Volume Two: Mortal Realm Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Thread of Fate and the Descending Shears

The cold and lonely longsword was drawn, and the faint thunder-fire on the demon was subdued as if pressed flat by a raging wind. The demon’s expression changed drastically, just as it was about to retreat—

Sword Nine strode upon the waves, sword held low, passing by the demon that tried to escape. The sword’s light surged like a rising tide.

Then the sword halted, suspended.

The sea breeze began to blow.

Blood sprayed from the blade like red snow swirling in the wind.

Without spiritual energy, Sword Nine could not linger above the sea; stepping upon the waves, he traced another arc, gliding onto the small boat like a fresh breeze.

Behind him, the demon remained rigid. Only when Sword Nine landed on the boat and glanced back did the deer-shaped demon reveal a crimson line from head to haunch, then its body split in two and crashed into the sea.

The two halves floated, dissolving into bloody water, melting completely into the surging waves.

Sword Nine, always calm and unruffled, sheathed his sword, but suddenly bowed his head, body swaying, barely able to stand by clutching the boat’s edge. As his hair fell forward, nearly half had turned pale as frost.

“Sword Rack, what’s wrong?”

The others on the boat were still lost in the euphoria of the demon’s destruction, but Song Mingyu was the first to recover, rushing forward to steady Sword Nine.

To her horror, the hand she grasped was dry and cold—this man who always wore a cold face before her now leaned weakly against her, entirely devoid of strength.

“What’s wrong? Is it because of that sword?”

Song Mingyu cradled Sword Nine on the boat’s deck, tears streaming uncontrollably as she wept in a trembling voice.

“Don’t scare me, Sword Rack.”

Ying Kui hurried over as well, reaching for Sword Nine’s neck, finding it icy cold, then checking his pulse.

“His life force is exhausted. I’ll transfer some true energy to him.”

Just as Ying Kui began to channel his spiritual power, Sword Nine, half-unconscious, suddenly seized his hand with desperate strength.

“He’s telling you not to use spiritual power. Don’t forget the demon’s rules.”

Ye Mingke, standing nearby, spoke.

“The faster your spiritual power drains, the stronger the demon becomes. Next time we encounter one, he may have to sacrifice even more lives to win.”

Ying Kui’s movement froze.

“He’s right. Don’t use spiritual power,” Sword Nine’s weak, hoarse voice rasped.

Sword Nine slowly opened his eyes. His face remained pale, but his gaze was tranquil.

He looked at Ye Mingke outside the group, a faint smile on his white face.

“We won the bet this time.”

He spoke softly to Ye Mingke, and to those beside him.

“Yes, you’re remarkable. We’ve gained almost an extra day,” Ye Mingke smiled at him, offering praise without reservation.

Sword Nine rested his eyes a moment longer, then straightened against Song Mingyu, opening his eyes to address those around him.

“This demon proves that as long as we don’t use spiritual power—even if the demon absorbs some of our natural leakage—its strength will be weak enough for us to handle.”

“Sadly…”

He paused, a restrained sorrow in his cold gaze.

---

“Sadly, someone doesn’t know not to use spiritual power. So each time, we still have to gamble with our lives.”

“We gamble that person doesn’t use too much spiritual power in daily life, gamble that person can finish off weaker demons quickly.”

Ye Mingke continued, a mocking smile gradually appearing.

“All we can do is risk our lives against the demons that person breeds, breaking the cycle again and again. So that when that person faces demons, it’ll be easier, requiring less spiritual power.”

“This is the road ahead.”

Ye Mingke laid out his prediction for their predicament in a tone laden with irony.

Ying Kui and Song Mingyu exchanged complicated glances with Sword Nine, who nodded grimly.

“He’s right.”

“Damn it.” Ying Kui slammed his fist against the boat’s side, voice heavy with anger.

“Why did Senior Brother have to leave?” Even Song Mingyu, who usually admired Li Guifan, spoke with a hint of resentment.

“Our ability to fight for our lives now rests mostly with you. Can you manage next time?”

Ye Mingke crouched to meet Sword Nine’s pale face and hair, his gaze grave and warm, as if wishing to grant strength to this frail man.

“I can,” Sword Nine replied calmly.

“But how many more times can you endure?” Ying Kui watched him, his usual fierce and haunted expression dimmed.

Song Mingyu held Sword Nine’s thin body, tears streaming once more.

“I don’t know,” Sword Nine answered, still serene.

Ye Mingke stared at him, then softly said, “Sorry. Thank you. You’ve worked hard.”

Sorry for not knowing how to help, thank you for saving everyone’s lives, and for enduring—because the burden was truly too heavy.

The lives of everyone on the boat hinged on him; he was the thread connecting them all. And beyond the weight, Li Guifan’s presence was like a dull blade, cutting at the thread again and again.

Perhaps it would be severed by the blade, or snapped by the weight.

The road was impossibly hard, unreasonable—yet it was the only path.

“Finding the way is your task,” Sword Nine gazed into Ye Mingke’s eyes, speaking solemnly.

“Alright.” Ye Mingke replied with equal seriousness. Though he, too, did not know how to escape, everyone had to try to do the right thing.

The small boat continued to drift and sway amid the fog-shrouded sea, a mere mote on the vast ocean, seemingly always on the verge of being swallowed by waves and mist, yet stubbornly pressing forward.

Li Guifan had already encountered demons three times alone. The first was so strong he could only fend it off with a Spirit Activation Talisman, but the demons that appeared afterward were unexpectedly weak.

Weaker even than the first demon Sword Nine had marked as rank one. He could kill them easily with a casual strike, and they showed no sign of growing stronger.

“Is luck really on my side this time?”

Li Guifan thought grimly. Protected by spiritual power, he walked atop the undulating sea as if it were solid ground.

“At this rate, I’ll have plenty of time to search for a way out. My chances of survival have greatly increased.”

“But…”

He stood amidst the waves and looked up at the gloomy sky.

“They’re still alive.”

“And do I really have such good luck?”

---

He stared at the sky, a twisted, self-mocking smile on his lips.

...

“Hiss—”

The sword’s light struggled through the demon, Sword Nine’s hair now entirely white, whipped by the sea wind, stuck to his blood-stained face.

Sword Nine let out a hoarse roar, slashing another demon apart beneath his blade.

“Boom—”

The demon writhed as sword light tore it in half, crashing into the sea, sending up thunder-fire and turbulent waves.

Sword Nine, exhausted, had no strength to dodge—waves charged with lightning struck him, and he fell heavily onto the water, face up.

“Thud—”

He stared blankly into the vast fog above. The sea was cold, but he could not feel it, for his body was as cold as the water.

He sensed a bottomless abyss below, threatening to drag him down. He had no strength to resist—not even to struggle. All he could do was clutch his icy sword.

He sank, sank.

Ying Kui and Ye Mingke almost simultaneously leapt from the boat to swim toward Sword Nine, but Ye Mingke, as he jumped, strode several steps across the surface before falling in, moving much faster than Ying Kui.

“Splash—”

Ye Mingke broke through the waves, grabbing Sword Nine as he sank, reaching instinctively for his sword.

“No—be careful with my sword,” Sword Nine, still barely conscious, urgently warned.

But his warning came too late; as Ye Mingke touched the sword, a surge of force nearly paralyzed his arm.

He withdrew his hand, and together with Ying Kui, carried Sword Nine back to the boat.

The demon appeared on Li Guifan’s side for the first time after the cycle was broken, extremely weak. Li Guifan, unaware of the link between spiritual power consumption and demon strength, used spiritual power freely and thus easily killed the demon.

But when the demon appeared before Ye Mingke’s group, it had accumulated a cycle, its strength much greater than the one Li Guifan faced.

And Sword Nine and his companions could not use spiritual power to resist. Otherwise, after two more accumulations, when the demon appeared again, they would no longer be able to break the cycle.

Deprived of spiritual power, Sword Nine could only sacrifice his life force to wield the strange, cold longsword.

Relying on his mastery of mortal martial arts and that mysterious sword, he slew demon after demon without drawing on spiritual power.

But the sword continually devoured his life. In just two days, the once handsome and robust man’s hair turned white, his face gaunt, his body rapidly aging.

Each battle grew more perilous, and today, after slaying the demon, he lacked even the strength to return to the boat.

“Sadly, we’re at sea, and my junior sister and I only practiced immortal arts—we know nothing of mortal martial arts, nor can we wield that strange sword.”

Ying Kui, drenched, stood dazed on the deck, watching Song Mingyu, once always smiling and radiant, now weeping as she tended Sword Nine’s wounds. His heart felt heavy as if crushed by a massive stone.

These days had been perilous and harrowing, but the unity of all gave him solace. The sinister cast of his face had faded, replaced by deep sorrow.

How much longer can they endure? Is the next time, the next, the end...

“Why haven’t we found the way? How much longer must we wait?” Ying Kui closed his eyes and asked Ye Mingke beside him.