Chapter Thirty-Four: No Return
Fingertips touched something cold.
It was not the roughness of stone, nor the hardness of metal, but a dead, silent chill—one that had slumbered for ten thousand years, like ancient ice from the dawn of time. That cold pierced through flesh in an instant, freezing blood, racing along Lin Mo's arm like millions of icy needles stabbing straight for his heart.
“Ah—!”
A scream, inhuman and agonized, was forced from Lin Mo’s throat—more excruciating than any pain he had ever known. What he gripped was no sword hilt, but a shard hewn from the deepest abyss, condensed from endless death and annihilation. An indescribable sword intent, bearing the power to sever all life, flooded into him like a dam breaking, wild and unrestrained.
This time, it was not the passive slicing of sword intent as before, but an active force—a will to “recognize its master,” to awaken, forcibly pouring itself into him.
Shhh—!
Lin Mo’s right hand, clasped around the hilt, lost all sensation in an instant. Grey-white frost, like millennia-old ice crystals, visibly formed over his skin and rapidly crept up his arm. Wherever it passed, flesh stiffened, meridians froze, blood coagulated. The cold seeping deep into his marrow intertwined with a rending pain, engulfing his vision in darkness and blood.
Within him, two forces that had been silently at odds—the cold remnants of the Void Heaven Sutra and the sinister vitality of the Reversed Seed—were swept up by this overpowering, pure sword intent, as if caught in an extinction storm.
The Void Heaven Sutra fragment erupted in unprecedented resonance, wild and submissive, shining with grey-white light. Ancient, twisted glyphs spun madly, rushing to meet the incoming sword intent, eager to merge. Yet the sword intent was too fierce and pure—the fragment’s power, attempting to join with the surging ice river, was scattered in seconds, forced to flow along with the sword intent, uttering anguished cries.
The Reversed Seed attached to it unleashed a piercing, snake-like screech, green light flickering in abject terror and rejection. Its twisted vitality was suppressed and melted away like snow beneath the blazing sun, dimming rapidly, curling up at the heart of the cold “stone,” trembling, no longer daring to stir.
Boom—!
Lin Mo’s sea of consciousness exploded.
No longer chaotic fragments of memory, but a vast, unimaginable torrent—cold enough to freeze the soul. It was part of the memory and will of the “No Return” sword spirit, dormant for ten millennia.
He “saw” a shattered, burning sky. Countless gigantic corpses of immortals and gods, mountain-sized, floated like refuse in broken void. Golden blood poured from the severed pillar of heaven, forming rivers of fire on the cracked earth.
He “heard” deafening thunder—the clash of magical treasures, the shriek of immortal arts tearing space, the despairing wails of countless lives extinguished in the flood of destruction.
He “felt” the presence of a figure standing tall, wielding a pitch-black sword, fighting blood-soaked amid a siege of countless foes. Wherever the sword pointed, stars crumbled, void was annihilated—a severing of fate, unburdened, sword and self alone. Ultimate loneliness and resolve—the true essence of “No Return.”
And then—those eyes! Eyes wide even in death, filled with unending defiance and unwillingness. At the end of the memory torrent, their owner used the last of his strength to thrust a bloodstained, broken sword into the earth, crying out a roar that shook the universe, filled with grief and rage:
“Hao Tian—!”
That roar, like the final death knell, echoed madly in Lin Mo’s consciousness, bearing the sting of hatred, the poison of betrayal, and—an endless longing and entrustment for the sword before him.
“Immortal Lord… bear… the sword…”
The sword spirit’s phantom, mournful intent resounded in Lin Mo’s chaotic sea of consciousness, like a final sigh.
The next instant—
The shadow of the sword spirit, formed from pure black sword intent and suspended before the sword scar, erupted in its last and fiercest brilliance. The entire figure turned into a stream of pitch-black light, condensed to the utmost, flying home like a weary bird, carrying ten thousand years of waiting and resolve, and instantly—merged into Lin Mo’s right hand gripping the hilt.
Boom—!
A surge of sword intent—greater, purer, colder than before—rushed in like a world-ending river of ice, overwhelming Lin Mo’s last defenses. He felt like a lone boat tossed into a storm of icy winds. Inside him, thousands of cold blades cut and reshaped, bones groaning under the strain, meridians forcibly expanded and torn, only to be filled with colder sword intent.
“Ahhhhh—!”
Lin Mo’s body was yanked by an invisible force, suspended before the massive sword scar. He threw back his head and howled, voice unrecognizable as human. Muscles spasmed and twisted, skin covered in alternating layers of grey-white ice and wandering, living black sword patterns. His right hand, gripping the hilt, was encased in thick grey-black ice, fused with the black sword.
A cold, lonely, annihilating aura burst forth like an ancient beast awakening, centered on Lin Mo, flooding the cramped stone chamber. Moss shriveled and crumbled to powder, bones scattered on the floor snapped and disintegrated.
“Ugh!” Su Li, collapsed nearby, was flung against the cold rock wall by the sudden sword pressure. She spat blood, eyes wide with terror and horror. In her eyes, Lin Mo was no longer a mortally wounded servant boy, but a peerless, bloodthirsty sword newly drawn. The chill and loneliness made her soul tremble. She had no doubt—approaching him now would mean being shredded by the terrifying sword intent.
Just then—
Boom!
A crash more terrifying than any before, as if the sky itself collapsed.
At the entrance, the blocked rocks were obliterated by a viscous, blood-red torrent, exuding endless hatred and destruction—a flood of annihilation surging for Lin Mo in the stone chamber.
The blood cocoon’s ultimate strike! It sought to crush the newly awakened fierce sword, to swallow this final wild card.
Blood waves towered, death descended.
As the destructive flood was about to engulf Lin Mo suspended before the sword scar—
Buzz!
Lin Mo’s eyes, red and unfocused from pain, snapped open.
In his pupils, there was no longer pain or chaos, only a cold, deathly stillness—like an ancient frozen lake. Two deep, icy lights flashed from his gaze, echoing the sword spirit’s last look.
“Cut.”
A cold, indifferent syllable, devoid of human emotion, escaped Lin Mo’s lips.
The sound was not loud, yet it rang out like clashing metal, overpowering the roar of the blood tide.
As he spoke—
His right hand, fused with the black hilt and encased in ice, suddenly lifted.
Shhh—!
A sound sharp enough to make teeth ache, as if space itself was being torn.
That ancient black sword—“No Return”—embedded in the massive scarred wall for ten millennia, was wrenched free by him!
In the instant the blade left the wall—
Time seemed to freeze.
A light, indescribable in words—
A pure, ultimate darkness, so black it consumed all other light.
Like the first darkness at the creation of heaven and earth, it erupted from the slender, ancient blade of “No Return,” covered in mysterious patterns.
No sound. No disturbance.
Only pure obliteration.
The sword light appeared and cut in an instant.
It was not a physical thing, but the manifestation of will and law. It ignored space, ignored the roar of the blood tide, like a boundary separating life and death, gently slicing through the incoming sea of blood.
Shhh—!
No earth-shattering clash. No explosion of energy.
That blood sea, enough to obliterate mountains and devour lives, touched the pure black sword light—and froze as if struck by absolute zero. The churning, viscous “blood” became a river of filthy ice, locked in eerie stillness. Then, countless fine, web-like black cracks spread from the point of contact, covering the sea.
The next instant!
As if cut by millions of invisible blades at once—
The frozen, crack-ridden blood sea, along with its venomous will, shattered like glass—silent, soundless—into countless specks of grey-black dust.
A gust of wind carried it away, dissolving into the foggy depths of the abyss.
As if it had never existed.
One sword!
Obliteration without return!
At the entrance to the chamber, only a forcibly widened gap remained, its edges smooth as glass, and beyond it—a sea of rolling black mist, momentarily plunged into silence.
Only the hiss of abyssal mist and Lin Mo’s heavy, labored breathing, like a broken bellows.
He hovered before the sword scar, body still covered in grey-black ice and black sword patterns. His right hand gripped the slender, ancient “No Return” sword, whose mysterious patterns shimmered with cold, deep light. The tip pointed silently toward the abyss below, radiating a cold, lonely, annihilating aura.
That sword, as if it had drained all his strength, took with it the sword spirit’s icy will. The pain in his head and the agony in his torn body surfaced once more, nearly drowning his remaining consciousness. He swayed, puppet-like, and fell from suspension, dropping toward the cold floor.
Bang!
He crashed heavily onto the hard stone, raising a cloud of dust. Curled up, he coughed violently, each spasm spraying blood and fragments of viscera. His right hand never let go of “No Return,” as if it was his sole connection to the world. The sword’s cold, heavy touch sent a faint, blood-bound tremor through him.
Exhaustion and weakness overwhelmed him like a tide. He longed to close his eyes and sink into sleep, never to awaken.
But—
“Hah…hah…”
Rapid, suppressed breaths sounded nearby.
Lin Mo struggled to lift his heavy eyelids.
He saw Su Li crawling from beneath the cold rock wall, blood-soaked, a grim wound on her brow, left hand gashed to the bone, her energy depleted, ready to collapse. Yet her eyes—beautiful, almond-shaped—burned like embers, fixed unwaveringly on the pitch-black “No Return” sword in his hand.
In that gaze, there was lingering terror from survival, but more—almost tangible greed and burning desire.
The task of the Joy Sect! The sword of the Void Heaven Immortal Lord! This was a chance that could shake the entire cultivation world—right before her eyes, in the hand of a mortally wounded, barely conscious servant boy!
Opportunity!
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
Su Li’s breathing grew heavy. Her uninjured right hand trembled and slowly rose. At her fingertips, a faint yet concentrated pink spiritual light, like a snake’s tongue, began to coil once more.