touchnovel Chapter 21 Sword Servant Inheritance
Chapter 21 Sword Servant Inheritance
After Liu Yuan's figure disappeared into the gray mist, Ling Chen did not leave the Ancient Sword Platform immediately.
He stood there for a moment, calming his surging blood and qi. The Severing Thoughts Sword lay horizontally on his lap, its cracks silently absorbing his chaotic spiritual power, like a young beast that had just awakened after a long hibernation, greedily and cautiously sipping its first mouthful of milk.
"He said there are five days left in the trial," Ling Chen said to Elder Mo in his heart. "Within five days, I must find the legacy left by the sword servant in the sword tomb."
"It's not 'found'." Old Mo's tone was unexpectedly calm. "You've already obtained it."
Ling Chen looked down at the Broken Thought Sword on his lap. The sword was pitch black, with cracks like a spider web, and the character "念" (nian, meaning thought/reflection) on the tassel had faded to the point of being almost invisible.
"Is severing attachment the same as passing on the torch?"
"The key is the sword. The true inheritance lies within it," Elder Mo said slowly. "Before the sword servant perished, she sealed all her life's knowledge into the Sword of Severing Thoughts. She didn't leave you a cave to search for; she wanted you to hold this sword in your own hands. Holding the sword is like holding her hand. What you need to do now is not to search for any relics, but to calm your mind and let the Sword of Severing Thoughts guide you through her memories."
Ling Chen remained silent for a long time.
What was she like back then?
"...See for yourself. What she left for you is more real than what I told you."
Ling Chen found a secluded cave, set up a simple concealment spell at the entrance, and then sat down cross-legged. He placed the Severing Thoughts Sword horizontally on his lap, gently pressed his hands against the blade, and slowly channeled his consciousness into the sword.
At first, it was all darkness.
It wasn't the gloomy, misty atmosphere of a sword tomb, but absolute, utter darkness devoid of any light. Then, a ray of light pierced the darkness—not sunlight, but the gleam of a sword. A long, pure silver sword flashed through the darkness, its blade casting a blurry reflection of a young girl. The girl's eyes were large and bright; when she smiled, the entire scene seemed to tremble. Her voice came from all directions, clear and innocent, each word like freshly melted snow.
"Your Excellency, what is this move called?"
The images began to shift. Scene after scene flashed through Ling Chen's consciousness like a revolving lantern.
Act One – Becoming an Apprentice.
The young girl knelt before the Celestial Venerable's throne, her hands raised above her head, holding a longsword taller than herself. The sword was too heavy; her arms trembled, but her eyes remained defiant. Some around laughed, saying the Celestial Venerable had taken on a disciple who couldn't even lift a sword. The girl ignored them, only gritting her teeth and raising the sword even higher. The Celestial Venerable asked her why she wanted to learn swordsmanship. She said it was because good people were always bullied by bad people, and she wanted a world where good people could win. The Celestial Venerable was silent for a long time, then said the path would be arduous. The girl said she wasn't afraid of hardship, only of not being strong enough.
Act Two – Forging the Sword.
The young girl sat before the forge, her face and head covered in soot. The iron burning in the furnace wasn't ordinary iron; it was a piece of meteorite iron brought back from the divine realm by the Celestial Venerable. The meteorite iron had been burning in the furnace for forty-nine days, and she had guarded it for forty-nine days, dozing off against the furnace wall when tired, then continuing to pump the bellows when she woke. Others forged swords for sharpness; she forged hers to protect its master. With each hammer blow, she infused the iron with her life essence. After it was forged, the sword was entirely black, without a trace of light. The Celestial Venerable said, "This sword is too dark." She replied, "Darkness conceals its sharpness." Then she smiled. The name "Severing Thoughts" was one she chose herself, meaning to sever worldly attachments and protect the Celestial Venerable's eternal peace.
Act Three – Battlefield.
The sky cracked. Demonic energy poured down from the fissure like a waterfall cascading from the heavens. Countless figures plummeted from the sky, sword light mingling with demonic energy, screams swallowed by the roar of explosions. The girl rose from the pool of blood, the blood on her sword robe indistinguishable between her own and her enemy's. The Blade of Severance was covered in cracks, old wounds inflicted during her battle with the Shadow Demon General under the Demon Lord. She glanced down at the cracks on the sword, simply saying, "It's nothing," before charging back into the enemy ranks. Her sword was neither fast, nor ruthless, nor flashy, but every strike blocked the Heavenly Venerable's path. She blocked the surging demonic energy, she blocked the Demon General's surprise attack, and when the Demon Lord's attack was meant for the Heavenly Venerable's soul—she sacrificed her own life essence, taking a half-step to block the blow. The Blade of Severance pierced the Demon Lord's right arm, the backlash of demonic energy sending her flying backward. She tumbled several times on the ground, then staggered to her feet, using her broken will to support herself. Blood streamed from her mouth, yet she still smiled and said, "Your Majesty, this time, I stopped him."
Act Four – Farewell.
She knelt before the Conferred God Platform, holding Duan Nian in her hands. She could feel her vital essence rapidly draining away; her life was already counting down. She didn't cry. Instead, she channeled her last vital essence into the sword, transforming it into a protective seal, and sent Duan Nian into the void. Then, kneeling on the Conferred God Platform, she used her now-transparent fingertips to write the final word in the void, watching as the remnant soul of the Celestial Venerable and the Myriad Paths Returning to Nothingness Diagram plummeted towards the lower realm, and peacefully closed her eyes.
The image slowly faded away.
In the darkness, the young woman's figure reappeared. She stood before Ling Chen, wearing the faded white sword robe, gazing at him across three thousand years of time.
"You've finally come," she said, her voice as clear as melting snow.
Ling Chen stood there, his throat feeling as if something was blocking it. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't utter a single word.
"Don't be sad. I didn't die, I just exist in a different form."
"The Sword Servant has no reincarnation." Old Mo's voice echoed from the darkness, aged and sorrowful. "When she fell, her life essence was completely exhausted, and her soul had no power to support reincarnation. Therefore, the Sword of Severing Thoughts is not an ordinary sword—it contains a wisp of her life sword spirit. This is why only the Sword of Severing Thoughts can bear her complete legacy. To inherit her sword path is to bear her karma. If you follow this path to the end, you may face the same choice as in the war between gods and demons."
"I know," Ling Chen said.
Are you sure you want to answer?
Ling Chen looked down at the Broken Heart Sword on his lap. The old wounds on the blade resembled a spiderweb, yet they couldn't conceal the faint light emanating from it. He recalled Meng Hu's unfinished words before his death, and how Broken Heart, rather than allow itself to deepen its cracks, shielded him from the fatal blow when Liu Yuan's corrosive sword intent struck. For ten thousand years, he owed too many people—the Sword Servant risked his life for a chance at reincarnation, Su Qingyuan abandoned the Central Plains Immortal Sect to clear away his pursuers, and now Broken Heart had taken the sword for him. He didn't know if he could bear the weight of the Heavenly Venerable title, but he knew one thing—he had to become stronger. Strong enough that next time, it wouldn't be others taking the sword for him, but him standing before everyone else.
"I'll take it."
The sword attendant smiled slightly. She raised her hand, and the instant her fingertips touched Ling Chen's brow, the entire dark space exploded into countless points of light. These points of light surged into Ling Chen's consciousness like living beings; each point was a sword move, a piece of sword insight, a wisp of sword intent. These sword moves weren't simply forced into his memory—they were alive, carrying the emotions and obsessions of their creator. When all the points of light had merged, Ling Chen saw the name of the final sword move.
She named it "Guinian" (归念), meaning "to return to one's thoughts" or "to sever all ties."
Above the Sword Tomb, a black sword aura pierced through the clouds. The aura held no killing intent, yet its vastness was enough to bring tears to one's eyes. It was like a farewell letter to the mortal world, or a letter finally delivered after three thousand years. As the sword aura soared into the sky, the countless ancient swords within the Sword Tomb cried out in unison. Their blades bowed low, section by section, towards the direction from which the black sword aura rose—not to acknowledge a master, but to bid farewell to a friend they had waited three thousand years for.
The sword servant's phantom raised its hand one last time, gently stroking Ling Chen's head.
"From now on, Duan Nian and you will walk the rest of the road for me."
Ling Chen opened his eyes. The cracks on the Broken Heart Sword were still there, but a faint golden light was now emanating from the depths of the cracks. That light was not enough to repair all the damage, but it was enough to temporarily stabilize the core of the sword's spine. According to Elder Mo's estimate, this initial awakening power could last for about ten days, and the Broken Heart Sword would not collapse further within those ten days.
"Is that enough?" Ling Chen asked.
"...Ten days is enough for you to reach Liu Yuan." Old Mo was silent for a moment, then his tone softened for once. "You are indeed the person she has been waiting for. It's not because she chose the Heavenly Venerable—it's because when she forged the Broken Thoughts sword, Burning Heaven laughed at her for being too dull, and Frost Condensation advised her to change the material. Only the Heavenly Venerable said nothing and added fuel to the fire in her forging furnace."
Ling Chen recalled the furnace in his hallucination, now reduced to ashes, and the charcoal ash on her face.
"Elder Mo, who took care of the sword servant's funeral arrangements?"
"No one." Old Mo's voice became very low. "After her fall, her body turned into the foundation stone of the Conferred God Platform, and her soul scattered into the void. All that remains in the world is Duan Nian and the wisp of sword intent that has not yet dissipated within the foundation stone of the Conferred God Platform. There is no monument, no inscription."
Ling Chen gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.
"Then let's use this sword to erect a monument for her."
He rose from the cave, brushed the dust off his robes, and slid the broken sword, Duan Nian, into its simple sheath at his waist. The moment the cave's entrance barrier was lifted, dozens of gazes were cast upon him from all directions. With only one day left in the Sword Tomb Trial, Ling Chen appeared outside the Ancient Sword Platform. He carried a black longsword on his back, surrounded by eight protective swords that hovered around him. All the disciples still searching for opportunities within the Sword Tomb witnessed this scene.
Xiao Lie, clutching his newly acquired Crimson Flame Sword, nearly dropped his jaw: "...Why do I feel like he went to a different Sword Tomb than everyone else?"
No one answered him.
Ling Chen ignored those gazes. He looked up into the depths of the gray mist, where a faint, almost imperceptible, demonic aura emanated. Liu Yuan was still in the Sword Tomb. And the sword, Severing Thoughts, in his hand was trembling gently in its sheath.
It's not fear.
It is the fighting spirit that has been waiting for three thousand years.