Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter 45: The Second Sword Soul

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The long night stretched on, with the bright moon hanging high above.

In the small house of the northern courtyard, Yun Que's figure was bathed in the pale moonlight, sitting cross-legged on the couch, motionless.

Within his sea of consciousness, beside the River of Swords.

Yun Que, mirroring his physical posture, sat quietly at the riverbank, gazing at the pitch-black, winding waters.

In the distance, the massive body of the Blind Serpent was coiled defensively, on guard for any burst of sword energy.

Tonight, the Blind Serpent was acting strangely—the one who usually practiced his swordsmanship throughout the entire night was now uncharacteristically quiet.

Had the boy run out of strength?

Or was it that he, the target, was no longer of use?

At this thought, the Blind Serpent shuddered, fixing its nonexistent eyes upon the black-robed man suspended in midair.

To the serpent, Yun Que's spirit was of little consequence—a mere youth at the Qi Refinement stage, easily devoured with a single gulp at its level.

What it truly feared was the void clad in black, the enigmatic Sword Spirits, and the terrifying River of Swords of the Forgotten Chuan.

Amid the roaring waves, the Blind Serpent's enormous body shrank back ever so slightly.

"Uncle Wang, does every Sword Spirit have its own past?"

Yun Que gazed silently at the countless Sword Spirits rising and falling in the river, speaking as if answering his own question rather than seeking an answer: "Like meteors in the sky—one flash, and they're gone."

The first Sword Spirit, the youth, had made him feel the brevity of life.

A hint of confusion appeared in Yun Que’s eyes as he murmured, "Why do these Sword Spirits exist here? Where are they headed? I can sense their obsessions, but I do not know what it is they cling to."

The black robe fluttered in the air as Void’s voice drifted down: "As birds follow the phoenix and beasts follow the dragon, these Sword Spirits gather here, drawn by the power of sword intent."

"The Nine Tribulations Sword, Uncle Wang's sword intent?" Yun Que asked.

"Sword intent does not come from the sword itself, but from the one who wields it," Void replied, his words cryptic, though Yun Que understood at once.

"The Azure Cloud Sword Immortal... It was our ancestor’s sword intent that attracted the world’s sword souls, thus forming this River of Swords," Yun Que said, though the confusion remained in his eyes. He understood how the river was formed, but not the obsessions of the Sword Spirits.

"A sword is born in flame, quenched in cold water, beaten and tempered countless times before taking shape. It slays foes in blood-soaked battles, flashes its blade beneath heaven and earth, and finally breaks upon the battlefield. Such is the life of a sword."

Void's voice was low and heavy, laden with a sense of ancient sorrow.

"The life of a sword…" Yun Que fell into deep contemplation, wordless for a long time, immersed in the eternal night before enlightenment.

As if seeing through Yun Que’s state, Void whispered softly, "A sword is a fierce thing by nature, born to kill. They are natural warriors, fated to die on the battlefield. So long as they do not rust away in their scabbards, what does it matter if they are shattered to pieces?"

Though Void’s voice was subdued, it carried a soaring sharpness that stirred the soul.

"To rust away in the scabbard is the greatest disgrace… I understand now, Uncle Wang."

Yun Que slowly rose, standing by the River of Swords, and raised his right hand toward the river, declaring with proud resolve, "My way of the sword is to press ever forward!"

A thunderous roar erupted!

Countless dark shadows undulated in the river as sword intent surged forth!

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It was a resonance.

A resonance with Yun Que’s sword intent.

In this moment, all lingering regret over the disappearance of the first Sword Spirit, the youth, melted away. His heart was now free of distractions; only pure sword intent remained, gathering to a point.

He raised two fingers together and pointed at the River of Swords.

With a splash, a Sword Spirit was drawn forth by Yun Que, and as it entered his hand, it formed a heavy sword.

The sword’s appearance was exceedingly rough, completely unpolished; it was as if a block of stone had been hewn into the outline of a sword, giving it a wild and rugged feel.

The moment he gripped the heavy sword, Yun Que felt the memories of the Sword Spirit.

He saw the Sword Spirit’s past life.

It was a being running through the forest, with a strong physique and fierce features, twice the size of an ordinary human, able to battle savage beasts.

One day, this being met a formidable foe—a burly black bear.

He fought the bear for a long time, and both were gravely wounded; the bear lost an eye, the being lost an arm.

Now one-armed, he was much weakened and gradually shunned by his tribe, falling from a main hunter to a burdensome mouth often left hungry.

With one hand, he could not even defeat a wolf.

Yet he did not lose heart. He began to cut down trees, fashioning weapons from their trunks, and at last managed to kill a wolf.

But a wooden weapon was no match for a tiger, let alone a black bear.

So he bound stones to the wood, creating a great hammer. With diligent practice, he could crush a tiger’s skull with a single blow.

He trained long and hard and, finally, with his own handmade weapon, slew the black bear that had bitten off his arm.

He regained his tribe’s respect, becoming the strongest one-armed hunter.

Through his bravery, the tribe’s hunting flourished and everyone ate their fill.

Until one day, the tribe faced a monster fiercer than any beast—a demon beast.

The tribe was slaughtered mercilessly, and the wooden hammer in his hand was useless against the demon beast, easily crushed.

Again, he was severely wounded, and the woodland that sustained his tribe was seized by the monster.

Each day, more of his kind starved to death.

The one-armed hunter could only watch helplessly as the corpses of his kin were torn apart by wolves, reduced to piles of white bone.

When his wounds healed, he began searching the forest.

He found a piece of solid green stone, and after much effort, shaped it into a long, flat blade—though not sharp, it was sturdy beyond compare.

With this stone weapon, he pierced the demon beast’s belly, reclaimed the woodland, and died beneath the monster’s claws.

When he died, his hand still gripped the green stone tightly.

That was the weapon he used to protect his tribe, his comrade in battle.

That stone was his sword!

By the River of Swords, Yun Que opened his eyes. The heavy sword dissolved into a streak of light, slipping into his palm, now inseparable from him, linked by thought and spirit.

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This was his second Sword Spirit—the Sword Spirit of the Outland Hunter!

Tonight, Yun Que did not practice swordplay, but his sword intent grew ever purer and sharper.

When dawn broke, Yun Que returned from his sea of consciousness, immediately catching the scent of brewing medicine.

Opening the door, he saw Luo Xiaoyu had set up a small medicinal stove in the courtyard, simmering some kind of herbal decoction.

Seeing Yun Que step outside, Luo Xiaoyu quickly filled a small bowl and brought it over.

“Good morning, Brother Yun! Have some medicine!” she said expectantly.

“I’m not ill. I don’t need any medicine,” Yun Que replied, puzzled.

“You do!” Luo Xiaoyu insisted. “This is a soothing tonic, made with five kinds of herbs. I had nightmares all night about tree demons chasing me. I’m sure you didn’t sleep well either. This will help a lot.”

Faced with his stubborn junior sister, Yun Que couldn’t refuse, so he took the bowl and sipped it symbolically.

So bitter...

He almost spat it out.

Just then, Wu Dachuan appeared, holding the puppy Lucky, looking excited. Before he could speak, Yun Que grabbed him and pulled him over.

“Haven’t slept well? Here’s some excellent calming medicine, personally prepared by Sister Luo. Drink it all.”

Almost by force, Yun Que made sure his own share of the tonic was taken care of.

Wu Dachuan’s face twisted in agony as he clutched his mouth, dry heaving for some time.

“The Swordmaster and the elders have returned—they came back in the middle of the night,” Wu Dachuan announced mysteriously. “The elders talked things over for half the night. This morning, the Elder of the Southern Courtyard flew off toward the imperial city—seems he’s meeting the emperor. Looks like the white bones in the mountain are no simple matter.”

“What about the tree demon? Any news?” Yun Que asked.

“Haven’t heard anything. It must have gotten away—lucky for it! If the Swordmaster had caught up, he’d have slain it for sure!” Wu Dachuan grumbled, itching for revenge himself.

Yun Que wasn’t surprised.

The tree demon had clearly sensed the arrival of experts and had slipped underground to escape. As a result, his nine flying swords would not be retrieved.

As for the bones in the mountain, the royal family was bound to investigate. Only time would tell who would be implicated.

“Are you Yun Que?” A disciple of the northern courtyard hurried over from afar.

“I am. What is it?” Yun Que didn’t recognize him.

“Someone’s looking for you, at the gates of the Sword Palace. The visitor claims to be the steward of the Mu family.”

Yun Que was taken aback at this.

The Marquis of Coldwater was a hot potato, having just offended the emperor and left Eunuch Nan wishing for death.

What could the Mu family want by seeking him out at this time?