Chapter 155: Fifty Years of Seeking the Dao Realized Today, a Single Sword Can Transform into the Milky Way

The sky darkened abruptly, becoming pitch black, yet four places remained clearly visible.

A jet-black brush stood out strangely in the dark, enveloped in a shimmering white glow. Directly below it was the River of Blood, its crimson light glaring and the air heavy with a sickening stench of blood. Within the bloody waves, blood-corpses roared—all living beings previously swallowed whole by the River of Blood.

Two figures stood quietly upon the earth: Xuan Ming and Nan Luo. Xuan Ming was wreathed in rising, chilling mist accompanied by an unfathomable radiance, which made her look even more cold and fierce in the darkness. She was not looking at the sky, but staring intently at Nan Luo with an expressionless face, her thoughts unreadable.

Nan Luo merely raised his head, his brow slightly furrowed. Amidst this endless darkness, he too was wrapped in a faint, clear glow that was both soft and distinct.

Looking up, there was no sky to be seen, only boundless darkness. Crackling through the darkness was terrifying lightning, resembling fierce, violent electric snakes eager to devour anyone.

A succession of electrical sparks flashed, rendering this space even more terrifying, as if demons had broken free and the apocalypse had arrived.

"I was born alongside heaven and earth, immortal and indestructible. My will is the will of heaven and earth..."

A rigid, vast voice echoed from within the clouds. Hearing it immediately brought to mind Shebi's stiff, cyan-faced visage. This person was naturally the Ancestral Witch Shebi. While others had simply seen him engulfed by the Heavenly River transformed by the Qingyan Sword and assumed he must have been killed, Nan Luo knew very well that Shebi was completely unharmed. It was just that his physical body, capable of withstanding supreme innate spiritual treasures, had been instantly blasted into dust by the Heavenly River formed by the Qingyan Sword.

Earlier, a single slash of the Qingyan Sword had multiplied into a thousand threads, slicing away all the flesh on one of Shebi's arms while failing to harm his bones. Afterward, the sword had transformed into a heavenly river falling from the nine heavens, instantly submerging Shebi entirely. Yet, Nan Luo knew better than anyone that it was Shebi who controlled this realm at this very moment.

Perhaps the prevailing impression of the Wu clan among most beings in the primordial world was that every member above the rank of Great Witch possessed earth-shattering combat prowess and was unstoppable. Furthermore, everyone knew that the Wu clan cultivated physical essence, boasting formidable bodies that, at their peak, could rival innate spiritual treasures.

Some had even witnessed an Ancestral Witch destroying an opponent, along with their magic treasure, with a single punch. Consequently, many believed the Wu clan relied primarily on physical might, unaware that while physical strength was indeed one aspect of their cultivation, stepping into the Dao realm required comprehending the fundamental laws of heaven and earth, regardless of whether one followed the practices of the Wu, the demons, or the Daoists. To enter the Dao realm, one had to thoroughly understand at least one Great Dao—a requirement inescapable by any cultivation method.

As Shebi’s voice—sounding as though it represented the very will of heaven and earth—resounded, the Samsara Brush inscribed a vast, archaic character before pulling back and fleeing beyond the clouds of the nine heavens. In the River of Blood, the blood-corpses roared, charging atop the crests to shatter that archaic character, attempting to break through the void and escape as well.

At that exact moment, Shebi's rigid, icy voice rang out once more from the dark clouds: "Wind... rise..."

The void birthed a wind, originating from nowhere, existing somewhere between the tangible and the intangible...

Just a moment ago, the space had been filled with the terrifying crack of lightning, the churning of bloody waves, and the roars of blood-corpses. Yet the instant those words—"Wind rise"—were spoken, the noise vanished without a trace, and heaven and earth fell silent. It was a bizarre, absolute silence, devoid of the slightest sound.

In that very fraction of a second, the bloody waves were still churning, and the blood-corpses were still roaring in Nan Luo's sight, yet not a single sound reached his ears. Nan Luo's brow furrowed slightly; he knew this must be one of Shebi's supreme spells, though he could not fully fathom it. Hearing him summon the "wind," he felt only a faint breeze, sensing no immediate danger. These thoughts flashed through Nan Luo's mind in the span of a single heartbeat...

Yet, after that fleeting moment, the River of Blood in his vision seemed blurred, as if trying to flee but bound by an unseen force. Meanwhile, the multicolored butterfly transformed by Bei Ling within the bloody waves seemed eager to fly toward his side, only to be held firmly back within the river, unable to break free.

A thought stirred in Nan Luo, and he prepared to dash toward the River of Blood. As he moved his foot, a sudden, overwhelming terror gripped his heart. Looking down, he discovered to his shock that his body had somehow already been reduced to a skeleton. The Cangtian-Yingyue-Yufeng robe gifted by the master of Wuzhuang Temple had long since vanished, and his flesh was still dissolving away beneath the gentle breeze. Under the caress of the wind, his body drifted away like dust, yet he felt no pain whatsoever.

Had an observer watched Nan Luo from the very beginning, they would have seen his garments slowly disintegrate into nothingness the moment the wind arose... Following that, his skin and flesh began to melt away, quickly exposing glistening white bones, with his internal organs vaguely visible. Not only his body, but even his skull had been stripped of flesh, the cheeks vanishing entirely.

A faint five-colored mist suddenly materialized around Nan Luo. Drifting in the gentle breeze, the multicolored vapor struggled, unable to cohere. Only then did he realize why Bei Ling had appeared eager to fly toward him—she must have seen him falling into deadly peril without his own awareness. Raising a skeletal hand, he swept it across the void to generate a wisp of five-colored cloud. Yet beneath the breeze, it instantly thinned and vanished...

The five-colored mist, which should have obeyed his will instantly, now yielded only a pathetic wisp despite his hand forming incantations, and it dispersed with the wind before it could hold its form. Terror gripped Nan Luo's heart. He chanted the grand Daoist incantations, desperately trying to summon the multicolored mist to protect himself, but found the task agonizingly difficult. He felt that the five elemental energies of heaven and earth had become exceptionally scarce in this realm, requiring vastly more magic power and divine sense than anywhere else just to perceive a trace.

Suddenly, a wave of profound weakness washed over him. Looking up at the sky, the River of Blood appeared even more hazy than before. In his heart, he knew with stark clarity that this wind was injuring his primordial spirit. He could not help but realize that if this continued, he would soon turn to dust within this wind, leaving even his primordial spirit destroyed.

Never had he encountered such a bizarre wind. Back within the Yangping clan, he had once told Luoshui that the world was filled with countless divine powers and secret techniques, and that one must exercise utmost caution when walking abroad, lest life be lost unawares... Now, those very words had come true upon himself.

His divine sense grew increasingly blurred, the sensation of weakness intensified, and his body continued to weather away. All of this transpired in utter silence, entirely devoid of pain, whether it was his flesh turning to bones or his primordial spirit suffering damage.

"Am I... about to die here?" The joy and satisfaction of having newly entered the Dao realm had not yet fully bloomed before he was plunged into this fatal doom. To die like this filled him with bitter reluctance; he felt there were still so many things he had yet to accomplish, so many things he still needed to do... Yet upon careful reflection, he could not recall what those undone tasks were—he only knew he could not die, and a fierce, burning defiance surged within him.

After trembling and struggling upon the path of cultivation for decades, attaining enlightenment at last, only to perish in the blink of an eye.

Through a hazy haze, he saw two objects lying upon the ground: a mirror and a sword. They were none the matter-of-factly dropped Qingyan Sword and Yaoyue Mirror, resting untouched and undamaged amidst the eerie breeze.

With a flick of his mind, the Qingyan Sword quivered slightly, then slowly slid out of its scabbard. A faint, clear sword hum drifted through the void, sounding exceptionally sharp in the silent heaven and earth—like the dying gasp of a mortally wounded man, or an unyielding soul's silent, powerless accusation against the heavens...

Yet, that radiance was blindingly glaring amidst the darkness. At first, it was merely a sliver of light, but gradually it grew brighter and more intense. Finally, the humming ceased, and a clear, gleaming sword floated suspended in the dark void, hovering directly above a crumbling skeleton.

The sword shivered slightly, and a droplet of water—dazzling and brilliant, the color of liquid mercury—hung from its sharp tip. Before that droplet could fall upon the skeleton, a second, a third droplet formed and fell from the tip...

The sword seemed to be melting. Following the descent of the first silver droplet, a continuous string of silver beads slid down. As the silver droplets fell, the sword grew shorter and shorter, as if it had been forged of ice and was now melting into water, drenching the skeleton below.

The skull of the skeleton vanished amidst the splashing water droplets cascading from the sword. The water flowed down the white skeletal frame, and wherever it passed, the bones vanished instantly—from head to toe, inch by inch. By the time the suspended sword had completely transformed into silver water, the skeleton had likewise disappeared into the void. Only a pool of water moved rapidly across the ground, flowing past the mirror and the scabbard, before rising straight up into the void.

The mirror and the cyan scabbard vanished, while the stream of water wound and twisted through the void like a silver dragon. With a single roll, the volume of water swelled, and within moments, one could hear the rushing roar of a torrential stream.

The bizarre wind still blew, and heaven and earth remained chillingly silent. The only thing in this realm was the stream winding and flowing upward against gravity toward the high heavens. The stream grew ever larger, and the rushing roar intensified accordingly. In a short while, the little stream had transformed into a small river, its waters surging tumultuously upward toward the nine heavens.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from within the surging waters: "A half-century of cultivation brought enlightenment today, and a single sword can forge a heavenly river..."

The voice was cold and clear, unhurried, devoid of grief or joy. As the voice rose, the force of the river surged wildly, and by the time the words ended, it had swelled into a heavenly river of overwhelming might.

Silver light flashed, towering waves surged, churning as they ascended into the nine heavens.

"Three thousand Great Ways—how many have you truly mastered? Today, I shall let you know that even among the Great Ways, there are strengths and weaknesses. In my eyes, you remain nothing more than an ant."

High above the nine heavens, Shebi's voice was icy—radiating the majestic might of heaven, vast and desolate in its deathly stillness.

PS: Only one chapter today......