Volume II: The Mortal Realm Chapter Sixty-Four: The Greatest Enigma

A single eye, dressed in black.

A body as towering as a mountain.

Upon his back, he bore a coffin, vast and ornate as a mountain itself.

The vast sea trembled.

All the beasts shuddered.

Even the ever-present mist, unchanged for millennia between sea and sky, recoiled before him.

Several colossal, one-eyed giants, their bodies half-submerged in the ocean, shouldered their mighty coffins and strode forward, step by solemn step, bent low. They trailed behind the surging tide of beasts, resembling both mourners at a funeral and shepherds guiding their flock.

Each footfall of these giants sent up monumental waves, causing the wooden boat to pitch violently atop the roiling sea. But all aboard clung desperately to the vessel, none daring to utter a sound. Even the most timid, Fang Wu, had his mouth tightly covered by Li Han, all too fearful of drawing the notice of these terrifying giants.

The beasts, so prone to fighting moments before, now fell silent, obediently following the giants’ path and swimming onward like herds of docile sheep.

Ye Mingke and Jian Jiu, having glimpsed the giants, had returned to the boat, heads bowed, equally unwilling to attract their attention.

Step by heavy step, the giants traversed the boundary between sea and sky, passing the tiny, storm-tossed boat. The passengers held their breath, praying that the vessel would not be crushed underfoot or overturned by the waves.

Suddenly, one giant stepped down not far from the boat, sending a massive swell crashing over them, lifting the little craft high into the air.

The sea and sky spun.

Someone aboard finally could not suppress their terror, and screamed aloud.

The boat crashed back down, spinning as it hit the water, raising another wave. Miraculously, it neither capsized nor shattered.

Yet no one cheered; even the scream was cut short, as if snipped by invisible shears.

Because all felt that gaze—the searing, suffocating intensity of a stare as tangible as a blazing fire.

The one-eyed giant slowly turned his immense head, fixing his gaze upon them.

He ceased to move.

The other giants, farther away, sent only ripples to lap at the boat as the sea around them suddenly stilled.

But never had the ordeal felt so unbearable.

The giant’s presence was so vast, so dreadful, that even Jian Jiu could do nothing but suppress his aura as much as possible, with no hope at all of opposing such a being.

The giant shifted slightly, and with a thunderous crash, another wave rose, setting the boat once more to bucking and leaping—like a live fish frying on a pan.

Worse still, the giant bent low, bringing his enormous face close to the minuscule boat.

The boat slammed back down onto the sea; now, quiet sobs could be heard from aboard.

Ye Mingke, moved by a sudden impulse, dared to raise his head a little, stealing a glance at that colossal visage.

He was not, like the others, paralyzed by terror before the giant’s oppressive presence. Strangely, he felt little fear toward this being. Perhaps it was because Dabai also bore the form of a giant, or because among the demon army that had once protected him from the divine host, many too had the shapes of giants—though none as titanic as this.

He raised his gaze and, as he had expected, met the single, immense, deep violet eye of the giant.

Suddenly, he felt the giant’s attention shift toward him, the oppressive aura intensifying. The giant was not gazing at the boat, but at him alone.

Yet he sensed no enmity. Emboldened, he raised his eyes further, at last meeting the giant’s face directly.

Upon the tossing wooden boat, a youth in simple clothes lifted his head to meet the gaze of a one-eyed giant bearing a coffin like a mountain.

The giant’s face was a sheet of burnished gold; the single violet eye, vast and set in the center of its expanse, strange, majestic, and terrible.

The youth’s face was pale, his eyes dazed, yet he stood straight and tense, striving to meet the giant’s gaze.

“Alai.”

The giant stared at him, and then, with a guttural, ancient word, his voice echoed over the sea like thunder.

Then the giant slowly turned his head away.

Ye Mingke stood on the deck, his expression more bewildered than ever.

“Alai.”

The giant repeated the ancient syllable, then straightened a little, coffin upon his back, and resumed his stride.

“Alai.”

The giant, head lifted, cried out once more to the boundless sea, his voice a rolling thunder.

“Alai.”

“Alai.”

…

In other directions, the remaining giants, drawn by his call, joined in, each voicing those strange, heavy syllables.

Thus, bent low beneath their burdensome coffins, the giants called out their unknown words to the heavens and the sea, step by step, fading toward the distant horizon.

Their voices were both grand and desolate, echoing as if from the depths of antiquity—a lonely cry to the world, a summons to some revered faith in their hearts.

Their departing figures carried a weight of profound loneliness.

“Coffin Bearers. I never thought we’d see one of the greatest anomalies of the Misty Sea with our own eyes.” Jian Jiu at last raised his head, watching those receding forms in the mist with lingering shock and a secret thrill.

“When I once found mention of them in our sect’s records, I thought it was mere legend. I never thought they were real.”

“You know what they are?” Ye Mingke turned to Jian Jiu, deeply curious. The giant’s gaze had felt almost as if… it knew him.

“They are the second greatest anomaly of the Misty Sea—the Coffin Bearers. Those who have seen them with their own eyes are few indeed, and all are among the most powerful cultivators. I never thought we’d be among them, and survive.”

Jian Jiu brushed aside the hair falling before his eyes, gazing at the giants’ fading silhouettes.

“The greatest mystery about the Coffin Bearers is, of course, the coffins they carry.”

At that, Ying Kui joined them, and stood with Mingyu, Jian Jiu, and Mingke, all gazing after the giants.

“There are countless tales about what lies within those coffins, and why they bear them. Some say they carry their own kin; some claim each coffin might hold a miniature world within. But the truth is, no one knows. All that is certain is that they are believed to be linked to some great and dreadful war.”

Ying Kui spoke for Ye Mingke’s benefit, as he alone knew nothing of the sect’s ancient legends.

Ye Mingke felt it too—coffins and death, death and war, forever intertwined. And these giants gave him the same feeling as the fallen heroes of the demon army: those who bore burdens beyond life and death, advancing alone in tragic grandeur toward some distant goal.

“But what truly sets the Coffin Bearers apart is their power and their realm. Many guess that they are not living beings at all,” Jian Jiu said, licking his lips.

“Why?” Ye Mingke asked in wonder.

“Because they may have surpassed even the Heavenly God Realm. Yet by imperial decree, no gods may dwell in the mortal world. So they must exist in some utterly unique state—perhaps as Imprints of Heaven and Earth.”

“Whatever the truth, standing above gods, they may be the most supreme existences in the mortal realm.”

Jian Jiu’s sword-bright eyes shone with undimmed fighting spirit as he watched the giants vanish into the mist.

This man, with hair as white as frost, who bore nine swords, though battered and his life-force greatly diminished, had never lost his sword heart.

He remained the proudest swordsman beneath the sky, ever yearning to pit his blade against the heights of the world.

“If Coffin Bearers are the second greatest anomaly of the Misty Sea, what is the first?” Ye Mingke took the chance to ask.

“The first?” Ying Kui rolled his eyes. “It’s the reason immortals like us and mortals like you are all trapped on this same boat.”

“Exactly. In the Misty Sea, whatever your realm, survival is nine deaths to one life. Mortal and immortal alike are equal. Only by mastering the sea’s myriad strange laws can you hope to survive.”

Jian Jiu added, “Usually, the Misty Sea lays but one fatal trap for all who enter at the same time. We encountered that fiend, and thereafter, no other anomaly troubled us, save the brief disruption of the beast tide.”

“It’s strange… It doesn’t follow natural law. It makes the Misty Sea seem more than a sea.”

Jian Jiu frowned, pondering, and then fell silent.

Song Mingyu tilted her head, following his thought. “That’s why there’s a common saying: the Misty Sea is more like a vast trial ground. Only, it’s so terrifying that almost all who enter die; those who survive never reach its end, escaping at best.”

“To lay a fatal snare exactly tailored for every living being who enters… That feels awfully familiar,” Ye Mingke mused.

“But it doesn’t feel like a trial to me—it feels like the work of someone who can calculate all things, using every ounce of power with perfect precision to kill or drive away all who come near.”

He had studied the Art of Celestial Calculation with Aunt Long, and knew that there were terrifying masters of fate in this world. The Misty Sea’s strange, personalized traps for each intruder seemed eerily similar to the handiwork of such a master.

What, then, was veiled within these fog-shrouded waters?