PS:
Hey there, wonderful reader!
New chapter has arrived — all 4900 words of it, fresh from the keyboard. 🎉
A quick life update from your (slightly sniffly) author: My spirit is soaring, ready to conquer plots and worlds… but my body has officially mutinied. I've been ambushed by a terrible cold, complete with a fever that's cozying up at a brisk 39°C.
Now, about the stories:
🚨 MAIN PLOT UPDATE: Volume 2, "A Haunted Estate," is racing toward its finale! The climax is today and tomorrow. Get ready.
😏 SIDE STORY TEASE: Next up, we're diving into the side story: My NTRS Journey with My Beloved Immortal Fairy Wife. Let me be upfront: this one is… lewd. We're talking every-page-is-sex-and-fuck levels of lewd. 😅 But hey, this is just your average author writing average R18, and your GENEROUS friend here is writing and sharing it with everyone for FREE. Consider it a… spirited diversion.
🔮 LOOKING AHEAD — VOLUME 3 PLANS:
I'm already brewing the next main plot volume! Here's the blueprint:
A Clearer World: I'll introduce the story's overarching world setting more clearly.
Battle in Blood: More Lordi Payne battle scenes fighting agaist his sect comrades!
Deep Dive into Cultivation: A more comprehensive explanation of the cultivation system of Abyss Pit Sect and the wider world it exists in.
I'd LOVE to know your thoughts! What are you most excited about? What do you crave more of?
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Thank you, as always, for being here. Your support is the best medicine (even better than this fever reducer).
Now, go enjoy the chapter! I'm gonna go chug some tea and dream of less germ-ridden days.
Warmly (literally), YoungPeasant
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Fear was not absent, but it was now fused with a raw, desperate power. As the monstrous limb descended, Lordi's hands shot up, not in flight, but in a desperate guard, channeling the only innate defense he had left.
"Ice Pith Fire!"
A crackling mantle of azure flame, cold as the void, sheathed his forearms.
CRACK!
The sound was sundered bone. The moment his fortified forearm met the descending bludgeon of shattered flesh and malice, a sickening, dry snap echoed through the garden.
The force was monumental, sending Lordi skidding back several steps, his boots tearing furrows in the earth. The Ice Pith Fire had hissed and sputtered, mitigating some of the direct, resentful venom, but the physical toll was devastating.
His mind raced, a frantic animal in a trap. No AllFullOS system prompts flickered in his mind. No escape Dao Fulus left could be used in his pouch. Only fight or die remained. He tried to pivot, to use his footwork art to create distance, but the first step sent a lightning bolt of agony through his left arm.
It hung limp, a useless weight. The skin, where the monster's black blood had splashed, was mottling into large, spreading patches of necrotic black. The pain was excruciating, a deep, burning cold that ate into the marrow.
Before he could even register the full extent of the damage, the monster struck again—not with a blow, but an embrace. Its limbs, now more like liquid ropes of corruption than arms, lashed out and coiled around his torso. Foul, black blood and tattered flesh flowed across his skin, a living, hateful tide rushing toward his neck. There, it coalesced, reforming into a solid, vice-like hand of pure hatred that clamped over his throat.
The monster's body was a nightmare of plasticity, twisting and deforming at will, flesh and blood dissolving and reforming in a grotesque mockery of life. Wherever the black blood crawled, Lordi's skin turned a sickly, light black. Krogh's concentrated hatred, the negative energy of grievance, was seeping into him, poisoning his spirit, whispering lies and despair directly into his soul.
Agony became Lordi's entire world. His neck was in a crushing vise; his vision spotted with dark blooms as his air was cut off. The difference in strength was absolute, a chasm. A single touch maimed him. This was not a battle; it was a slow, methodical dismantling.
A soft, terrible crack sounded from his spine. His neck bones were yielding.
Krogh's eyes, fixed inches from his own, had turned a murky, swirling red. The last fragments of reason, of human memory, were being squeezed out by pain, despair, and a boundless, all-consuming hatred. Humanity was fading from that gaze, replaced by the pure, focused intent of murder.
Lordi's legs thrashed wildly, his own hands—one broken, one rapidly blackening—clawing futilely at the spectral hand of blood and hate that strangled him. He was a rodent in a serpent's grip.
Yet, in those bloodshot, hate-filled eyes, as they stared into the young man's desperate, wounded face, something flickered. A recognition, not of Lordi, but of a reflection.
In the darkening mirrors of Lordi's struggling eyes, Krogh seemed to see something else—a little girl, her eyes gouged out, leaving only empty, weeping voids. Her silent mouth seemed to form a word, a name, a plea.
Shifu…
Krogh had witnessed his own brutal end. He could not forgive the demonic cultivator he believed had caused it.
But this vision… this echo of a different guilt, a different loss…
The monstrous grip on Lordi's neck loosened, just a fraction.
It was not freedom. Where the black blood had touched, a thousand needles of corrosive yin energy pricked and burned, spreading spiritual frostbite. Remnants of the monster's vile flesh clung to the blackened spots on Lordi's skin, tiny anchors of torment feeding agony directly into his nervous system.
Through the piercing, all-consuming pain, a sliver of Lordi's mind clung to an astonishing calm. He assessed his own ravaged body. And he noticed: the patches of skin that had once been gently enveloped by Yunny's dissipating soul, where her spiritual essence had made contact, were untouched by the black corruption.
The monster's face, bleeding eternally from its seven orifices, stared with relentless intensity, its internal war raging silently.
And then, a little girl appeared.
A faint, luminescent shimmer, like moonlight on mist. Yunny's spirit manifested beside Lordi. Without a sound, she reached out her small, translucent hand and placed it gently on the monstrous, black-bloodied form of Krogh. A touch of pure, unresolved sorrow meeting a mountain of solidified hate.
Lordi watched, a weary sigh escaping his lips, as he witnessed the birth of a true vengeful wraith—the culmination of Krogh's dying moments, a hatred so potent it refused to dissolve even in death. The sword master's fractured soul was twisting, blackened veins of resentment pulsing through his soul form, threatening to erase the last traces of the man he once was.
Beside the monstrous transformation, a faint, small figure flickered like a dying candle flame. It was Yunny Hanzwart, the little girl's ghost. With desperate, trembling hands, she clawed at the spreading black blood that consumed her shifu's soul. Each touch seemed to cost her dearly; her own form grew more translucent, more fragile, as if the very effort of holding back the corruption would scatter her to the winds. The advance of the dark stain slowed, but did not stop. It was a child trying to hold back a tidal wave with her bare hands.
Lordi's own body fought a silent war. Poisonous energy snaked beneath his skin, raising ghastly blue-black veins along his arm. The pain was a cold fire in his veins, but it clarified his mind. He was no saint, no hero from the tales. He was a survivor.
"I know," he began, his voice low but clear, as he edged toward the chamber's entrance, his fingers finding the hilt of the Blade of Life Hater in his storage pouch. "I know you hate this world where demonic sects run rampant. You hate that I stole your last sliver of hope. But I was never one of them, not truly. The Abyss Pit Sect was merely a refuge, a coincidence of fate. I have no love for this cultivation world either—this relentless race against heaven, where 'advance or perish' justifies every slaughter, birthing endless hatred."
"No mercy waits, no gentle hand to guide,
Through blood and fire, the Dao is earned, not tried."
"I won't insult you by asking you to let go of your hate. But…" His eyes met the raging, pain-filled void where Krogh's consciousness was drowning. "I beg you, don't let this hatred twist you into… into another Yunny."
He wasn't sure if the sword master could hear him through the maelstrom of rage. It didn't matter.
"So why not try… a different way to exist?"
In one fluid motion, Lordi exploded with Blood Spectre Footwork Art from his spot. Ice Pith Fire, that pale blue flame which had once shielded him from corrupting energy, roared to life along the edge of the bone blade. If the Ice Pith Fire could resist malice, perhaps it could help Yunny in her impossible task.
The monstrous entity sensed him instantly. Even in its maddened state, a flicker of the swordsman's care remained—the sweeping arm of congealed black blood and terrible new flesh carefully curved around Yunny's faint form before crashing toward Lordi. Lordi bent his body at a desperate angle, feeling the foul wind of its passage, then planted his feet and swung the burning blade in Blood Fiend Blade Art upward with all his strength.
BAMMMM!
The sound was sickeningly crisp. The bone blade struck the monster's skull, and both materials shrieked in protest. Chunks of blue flame splattered onto the entity, igniting where the black blood soaked its form. The fire bit deep into the nascent, horrific flesh.
The fusion of man and malice was only half complete. The creature's head now bore a deep, craterous dent. It screeched, a sound that scraped at the soul. Krogh's face—still recognizable, eyes and mouth streaming with spectral blood—swiveled on its neck. Its arms folded into impossible angles, bones cracking like dry twigs, and ten dagger-like fingers shot for Lordi's heart.
This time, Lordi didn't retreat. He pushed forward, meeting the charge. His blade came down again in a savage arc.
Black blood and chunks of ectoplasmic flesh spattered his skin, instantly hardening into venomous needles that sought to burrow into his flesh. Even with the faint, cooling protection of Yunny's lingering spirit around him, agony lanced through his nerves. It was like being stung by a thousand ice-cold scorpions.
He was inside the monster's range now. As those ten fingers plunged deep into his shoulders and side, Lordi embraced the wraith's neck in a macabre hold.
In a fight for life and death, opportunities weren't given; they were stolen, paid for in blood and pain.
"SHIFU!" Yunny's spectral cry was a whisper of despair and hope.
Lordi's burning arm, wreathed in Ice Pith Fire, shielded his face from the spraying corruption. He poured his newly comprehended Sword Intent into his blade art, hacking not just at flesh, but at the chains of hatred themselves.
He swung the bone blade again for the monster's head. But the creature had learned. A twisted, blackened arm snapped up and caught the blade mid-air, its grip like a vice of iron.
A grim hmph touched Lordi's nose. "Did you think I'd repeat the same move?"
He released the Blade of Life Hater the moment it was caught. His free hand, fingers contorted into a sword-seal gesture, shot forward like a spear, aimed not to pierce, but to force open the monster's screaming maw. The motion broke bones in his hand with a muffled snap, but he didn't flinch. From his palm, he flicked a thumb-sized, jet-black pearl—a Soul-Calming Pill, prepared for this very moment.
He had "borrowed" it from Kim Simona's courtyard. Of the four that existed, she had consumed one. This was one of the three remaining. A treasure among alchemists, designed to forcibly pacify a tiresome spirit, to drown souls in a sea of profound slumber. The consumer would sleep for a full month, their soul and energy quietly consolidating. It's a gamble: if it could calm a living soul, perhaps it could arrest a dead one festering in hatred.
All the previous strikes had been a feint for this one chance.
Direct delivery.
The black pearl shot into the throat of the raging wraith.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, fresh, vivid red blood—not black, but the deep crimson of a human heart—overflowed from the monster's mouth. The creature convulsed, its struggles turning frantic, confused. The violent hatred seemed to stutter. The consuming black blood writhed, its advance halting.
The little Yunny, gave one final, radiant push against the darkness, her form dissolving into a shower of soft light that washed over her shifu's corrupted soul.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, fresh, vivid red blood—not black, but the deep crimson of a human heart—overflowed from the monster's mouth. The creature convulsed, its struggles turning frantic, confused. The violent hatred seemed to stutter. The consuming black blood writhed, its advance halting.
In that instant of terrible, painful clarity, Krogh's eyes, buried deep within the monstrosity, found Lordi's. They held no forgiveness, but a dawning, agonized recognition—and a flicker of profound exhaustion.
The courtyard held its breath. The very air seemed to coagulate around the monstrous form of Krogh, a seething mass of black blood, vengeful energy, and tortured flesh. The transformation into a mindless, hate-consumed wraith was nearly complete, erasing the last vestiges of the stern yet caring swordmaster Yunny had remembered.
Lordi did not approach the monster with a weapon raised, but with a staggering, weary gait. His focus was not on the terrifying entity, but on the faint, flickering luminescence dancing nervously at its periphery—the ghost of little Yunny. Her form was blurred, as if seen through a rain-streaked window, a testament to her tragic, resentment-filled death and the incredible strain of her current struggle.
Lordi reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, ignoring the hostile energy that pricked at his skin like a thousand needles. With a gentleness that seemed utterly alien in this tomb of horrors, he placed his hand over Yunny's shimmering outline. It was a gesture meant to pat a child's head, to offer comfort.
From the heart of the monstrosity, a pair of eyes, previously filled with nothing but a black-tinged rage, flickered. They watched that simple, impossible gesture.
"Yunny…" The voice that emerged was not a roar, but a shattered rasp, scraping from a throat not meant for speech anymore. "Yunny has regained her humanity."
The words, spoken by the very source of the corruption, hung in the air. And with them came the deluge. For Krogh, the memories of Yunny's death—memories he had buried under mountains of wrath—burst forth. Not as distant images, but as raw, relentless sensation. The smell of iron and despair, the crushing helplessness, the world narrowing to a point of unimaginable pain for his little disciple. He felt himself drowning in it, a deep, lightless sea of fury and grief that had fueled his descent.
But then, a new memory superimposed itself—not from the past, but from the present moment he was witnessing. The image of Yunny, his Yunny, who had endured that same tragic fate, now not as a feral ghost, but as a spirit reaching out. Reaching out to him. And beside her, helping her, steadying her faint light, was the young man whose hand now rested in a gesture of futile comfort.
The significance of it, the sheer impossible weight of it, boiled Krogh's fading humanity consciousness. A vengeful spirit, once lost to the abyss, regaining its humanity. In his thousand years of cultivation in a past life, across countless scrolls and legends, no supreme elder, no celestial miracle, had ever recorded such a thing. It was deemed an irreversible fall.
Yet, the man before him had not just witnessed it. He had facilitated it. And now, he was standing in the storm of Krogh's own corruption, offering the same terrible, beautiful chance. Twice.
The black blood coursing over Krogh's spectral form hesitated. The furious growth of hateful flesh slowed, then began to recede, like a tide pulled by a sudden, unseen moon. The inhuman angles of his limbs softened. The consuming fire in his eyes didn't vanish, but deep within, like a lone ember in a dark hearth, a different light sparked—the agonizing, brilliant light of recognition, of regret, of a self long thought dead.
The monstrous arm, which could have shattered Lordi with a blow, trembled. Instead of striking, it moved haltingly, its form dissolving from clawed menace to a translucent, vaguely human shape. It reached out, not to attack, but to hover near where Lordi's hand touched Yunny's light, as if trying, after centuries, to remember how to offer comfort himself.
"Shifu!"
A single, clear tear, luminous and pure, traced a path through the spectral grime on Yunny's cheek.
The tide of memories crashed over Krogh's consciousness, not just the raw pain of Old Bald's death, Yunny's suffering, but the final, searing moments of his own demise in this life. The bitterness, the rage against the demonic sect ambush, the sheer injustice of it all had been the kindling for his remain soul transformation into a vengeful wraith.
Yet, as those memories fully integrated, something unexpected happened. He did not drown in them. Instead, he recognized them. They were his pain, his fury, but they were no longer an all-consuming master. The sight of Yunny's regained humanity and Lordi's selfless, foolish bravery had anchored him. He had weathered the storm of Resentment Mutation and, against all cosmic logic, retained his humanity reason.
Across from him, Lordi had reached his absolute limit. The young man's lost focus for a second, his body went rigid for a heartbeat, then slumped backward like a puppet with its strings cut.
He did not meet the cold, hard ground. A shimmering, ethereal force, cool yet firm, caught him mid-fall. Krogh's remnant soul, with a flicker of his will, had extended a cushion of soul force, lowering Lordi gently to the floor.
Lordi lay there, every muscle trembling uncontrollably. His heartbeat was a sluggish, distant drum in his own ears. The invasive resentment flow from wraith had wreaked havoc; his lifeblood felt as if it were freezing solid within his veins, and his skin was terrifyingly cold to the touch. Even the simple act of drawing breath was a monumental effort.
How many times is this now?
The thought drifted through his haze.
Facing enemies so far beyond my realm…
The outcome was always the same: brutal, lethal, a hair's breadth from death. This Krogh Hanz was clearly no ordinary cultivator. A mere wisp of his soul after death held such terrifying power. Without that final gambit, that desperate play with the Soul-Calming Pill, no amount of fighting spirit would have granted him victory.
Krogh's form, now more stable and distinctly less monstrous, solidified nearby. The chilling, oppressive hatred had receded, replaced by a weary, ancient aura. He gave a slow, acknowledging nod to the young man at his feet.
"Ah," Krogh's voice resonated, clear and imperious, its echo holding the frost of ages. "It seems you possess a glimmer of the acuity I anticipated. To have gleaned a fragment of my Sword Intent… from a mere encounter with that wretched thief, Ju-On. Do not mistake perception for mastery, child. But it is a beginning I… acknowledge."
Seeing Lordi's complete incapacitation, Krogh directed a slender, pure thread of his soul force into the young man's body. It moved with practiced precision, seeking out and dispersing the invasive怨毒 that had taken root, thawing the frozen channels of Lordi's qi and blood. The relief was not instant, but a slow, blessed warmth began to seep back into Lordi's limbs, allowing him a shaky, grateful breath.
"Thank… thank you Senior Brother," Lordi managed to rasp. As the worst of the poison receded, curiosity sparked through his exhaustion. "Senior Brother Hanz… if I may ask… you were only half-step into Foundation Stage. How… how were you so powerful? To leave behind a remnant soul—that is a feat even full Foundation Stage experts seldom achieve. Your will felt… stronger than even the Bloodline Lords of the Inner Sect."
Krogh's spectral expression remained cold and proud, but the sharp, murderous intent he had previously directed at Lordi was gone. This young man had, admittedly, shattered his final hope in this lifetime. Yet, he had also done the impossible—twice. He had earned answers, if not forgiveness.
"I am not merely 'Krogh Hanz' of this short life," the remnant soul stated, his voice resonating with a deeper timbre. "My consciousness has inherited the memories of my previous incarnation. I am Krogh Hanz, the founding patriarch of the Hanz clan. A millennium ago, I reached the peak of Foundation Stage using a… different method than the common Dao Path. Mortal Path."
He paused, the memory of that ancient ambition flickering in his eyes.
"I staked everything, attempting to form a peerless Golden Core to break into the Core Formation Stage. I failed."
A hint of old, profound weariness tinged his words. "Yet, my foundation was immense. Though only at Foundation Stage's peak, I had comprehended principles of soul and consciousness separation that are the domain of Core Formation Stage powerhouses. As the moment I died in this life, those memories awakened. I used that ancient knowledge to anchor this wisp of a soul, imbuing it with the will and power of my former peak."
Under Krogh's subsequent, solemn questioning, Lordi recounted everything—how he had first encountered the horror wraith of Yunny in Ancestral Shrine, the clues of her hatred and malice he pieced together in her house, the moment he realized her tragedy was tied to her death, and his desperate, intuitive attempt to reach not the monster, but the child within.
Krogh listened in complete silence. When Lordi finished, the ancient soul said nothing for a long time. The Frigid Sanctum's chill seemed to deepen with his quiet contemplation. He had felt the brink himself—the infinite, seductive pull of hatred, the promise of oblivion in mindless vengeance. The thought that he, too, had almost become such a creature, a distorted mirror of what little Yunny had been, sent a shudder through his remnant form—a sensation more terrifying than any physical demise.
Finally, he looked at Lordi, his gaze no longer that of a vengeful spirit or a disdainful senior, but of one who had glimpsed an abyss and been pulled back.
"You, have my gratitude," Krogh stated, the words simple, heavy, and utterly sincere.
Krogh's translucent form began to waver, like mist thinning under a morning sun. A profound understanding dawned in his eyes. Once a dead soul succumbs to resentment and then miraculously reclaims its humanity, it is no longer anchored by hatred nor embraced by the natural cycle. The Heavenly Great Dao itself would begin to grind it away, erasing it from existence. Time was now a luxury he did not possess.
With a sudden, decisive motion, he waved a translucent hand. A subtle ripple in the air formed around them—a sound-proofing barrier. His voice, though growing fainter, took on a grave urgency.
"Listen closely, Wexford!" Krogh's remnant soul intoned. "I sensed it during my last battle with Ju-On. A powerful presence observing from aside. It watched, yet made no move to intervene, even when my wraith hatred nearly claimed your life. Its intentions are opaque, but its mere presence is a warning. You must be vigilant."
He paused, the spectral light within him pulsing weakly. "What I tell you now, few in this world know. I am… not native to this world. I ascended from a lower realm. This place…" he gestured vaguely at the oppressive air of the courtyard, "…is a higher plane of existence. Everything here—gravity, the very essence of the air, the laws that bind flesh and soul—exerts a force magnitudes greater. To a Dao cultivator from my homeland realm, this realm was akin to the divine."
A trace of old bitterness surfaced. "Yet, I arrived to find it a land ruled by demonic sects. And its nature… it is not a planet floating in space, nor a continent adrift in the void. It is something else, vaster and more profound. Shortly after my arrival, I nearly broke through what I thought was the Core Formation Stage—what we called 'TAA,' They-Above-All, in my homeworld."
He looked directly at Lordi, his gaze piercing. "But upon joining the Abyss Pit Sect, I realized my folly. My so-called 'breakthrough' was merely shattering the mortal shackles within my dantian through the most basic of means—the petty Mortal Path to Foundation Stage. Here, I learned of hierarchies I never imagined."
"In this world, there are those who use a treasure elixir, the Foundation Establishing Pill, to temper their dantian and will—the Human Path Foundation Establishment Technique."
"Powerhouses employ legendary natural treasures and ancient, supreme scriptures to break through—the Earth Path Foundation Establishment Technique."
"And there are myths… of a Cosmic Path, a foundation establishment technique that mirrors the creation of the universe itself."
A sigh, heavy with millennia of regret, seemed to drain more substance from him. "No matter how powerful I am in my homewolrd. My previous life's foundation was poor in this realm, built on the lowest Dao Path. One step behind meant being forever out of pace. With such a flawed base, condensing my will into a peerless Golden Core at the Core Formation stage was impossible. So, after a century of comprehension, I mastered the secrets of the Core Formation stage… and chose to die. I sealed my will, my sword arts, hoping a descendant might inherit them, reach the Golden Core, and attain true 'TAA'."
His form flickered violently. "I never anticipated rebirth. Or that in this life, I would obtain the legendary method for the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment. Though my past memories awakened, my power in this life was merely at Qi Refinement Stage. The hope was seeming reachable… but Ju-On's evil was beyond comprehension."
The memory of his final moments in this life sharpened the remnants of his expression. "At the end, as my humanity flared, my previous life's vast Dao Will returned. I regained the transcendent Sword Intent of my peak. But Ju-On… that cursed ghost thing, being the very source of this Cosmic Path Dao Pillar, was a mirror. In that same instant, it learned everything—all my previous life's secrets. The evil itself gained my peak-era Sword Intent as well. Our battle became a mad contest for the same 'Dao'."
His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a horror that was not of death, but of symmetry. "We were perfectly matched. In power, in will, in sword art. Though I prevailed by a thread with the cost of my life… I understood then. A man cannot truly defeat his own mirror image. For it is an identical you but utterly evil. I knew the Dao Pillar fall to your hand at last, Wexford. Be brave."
Krogh's form was now barely more than an outline, glowing softly against the dark stones. "The Ju-On that will be born from you… it will know all you know. It will be your equal in every way you grow. That is the curse of the Dao I inadvertently gave you. My hope… my final wish… is that you can win where I merely survived. Do not just fight the evil. Outgrow the reflection. Outgrow the heaven!"
The air in the courtyard grew still, thick with a sorrow more profound than the lingering resentment. Krogh's translucent form, already fading, turned towards the faint, flickering light that was Yunny.
He knew. With her resentment purified and her humanity restored, her soul had achieved a fragile peace, but it was a peace that came at the ultimate cost—the slow, inexorable erosion by the Heavenly Dao. Her time was measured in heartbeats.
With a weary gesture, he dismissed the sound barrier and motioned for Lordi to step back. A solemn focus sharpened Krogh's fading eyes. He tried—methods born of a thousand years of knowledge, ancient soul-sealing charms whispered into the void, intricate formations drawn with the last dregs of his soul force. One by one, the attempts faltered, their light guttering out against the inevitable. Yunny's form continued to thin, like the last wisp of faint mist.
Lordi, respecting the solemnity of the moment, quietly retreated to the edge of the courtyard. He sank down to meditate, his body aching but his mind reeling. His gaze swept over the vertical cliffs surrounding the pit, scarred and grooved by countless sword strikes—seem like the testament of a younger, fiercely ambitious Krogh Hanz. By the moss-covered pond, his eyes caught a simple, well-tended gravesite adorned with lush grasses. The stone marker stood blank, wordless.
A chill that had nothing to do with Lordi's injuries ran down his spine.
Thank fate I wasn't foolish enough to charge in with the Red Run sword, he thought with a shiver. This… this was a fucking peak Foundation Stage swordsmaster, whose strength and power might even surpass someone like Kinson Wexford.
Krogh tried again, another complex, luminous sigil forming from his fingertips, only to shatter into nothingness before reaching Yunny. Watching the little ghost, whose form had lost even the definition of eyes, merely a blur of innocent light, a change came over Krogh. The grim determination melted away, replaced by a smile—a breathtaking, gentle smile that held no regret, only a serene resolve.
He looked at Yunny, his voice clear and firm, echoing softly in the stone well. "I, Krogh Hanz, how could I cling to this wretched half-life of a remnant soul?"
"How could there ever be a day when I cannot lift my sword?"
He glanced back at the unmarked grave, his tone softening into a whisper meant only for its occupant. "In the world of swordsmen, there was only Krogh Hanz. In the world of famed swords, there was only Red Run. That… was the sword path of Krogh Hanz before I turned thirty."
He turned his gaze upward, as if addressing the heavens themselves. "And afterwards? As you wished, as all those old, cowardly 'FellowDao seniors' who cling to life might guess: If the mountain does not come to me, I will not go to the mountain."
His voice swelled with a final, glorious defiance. "If a mountain stands in the way of those who come after, then I shall cut through the mountain for them! This is the sword path of Krogh Hanz!"
"Yunny Hanzwart, heed!," he said, his smile turning radiant, "how about shifu's this one last sword strike?"