Devoid of Mercy

Never had he experienced such a sensation. It was like stepping from one dream into another. Reality shifted in dizzying kaleidoscopic turns, abrupt and uncanny, yet somehow feeling exactly as it ought to be. Perhaps this too was a dream? Otherwise, why was everything as ephemeral as dream-foam, fleeting and unsettled? In his daze, even his very self felt false; only the sword of Chunjun held in his grip was undeniably real. Through a hell of seemingly boundless flame, he strode across the burning, scorched earth, holding his head high, bathed in a rain of fire that poured like tears, yet feeling neither burning pain nor unease. It was as though... he had returned home. Even the air, thick with ash and brimstone, tasted sweet. Yet was there truly air here? Was he truly breathing? Ji Jue possessed no body whatsoever. At this moment, he merely relied on Chunjun's blessing chain, [Reaching the Sublime], to temporarily detach his soul from his physical flesh, manifesting independently in the guise of a wandering phantom. With his original ability, he could at best roam within a radius of a dozen li, adding another ghost tale to Xinquan's folklore. But now, guided by Chunjun the instant his soul departed his flesh, he had been yanked directly here by an unseen resonance and power. What was more, after plunging deep into the rekindling flame tide, he felt not the slightest friction or discomfort—as if this was where he had always belonged! From one body to another? Yet what was his body now? The Flame Tide Calamity? He was almost amused. Only when he looked down could he see the pitch-black fissure across his chest growing ever clearer. Wisps of flame sprouted from the darkness, echoing the boundless fire outside. Urging him, pushing him, beseeching him... To bring an end to everything before him! "P-Please... please kill me..." A blurry, ash-like figure prostrated on the scorched earth, squirming and struggling, humbly entreating like a believer in hell in audience before a deity: "I beg of you... I beg of you..." It wailed in a hoarse, sorrowful cry, along with countless souls imprisoned within the blazing fire: "...Have mercy." "..." Ji Jue fell silent and closed his eyes. He said, "I'm sorry." *Mercy is something I don't possess.* In that instant, he inverted Chunjun and thrust it down! *Crack!* The ash shadow ruptured on impact and burst apart. A few sparks rose and drifted into the fissure on Ji Jue's chest. Instantly, within the Hole, that faint flicker of fire rose once more. Like a seed sprouting. And so, amid the countless wails, one voice was abruptly cut short, leaving behind only a soft sigh mingling sorrow and joy, like gratitude. *Thank you.* Ji Jue walked forward impassively, deaf to it all. He strode toward the next skeleton engulfed in flame, swung his arm, and severed the skull. The second. It was as though someone was saying, *Thank you.* Unmoved, Ji Jue raised Chunjun once more, swinging and slashing! Pristine light sprouted from his soul, circulating and condensing into a blade of spiritus more tangible than physical matter—the power of Chunjun manifested. Under the transformation of Ascension, will and resolve merged with spiritus, forged into a weapon! As the Nine Forms said: *This is the strength of myriad forces, breaking the hard and severing the resilient!* The instant that dazzling blade cleaved downward, the raging crimson flame tide was split clean in two. Ravines gouged into the scorched earth. Skeletal forms emerged from the embers, only to be smashed into fragments and thoroughly annihilated beneath brutal slashes and sweeps! Ji Jue raised his left hand, his soul grasping empty air, and instantly, another brilliant blade of spiritus took form. Naming through the blade, unity of self and object. Now, he was Chunjun. Ji Jue's spiritus blades were Chunjun's blades—how could they be constrained by mere numbers? And that was not all! With a shift of Ji Jue's thought, a sheath of crimson wrapped around the blade of Chunjun! Nine Forms: Pan Ying! The mutual excitation of sword and man was a crucial facet of the Nine Forms. During the swordsmith's tempering of Pan Ying with spiritus, its sinister malice had been gradually subjugated and suppressed, while its ferocity seeped into Ji Jue's spiritus, bringing about a qualitative transformation. Now, the spiritus sword—shifting at will under Chunjun's control, extending or contracting as desired, alternating between void and solid—was infused with an added layer of ferocious frenzy! Adding wings to a tiger! "Rest easy... I will kill all of you by any means necessary!" And so, amid the ceaseless crying, he pushed forward once more. Wielding the feral swordsmanship imparted by Pan Ying, he swung without restraint, shredding every remnant soul in sight. Step by step, he advanced deeper into the tide. Vanishing from sight. Only the once-dormant flame tide swelled, raging and churning ceaselessly! Down in the darkness beneath the deep sea, countless cold ashes boiled alongside the seawater. The crimson flame tide, bound and imprisoned within the containment seals, began to swell violently. Erupting out of control like a volcano! Under immense pressure from all directions, the chains formed of the Law of Tianyuan thrashed wildly, spiderwebbed with cracks, and one after another detached from the flame tide... As if the nails pinning it in place had been wrenched out by someone! In just a few short minutes, the moment the eleventh Law of Tianyuan broke free, a shocking breach tore open within the formerly airtight net. Flames erupted, converging into a single beam that breached the crushing pressure and layered barriers of the deep sea. Accompanied by countless eerie sounds akin to weeping and laughter, it surged into the sky. Illuminating ten thousand li! Even in this supremely remote and obscure stretch of the Sea of Hesitation, shrouded by layered illusions that disguised everything as mirages, who could guarantee that no one would notice such a startling spectacle? Beneath the storm-tossed waves above, inside an uncanny, colossal vessel suspended in the ocean depths, utter chaos had already erupted. Inside a massive control room dense with intricate secret rites, pandemonium reigned. "What is going on?!" "Wasn't everything fine just moments ago?" "The Seed of the Flame Tide has inexplicably begun to run rampant... The Shadow of the Tower is too far from the mortal world to suppress it any longer!" "Useless! Incompetents! A bunch of good-for-nothings, the lot of you!" The pale-faced director roared in fury, but hurried footsteps sounded immediately after. The doors were flung open, and a crowd rushed in one after another. At the head of the group was a gaunt man with ghostly pale skin, seemingly frail enough to be blown away by a breeze. Yet when his uncanny double pupils swept over the room, the entire control chamber fell into dead silence. Countless people dropped to the floor in terror, prostrating and kowtowing. Trembling, the director bent into a bow. "Duke Wuyou! The sit—" *Boom!* Duke Wuyou flicked his fingers. An invisible, crushing pressure abruptly erupted, slamming the director to the floor in an instant, pinning him paralyzed and nearly suffocating. Sounds of bones fracturing echoed continuously, like torture. Watching their direct superior meet such disaster, his subordinates had no room for schadenfreude; cold sweat drenched every one of them. "A bunch of useless trash. I expended so much effort gathering the Four Departments and Six Sects here to achieve this grand endeavor, yet after all this time, you can't even breach the Border Realm of a single sacrificial temple!" Duke Wuyou's wrath surged as he demanded coldly, "And now even the flame tide is spiraling out of control. How on earth do you handle your duties?!" "It's not our fault, Duke Wuyou! Please, see the truth, Duke Wuyou!" The director wailed and pleaded, gasping for breath under the crushing weight. Driven desperate by impending death, he blurted recklessly, "I—I know! It must be the Sower, that vile fiend, harboring treachery! It has to be him! "The forcibly rekindled Flame Tide Calamity was defective from the start. We could only coax and stimulate it. The Holy Dynasty's sacrificial temple was firmly sealed to begin with—how could brief burning breach it? I... I..." *Bang!* The shrill plea did nothing to improve the situation; if anything, the faces of everyone present darkened further. A cold glint flickered across Duke Wuyou's eyes. In an instant, under the gravitational crushing force, the director was reduced to a pulp of mangled flesh. In the dead silence, no one dared utter another word, all prostrated on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Only Duke Wuyou turned his indifferent gaze to the figure standing half a step behind him. "Shehri, you are Lord Sower's envoy. Do you think what he said is true?" Behind Duke Wuyou, the figure cloaked in white robes—whose face and hands were wrapped in layers of bandage-like shrouds—promptly bowed with deep deference, his voice raspy: "Duke Wuyou, see clearly: my Lord harbors no such intent! "Otherwise, he would not have guided you across thousands of li to this place, nor assigned me to assist the Holy Dynasty's grand enterprise, nor summoned Wulou Temple, the Tianxin Society, and the Wolf Den to aid you... "However, the Flame Tide Calamity is by nature an uncontrollable failure. Before the sin fiend was even born, the Abyss Seed had ceased responding. Any unexpected turn of events is entirely possible. "My Lord's actions were merely meant to add luster and spare you some effort. How could he harbor ill intentions?" *Besides, without the Flame Tide Calamity, what else could you have used to pry open the sacrificial temple's gates?!* *Rely on your damaged Chixiao, which loses power with every single use?* *Heh, as if Chixiao is even in your hands!* Of course, those latter words were thoughts Shehri kept strictly to himself. Glancing at the pillar of fire outside the viewing window that pierced between heaven and earth, he dared not delay further and cautioned: "Duke Wuyou, time is running short. Our only recourse now is to increase the living sacrifices!" Beside them, another person's expression changed drastically. "Duke Wuyou, you cannot! We have few living sacrifices left. If we squander too many now, how will we make offerings to the late Emperor once we enter the sacrificial temple?" "Silence!" Duke Wuyou rebuked coldly without expression. "If this continues, who knows how many onlookers will be drawn here? How long can a mirage conceal this? "The great plan to restore the Holy Dynasty, planned through over a decade of painstaking labor, must not collapse in a single day! Would you have me humble myself and bow to that brat Changle?!" "Men! Throw in another four thousand living sacrifices!" He stared fixedly at the torrent of flame rising from the deep sea, an ashen tinge creeping onto his pale face, his hands clenched tightly behind his back under his robes. *That bastard Sower...!* He had paid such a steep price, even surrendering one of the exalted seats of the Three Heavens, only to trade it for such a defective piece of trash?! There was no time to care about that now, nor could he afford to break ties with these dogs just yet. The pressing matter at hand was to breach the gates of the sacrificial temple in one fell swoop!