Chapter Thirty-Three: Sword’s Cry

A thick, blood-like, dark red glow seeped relentlessly through the cracks in the rubble blocking the entrance of the rock fissure, exuding endless resentment and an aura of annihilation. It crept in like a living thing, instantly casting an ominous, bloody hue across the cramped stone chamber. The air seemed to solidify into frigid plasma, each breath filled with a nauseating sweetness and a suffocating sense of oppression. That horrifying will, brimming with boundless hunger and savagery, gripped Lin Mo and Su Li’s throats like an invisible giant hand.

It was the blood cocoon! It had found them! Like an ancient beast catching the scent of blood, it had locked onto its hiding prey.

Death’s icy touch instantly permeated their bones.

The fierce determination and calculation that had just kindled in Su Li’s eyes were instantly replaced by absolute terror. She had no time to react—her very blood felt frozen by that monstrous will. Agonizing pain tore through the wounds on her left hand and brow; the gray, deathly aura within her surged like a venomous serpent, accelerating its corrosion.

Lin Mo, too, felt as if he were plunged into an ice abyss. The overwhelming sense of crisis made his very soul shriek. The cold fragment of the Void Heaven Scripture in his chest erupted with unprecedented ferocity and resistance, violently surging through his meridians in a desperate attempt to withstand the crushing will. The "Inverse Seed" clinging to it flickered with a wicked emerald light, its sinister vitality recoiling and shrinking like a startled serpent.

It was over! There was no escape!

Just as terror utterly seized their minds and they felt they would be crushed and devoured by that dark red glow and dreadful will in the next instant—

A deep hum resounded—

At the center of the stone chamber, from the depths of the massive sword scar etched with the words “Void Heaven,” the ancient, pitch-black sword “No Return”—silent for ten thousand years, slanted and embedded in the rock wall—suddenly began to tremble violently!

This was no passive release of sharp sword intent as before, but rather an awakening—a furious, unmatched, solitary, and destructive resonance!

A clear, chilling sword cry, piercing as if it could split the very netherworld, exploded from the depths of the sword scar. It was the roar of a primordial beast breaking free of its shackles—instantly overwhelming the oppressive will of the blood cocoon, drowning out the shrieks of the abyssal deathly aura, and silencing the rumbling echoes of shattering stone.

At the very moment the sword cry rang out, a blade of utter blackness, condensed to the utmost purity and intensity, burst forth from where the hilt joined the guard of "No Return"—like the first ray of dawn tearing through eternal night.

This sword light was not material, but the embodiment of pure will and edge. The instant it appeared, all the long-dormant, razor-sharp sword intent that had filled the chamber for millennia surged wildly into it, like myriad streams returning to the sea. The sword light swelled, in a flash becoming a pitch-black blade over ten feet long, solid as reality. Along its edges, space itself shimmered with the subtle, distorted ripples of being sliced.

From the moment the black blade appeared, it carried a will so resolute and absolute as to sever fate and annihilate all things. Disregarding the distance, it swept toward the viscous, dark red glow seeping through the entrance and the source of that terrifying will—striking down with unrelenting force.

A sizzle—like a red-hot iron plunged into boiling oil. There was no earth-shattering explosion. The blood-like, destructive red glow, upon contact with the black blade, reacted as if it had met its nemesis. Instantly, a piercing shriek rang out, as if countless vengeful spirits had been evaporated in an instant. The viscous “plasma” lost its luster, shriveled and withered before their eyes, dissolving like snow under a blazing sun.

A roar, filled with agony, rage, and disbelief—like the wrath of a demon god from the depths of the abyss—shuddered through the thick stone, slamming into Lin Mo and Su Li’s minds. It was the blood cocoon’s will, writhing in pain from the blow.

The dark red glow that had invaded was swept away by the black blade. The dreadful will at the blocked entrance recoiled like a frightened serpent. In the chamber, the bloody light and suffocating oppression vanished in an instant.

Survivors of calamity.

Lin Mo and Su Li collapsed onto the cold stone floor, utterly drained, gasping desperately for breath. The shock and exhaustion of surviving such annihilation swept through their bodies. That world-ending will of the blood cocoon had been repelled by a single sword strike?

Still shaken, they gazed at the center of the chamber.

The ten-foot-long black blade did not vanish after cutting down the blood glow. It floated before the massive sword scar, slowly rotating, radiating a terrifying aura of cold, solitude, and annihilation. At its core, a faint, indistinct silhouette began to coalesce.

This figure appeared to wear battered, ancient armor, standing tall and solitary as a lone peak. Its face was obscured; only in the place of eyes did twin points of ageless, icy starlight flicker. From this shadowy figure emanated a sword intent steeped in millennia of slaughter, wearied by life and death, enveloping the entire chamber.

A sword spirit?

Both Lin Mo and Su Li’s hearts shook violently. The sword spirit of “No Return,” dormant for ten thousand years, had been completely awakened by the threat of the blood cocoon?

The illusory sword spirit slowly turned. Its chilling, star-like gaze swept over Su Li collapsed on the ground—sharp as a real blade.

A glacial chill pierced through Su Li’s body, as if her very soul were being frozen and sliced apart. She stifled a gasp, her face turning ashen as the gray deathly aura at her brow wound raged, and the sword wound on the back of her left hand split open, bleeding anew. Under this pure, overwhelming sword intent, she felt as insignificant as dust, unable to muster even the thought of resistance. There was only profound terror—and a trembling that arose from the very soul.

But the sword spirit’s gaze lingered not on Su Li, as if she were nothing more than a trivial mote. In the next instant, those twin points of cold starlight swung toward Lin Mo, slumped in equal disarray against the rock wall.

The moment the sword spirit fixed its gaze on Lin Mo, the cold fragment of the Void Heaven Scripture in his chest erupted in a wild, never-before-felt resonance—not with previous hostility, but with something akin to wild joy, as if a child yearning for its kin.

A beam of cold, pure, ashen-white light, carrying an aura of futility and destruction, burst uncontrollably from Lin Mo’s chest. Within it flickered countless twisted, living ancient characters—the manifested power of the Void Heaven Scripture fragment.

This power clashed and mingled in the frigid air with the lonely, razor-sharp sword intent radiating from the sword spirit.

A sizzling—like water on hot iron. The gray light of the Void Heaven Scripture and the black sword intent of “No Return” clashed, dissolved, and regenerated in a fierce, cyclical dance. Their natures seemed utterly opposed, yet on some higher plane… they were kindred?

Lin Mo’s body trembled violently. The “stone” in his chest throbbed madly, bringing waves of tearing pain, yet also a strange, rain-after-drought relief. Countless jumbled, fragmented memories ran riot through his mind—he saw tattered black banners snapping in wild winds; viscous, golden divine blood flowing over cracked earth; a blurred figure wielding that black sword, battling through an onslaught of countless immortals and demons, blood-soaked and unyielding… Those eyes—those defiant, unbowed eyes!

He clutched his head with a hoarse, pained cry, dark red blood trickling from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.

At that instant, the ethereal sword spirit, sensing the eruption of the Void Heaven Scripture’s power and seeing the ancient characters flickering around Lin Mo, shuddered violently. Its starry gaze blazed with unprecedented intensity.

“Immortal Lord…?” A faint, incredulous, impassioned, and utterly sorrowful wave of intent rippled through their minds, as if a call echoing across ten millennia—directly reaching Lin Mo and Su Li’s consciousness.

It wasn’t a voice, but more powerful than any sound.

Immortal Lord? Was it calling Lin Mo? Su Li, terrified, stared at Lin Mo writhing in pain.

The sword spirit’s silhouette trembled, emotion at its peak, as it fixedly regarded the gray-white light and ancient script swirling around Lin Mo. Then it shifted its gaze to Lin Mo’s tormented face, as if searching for confirmation.

A moment of dead silence.

“Lineage… endures…” The sword spirit’s intent rippled once more, now laden with endless sorrow and a weighty resolve. “I… have kept… my vow… for ten millennia…”

The illusory sword spirit slowly raised its “hand”—a limb formed of pure, black sword energy—pointing toward the body of “No Return,” slanted deep into the sword scar, only its hilt visible.

“Grasp… the sword…”

The cold command, irresistible and absolute, seared itself into Lin Mo’s chaotic mind.

Grasp the sword?

Lin Mo painfully looked up, bloodshot eyes fixing on the slanted, black ancient sword. Grasp the sword? The weapon that recognized only the Void Heaven lineage, that killed any who approached? The sword intent that had flared just moments ago nearly destroyed his arm. Now he was to grasp it?

Terror and instinctive reluctance surged within him.

But then—

A thunderous rumble shook the world outside the stone chamber as the Burial Abyss of the Immortals erupted once more, even more violently than before. The blood-like, dark red glow, carrying a will more terrifying and savage, surged again like a cataclysmic tide, hammering at the rubble blocking the entrance. The stones trembled, blood glow blazing through the cracks. The sound of rock sizzling and dissolving filled the air.

The blood cocoon’s second assault—far more dreadful than the first. Now it was truly enraged.

Su Li was struck by the shockwave of that will, coughing up blood flecked with ice, her body curling into a ball, eyes full of despair. She knew that this time, even the sword spirit probably could not withstand it. The entrance would soon be breached.

Once more, death’s shadow gripped their hearts with an icy hand.

“Grasp… the sword!”

The sword spirit’s command thundered in Lin Mo’s mind, now charged with urgency and unyielding resolve. The shadow wavered fiercely; the floating black blade keened with a sharper, more frantic cry.

Grasp the sword?

A wild, desperate gleam burst from Lin Mo’s eyes. To hell with the heavens! To hell with the trap! I won’t die in this cursed place!

With a hoarse roar, ragged with pain, fury, and defiance—the last struggle of a wounded beast—Lin Mo summoned all his remaining strength and sprang from the ground. His right hand, ravaged by the soul-eating rock leech, bleeding profusely, reached with reckless desperation toward the hilt of the ancient, slanted black sword buried deep in the scar.

His fingertips, slick with hot blood and a resolve beyond retreat, touched the icy hilt, long buried beneath ten thousand years of dust.