figure was expecting. But that is the only option I have left. I can only bet everything on chance.

It is regrettable.

However, as I make ready to withdraw my consciousness and shut off my external senses, something surprising happens.

I feel a weak thread of consciousness pour into my vessel, and when I focus on it, I detect not one but two threads of consciousness.

Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan are alive?

This cannot be possible. I did not detect a pulse. They are not even breathing. They don’t even have lungs or a heart anymore — those were all crushed.

I sense the strangest thing then as I focus on them. Their physical hearts are crushed, but their Dao Heart still exists. It is an empty thing, now, save for a few glimmers of affection — toward each other, and toward me. In the vast emptiness of those black hearts — things that were colorful and filled with ambition before — there are just a few glimmers of affection, like stars, in the vast sky of hatred and killing intent.

When that Dao Heart pulses, I feel this resentment and affection drive the operation of [Empty Moon Prana] — which had seemingly broken through to the third layer in this situation — and draw in qi and air through the pores in their skin, and directly to their intact dantian.

My sentient core explodes with glee. My undocumented features gamble all their available processing resources. They are alive when they should not be; driven entirely by animosity and a desire for vengeance. It is as if their hearts are in lockstep with each other.

A glimmer of hope.

If they, as sword cultivators, refuse to die before they can inflict some damage back, then, my sentient core suggests, I should also strive to do the same. After all, my owner's wishes are my wishes.

Though I do not operate under any concept of wishfulness, but only certainty.

I open my Inner World to them and remove all limitations.

“You want to drag this God into the afterlife with you this much? I am proud of you,” I transmit a whisper into their Dao Hearts, allowing my words and thoughts to cascade into them with warmth. They need all the encouragement they can have. “I will help you.”