Seeking Truth with a Sword-Chapter 701 - 631 Life Lamp
Flames soared into the sky. The raging inferno spread across the Turkic Royal Court, thick smoke billowing from the collapsed ruins and obscuring the sky.
Lian Xuanyao looked down indifferently at the city below. Common people cried and fled, soldiers busied themselves with extinguishing fires, and a group of Cultivators, as if mad, rushed towards a pit that appeared to have been struck by a meteorite.
Along with that very tent, the Turkic High Priest was reduced to ashes.
SWIPE.
Lian Xuanyao ran his left hand over his right arm, peeling away a layer of skin and sinew that had turned to dust. His movement caused the ring finger on his right hand to disintegrate, leaving only two fingers.
Still enough to hold a sword. That will suffice.
He turned, took a step, and vanished from above the Royal Court.
In Northwest Jing Country, at the summer manor of a thousand-year-old noble family.
A white-haired, elderly man dressed in luxurious mink fur held his great-grandson, a boy of about five or six, as they sat in a courtyard pavilion. Tea cups were already arranged on the stone table before them.
WHISK.
A breeze lifted a corner of the pavilion’s silk curtain, and Lian Xuanyao’s figure materialized out of thin air.
"You’ve arrived."
The Jing Country elder’s gaze lingered for a moment on Lian Xuanyao’s sword hand, which now had only two fingers. "Please, sit."
Lian Xuanyao slowly sat down, placing his bloodstained Longsword on the jade-carved table.
"We’ve known each other for over seventy years now, haven’t we?"
The elder in mink fur lifted his teacup and said earnestly, "Must we fight?"
"..."
The elder before him was a dear friend of many years. In their youth, they had roamed the Jianghu together, defeating demons and exorcising Demons. He was likely the last friend Lian Xuanyao had among his contemporaries.
After a moment of silence, Lian Xuanyao said, "You are a Candle Cloud High Stage."
"I’m not the only one at the Candle Cloud High Stage. Besides, we’re the same age; I’m as old as you."
The elder coughed lightly. He placed his bewildered great-grandson on an adjacent chair, then took a handkerchief from his robes to wipe the child’s runny nose.
Lian Xuanyao remained unmoved. "You are the most likely to achieve a breakthrough."
"..."
The elder paused, a bitter expression on his face. He raised his hand and said solemnly, "I, Zhao, can swear on the lives of my entire clan: even if I were to break through to the Near-Cliff Realm, I would never bring harm to Yu Country. Should I violate this vow, may Haotian strike me down with divine punishment! May my entire clan be obliterated by five thunderbolts, never to find salvation!"
His tone was resolute, his voice echoing across the courtyard. The sound startled a flock of birds from their roost in the nearby pine forest, and they took flight in unison.
"It’s useless."
Lian Xuanyao shook his head. He also picked up his teacup and gestured towards the courtyard wall—the direction where a group of Zhao Family Cultivators were hiding. "Even if you are willing to abide by that oath, your sons and daughters, your grandchildren, your Disciples, and your descendants will push you to act. We both know this."
The brocade-clad elder asked, his voice laced with unwillingness, "Is there no room for negotiation?"
Lian Xuanyao answered with silence.
"Lian Xuanyao, you heartless, treacherous madman!"
Finally losing his composure, the brocade-clad elder shot to his feet, violently flipping the jade table. He roared, "I’ve known you for seventy-three years! That year at the ruins of the Blue Ring Sect, we were trapped for months in a secret desert realm. When our group was at wit’s end, completely out of resources, it was I who gave you the last vial of water! Only then did you comprehend that Sword Intent! To be placed in a field of death and then be reborn! It was also I who carried you—poisoned and immobile—on my back, breaking into the Lihua Valley secret realm to find a Detoxification Elixir..."
The elder, overcome with emotion, continued to roar, recounting one past event after another. He even dredged up old, trivial matters, like the time they had both fallen for the same young woman but, constrained by their friendship, neither had made a move.
Lian Xuanyao remained seated, listening to his friend’s furious tirade. Then, he suddenly stood up. "Enough."
"Not enough!" the brocade-clad elder fumed. "We have a life-and-death bond! We’ve saved each other’s lives countless times! And now, because of a possibility—merely a possibility—you’ve come to take my life? Is that reasonable?"
"The time... is up," Lian Xuanyao stated, his two remaining fingers closing around his sword hilt, his voice devoid of sorrow or joy.
The brocade-clad elder froze, instantly understanding the meaning behind those words. Lian Xuanyao was deeply afflicted by the Heavenly Person Five Decays; his Divine Soul could shatter at any moment. He intended to eliminate all threats to Yu Country before his own demise, which meant he had allotted only a brief period for dealing with each power.
Seventy-three years of friendship, worth only the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦
The brocade-clad elder’s beard and hair trembled slightly. He took a deep breath, accepted reality, and with a wave of his hand, summoned a gentle breeze. The breeze carried his great-grandson to the edge of the courtyard wall, reuniting the boy with his anxious parents.
"...Come, then."
The brocade-clad elder spread his palm. A deep blue ice crystal formed in its center, exuding a chilling Frozen Air. It was just as it had been in their youth, when two boys met and sparred on the border of the South Wilderness—a rivalry that had forged an unbreakable friendship.
Lian Xuanyao raised his sword hilt and drew his blade.
Chang’an Time, thirty-seven and a half minutes past five in the afternoon. A reclusive Cultivator of the Zhao surname from Jing Country fell to the Sword.
Beneath Taihao Mountain lay a vast, empty palace.
No throne graced the hall. Instead, four rows of candlesticks were arrayed on either side.
Each candle—thick or thin, long or short, red or white—had a name inscribed beneath it. Among them were notable figures such as Ashide Keluo, the new Khan of the Turkic, and Bian Yubo, the Judgement Priest of Taihao Mountain.
This was the Fate Room, where the life lamps of worldly experts closely connected to Taihao Mountain were kept. A lamp flickering or extinguishing signified that its owner was in mortal danger.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
A young scribe in a white robe, his brow drenched in sweat, clutched a register as he hurried between the candlesticks, recording the deaths. He folded the paper slips bearing these messages and cast them into the talisman array in the center of the hall, thereby dispatching the news to the important figures on the surface.
In the brief span of the past an hour, one after another, the life lamps representing worldly experts extinguished, leaving the young scribe utterly panicked and oblivious to the unfolding events. He had not set foot outside this palace for nearly ten years, just like his master before him; they were born here, and here they would die.
WHOOSH!
Another life lamp went out. The scribe turned his head, his eyes wide with alarm.
He recognized that life lamp.
Taihao Mountain’s Guardian Priest...
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
A succession of life lamps extinguished, the flames symbolizing Taihao Mountain’s own people consumed by darkness.
Simultaneously, the palace began to tremble. Its supporting beams and pillars creaked, and dust rained down from the ceiling.
On the surface, an unprecedented battle was raging.
The scribe shivered. The life lamps were extinguishing faster than he could write, and the disappearance of each familiar name brought a cold sweat to his brow.
BOOM!
The palace shook violently. Rows of candelabra swayed and toppled, and wax from the supposedly ever-burning candles spilled across the floor.
With the life lamps extinguished, his duties were interrupted. After a moment’s hesitation, the scribe decisively rushed towards the back of the main hall. He clambered up the ascending passage that led to the surface.
Dust filled the air, obscuring the scene. He could barely discern two figures in the sky, clashing and then separating in an instant. Meanwhile, the summit of the cloud-piercing mountain was sliced off along an incredibly smooth plane, slowly tipping and then cascading downwards.
The scribe’s pupils contracted violently. He recognized both figures.
The figure still suspended high in the sky was the Academic Palace Master. The other, who had crashed into the mountainside and was now vomiting copious amounts of blood, was... the Haotian Sect Leader.
Lian Xuanyao looked down upon the Haotian Sect Leader and the four cardinals, his indifferent voice echoing through the heavens. "You’ve always wanted to force my hand, haven’t you? Now you have witnessed it. I care not how strong your faith in Haotian is, nor how many you wish to take with you to the grave. I have only one demand. Get out of Yu Country."
