Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter 26: Journey through the Misty Mountains

Mist Mountain was once an unnamed barren hill on the outskirts of the imperial capital. About two or three months ago, it became shrouded in thick fog, turning the area into a place rarely visited by people.

From the moment the heavy mist appeared, wild beasts and even monsters were gradually drawn to the vicinity of Mist Mountain, gathering nearby and occasionally causing injuries and deaths.

At first, there were no rare treasures or extraordinary herbs found in Mist Mountain—at best, a few medicinal plants. After all, the mountain was close to the capital and not far from the Sword Palace. If there had been anything truly valuable, it would have long since been discovered.

But for reasons unknown, after the mist spread, people began to find precious spiritual materials in the mountain. As word spread, more and more cultivators ventured into Mist Mountain in search of fortune.

An hour later, the carriage reached the base of the mountain.

Because it was a barren hill, there were no fixed paths. The group of six abandoned their carriage, picked a direction where the fog was slightly thinner, and began their ascent on foot.

As they entered the mountain, the fog grew denser, until eventually, they could only see a radius of about ten feet around them; beyond that, everything was a blur.

Wu Dachuan led the way, holding onto his little dog, Fortune.

“Luckily there are no cliffs here, or who knows how many would fall to their deaths. I’ve been here a few times in the past, so I’m fairly familiar with this place... Ah!”

With a sudden shriek, Wu Dachuan vanished, leaving behind only the silly little dog wagging its tongue.

“Where did he go?”

“He disappeared! Maybe a monster swallowed him! Stay alert!”

The two male disciples in the group turned pale, gripping their swords and watching their surroundings warily.

The female disciple was also badly frightened, her face noticeably pale.

Luo Xiaoyu fanned the thick mist with her hands, bravely attempting to search for their missing companion.

Yun Que calmly walked over to the little dog, not even bothering to draw his sword. He squatted down and called out in the direction where Wu Dachuan vanished:

“How deep is it? Did you fall to your death?”

Soon, Wu Dachuan’s disgruntled voice came from below:

“I’m not dead! Just unlucky, I’ll climb back up!”

Before long, Wu Dachuan reappeared before the group, his face smeared with mud. He spat and said:

“That was a deep gully! I remember there weren’t so many pits around Mist Mountain before. Has the terrain changed?”

Wu Dachuan scratched his head in confusion, feeling that this place was not the barren mountain he once knew, but somewhere unfamiliar.

Yun Que had seen that Wu Dachuan had simply slipped and fallen, so he wasn’t worried.

Now, hearing this, Yun Que pondered aloud:

“Are you sure there wasn’t a gully here before?”

“There might have been, but I don’t remember it being so deep,” Wu Dachuan replied uncertainly. “Maybe I remembered wrong. It was years ago, and I was only here for a stroll—I didn’t pay much attention to the terrain.”

With the danger averted, the group continued their ascent.

Yet unease stirred in Yun Que’s heart.

This Mist Mountain was strange indeed.

The sudden appearance of rare spiritual treasures, the subtly altered landscape—everything hinted at some unknown and sinister secret lurking here.

After a while, the terrain grew noticeably steeper.

The fog thickened further.

“Now we’re truly at the mountain’s base,” Wu Dachuan warned. “What we walked through earlier was just the outskirts. The real danger begins here.”

Woof, woof!

Not long after, little Fortune suddenly darted to the left, leading the group to a large boulder taller than a man. There, the dog sniffed around the stone, its tail wagging excitedly.

Wu Dachuan’s eyes lit up, and he hurried over to search.

“There’s something here!”

After much effort, Wu Dachuan dragged out a round object from behind the rock. As he brushed away dead leaves and mud, he suddenly cried out and flung it away.

It rolled to a stop at their feet—a grotesquely contorted human head!

The deceased was a middle-aged man. From his hair style, he was probably not a Sword Palace disciple. He hadn’t been dead long; the head had not yet begun to rot.

Wu Dachuan cursed his luck, berating the little dog furiously. He had expected treasure, but found a severed head.

The others were equally displeased, finding the discovery ominous and wanting to leave quickly.

Yun Que walked over and examined the head carefully, turning it this way and that. He showed it to the others.

“Senior Brother Wu, take a look. Can you tell how he died?”

Faced with the ghastly head, Wu Dachuan turned green, but forced himself to look. Suddenly, he made a noise of surprise.

“How odd—the wound isn’t from a blade or sword. It looks like...”

He scrutinized the ragged bones at the neck, puzzled by what he saw.

Usually, a severed head meant decapitation by sword or blade, but this was clearly different.

“He was strangled to death,” Yun Que said, pulling a length of emerald vine from the head’s forehead and wrapping it around the exposed neck vertebrae.

Now Wu Dachuan saw it clearly: there was a clean hole through the forehead, as if pierced by a sword, yet the hole’s shape was clearly not from a blade.

“You’re saying he was strangled by a vine?”

Wu Dachuan swallowed hard. Such a bizarre manner of death was something he had never encountered.

“Or perhaps he was strangled and then hung as an ornament,” Yun Que said, tossing the head aside. His sense of unease deepened.

Changing terrain, a grotesque severed head, a chilling fog—every sign pointed to something unnatural about Mist Mountain.

Just as they prepared to continue, a tiger’s roar echoed nearby.

With a rustle of leaves, a huge, broad-shouldered tiger stepped from the mist, its body covered in fine scales, appearing on their left.

Moments later, a piercing wolf howl sounded.

A giant gray wolf, as tall as a person and with two long tails and fangs like knives, emerged from their right.

These two beasts were not only much larger than normal animals, but their forms were distinctly unnatural—the tiger’s scales and the wolf’s twin tails marked them both unmistakably.

Demon beasts!

Wu Dachuan, seasoned by experience, immediately activated his Spirit Overflow Ring, his longsword flaring with sword energy.

The other two male disciples and the female disciple were also quick to draw their swords, ready for battle.

Yet as they saw the two demon beasts closing in, all four cried out in alarm.

“Scalearmor Tiger!”

“Twin-tailed Demon Wolf!”

“The two hardest demon beasts to deal with among the first rank!”

“We’re doomed! Forget finding anything today, we’ll be lucky to escape with our lives.”

Wu Dachuan’s round face twisted with fear, and his legs began to tremble.

The names of the Scalearmor Tiger and Twin-tailed Demon Wolf were well-known among the Sword Palace disciples. They were the fiercest first-rank demon beasts in the Yan Kingdom—either one alone could hold its own against a mid-stage Qi Refining cultivator.

Even with all four disciples together, they could barely hope to fend off one, let alone kill it.

Now, with two at once, who wouldn’t be terrified?

Yun Que had already drawn his Thunderseal Sword, his sights set on the Twin-tailed Demon Wolf.

He planned to take down the wolf first, leaving Wu Dachuan’s group to hold off the tiger. If they could defeat one, the tide would turn.

Just as battle was about to erupt, two streaks of sword light flashed overhead—figures in the garb of Sword Palace disciples.

Wu Dachuan, overjoyed, shouted for help at the top of his lungs.

“Senior brothers, help! Please, help us!”

The two sword-riders landed on a boulder above, looking down with an air of nobility.

They were both Sword Palace male disciples.

One had loose, long hair and a rugged, cold demeanor; the other had narrow eyes and was quite young.

Yun Que didn’t recognize the man with long hair, but the narrow-eyed youth was deeply familiar. He was the very one who had once declared in the capital’s main street, “When a Sword Scion walks the street, lords and nobles make way”—the Fifth Sword Scion of the Eastern Academy, Xuan Wenyuan.

“That’s the First Sword Scion of the Eastern Academy! We’re saved!” Wu Dachuan exclaimed, quickly recognizing the renowned long-haired young man. The others breathed sighs of relief.

With a Sword Scion present, slaying two first-rank demon beasts would be a breeze.

Just then, Xuan Wenyuan saw Yun Que. A sly smile curled his lips, and he said in a strange tone:

“Senior brother, you go ahead. Let me ‘help’ them properly.”

He emphasized the word “help” with biting intent.