AI Cultivation: Reborn as a Sword - Chapter 187: Eternal Red (17)

The veiled figure has been patiently waiting for almost thirty days. Despite her veil, I can clearly see her face, and her expression has remained the same. She also hasn’t changed her position at all.

There is no indicator that she is aware of my Inner World’s ability to manipulate the passage of time, but even if she was aware of it, I doubt it would be something that would concern her at all.

The relative power is too vast. Even in this suppression field, she is an existence vaster than Lady Yue. The fact that I cannot feel the effect of the suppression at all is indicative of just how immense this figure’s power must be. Alternatively, the formation could be configured in some way to only affect the hostile entity, but as I cannot feel any of the nodes of the formation, nor do I know of any instance of how such a specific formation could be created, it is only conjecture.

The only indicators of the formation are the invisible chains on the figure’s limbs and the fact that the door has disappeared. Considering the latter and how it renders escape impossible, the only choices are to die here or to kill the entity. If there is another way to leave this place, I cannot see it yet. Unless I can break through into the Nascent Soul realm in a few hours, and my perception expands enough to sense a node of the formation through which I can sabotage it, another method of escape is impossible.

Even if I were to break the formation, it would not eliminate the primary problem: this figure would then also be free and even more powerful.

Her eyelids lower slightly when Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan regain consciousness — even though they remain still — and she slowly rises out of her chair, uncrossing her arms and legs.

“You have kept this princess waiting,” she says, tone cold, distant, and even. She does not even look at them, though with her veil covering her face, my owner and her companion wouldn’t be able to tell just how little regard this entity has for them. They may as well be ants to her. “But you did give this princess a good show. This princess was certain that you would succumb to your wounds, but in this short amount of time, you have managed to cultivate natural energy and recover. This princess even helped you a little.”

Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan slowly stand up, calm on the surface like a lake, but beneath, a dark storm rages. Their killing intent and resentment are so strong that they do not even register the meaning of the figure’s words, or the claim that she helped them. I don’t blame them for not lingering on her words. If she helped them, it is only to kill someone who can resist.

From their perspective, a long time has passed since they were fatally injured, but during that time, the dread and intensity of this figure nearly killing them without any resentment or killing intent still haunted them; to kill without either of those things is to kill something one already considers to not be worthy of life — like stepping on an ant. There is no doubt in their mind that this figure will kill them. They understand that they are alive now only for this entity’s entertainment.

In that dark and foreboding understanding is also the hope of their ambition. One strike that can defy common sense would be able to perhaps wound the figure, allowing Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan to die in peace. They would not even dare to hope that this strike could kill the figure, but now, facing the situation, their hearts begin to pound rapidly.

What if…?

But as soon as the hope rises, it is crushed in their hearts and replaced with more madness and resentment.

Lan Xiaohui and Wu Yulan — sword cultivators through and through — would rather die with dignity after humbling this figure than live because of a surprise attack.

The wayward thoughts disappear from their minds. There is only the space between them and the figure. In their mind’s eye, there are no walls, no ceiling, no sky or heaven, no destiny or providence. There is this place and their next destination: the afterlife; there is their heart, body, and sword, and an enemy worthy of those.

Wu Yulan is the first to release her breath, and the air turns to mist as her shoulders slump. Her body relaxes while her mind tenses.

A pulse of frost emits from Wu Yulan, ice crawling across the floor, covering it in a layer of frozen water vapor. Then, just as it appeared, it recedes, collecting beneath Wu Yulan’s feet.

I do not sense an aura from Wu Yulan, nor any sword intent, but I do sense the gradual warping of natural laws around her, centered on her gold core.

Her eyes lose some of their brightness. Her hair loses some of its luster, becoming duller and more silver. The glow of vitality in her pale skin also softens. These are all a result of her spiritual veins enlarging to almost three times their normal size, and atrophying. Even her spiritual roots wither as she sacrifices her innate talent and future possibilities, and feeds them into the fires of her technique.

Wu Yulan closes her eyes, releasing another breath. Slowly, she draws her sword, and as the blade leaves its confines, the warping of the natural laws progresses to such a degree that they almost completely collapse.

The glint of the sword and the light that it captures is warped in such a way that there is a cascade of colors along the metallic surface as if the light is passing through a broken prism.

Wu Yulan’s shadow rotates beneath her as if the light source in the room is orbiting her. But then the shadow splits into two instances, then three, then four. In a brief moment, six shadows appear beneath Wu Yulan, forming an image that is similar to that of a snowflake with its six symmetries.

When the sword is drawn, briefly, I do sense a monstrous sword aura from Wu Yulan and an extreme amount of sword intent, all focused on the veiled figure. In the instant that it appears, I sense the sword aura and intent collapse into several points around the veiled figure.

Snowflakes.

However, these snowflakes are not ordinary crystals of water. Their surface is almost metallic, capturing the likeness of the world within them. Each one contains such an amount of sword energy that the laws of space tremble around them, on the precipice of collapse.

I now understand Wu Yulan’s training method. The endless months of controlling and compressing sword energy have resulted in a technique that can interfere with the natural laws even at her shallow cultivation level.

At the cost of her future.

Even the veiled figure, when she senses that brief moment of extreme sword force lowers her eyelids slightly. It is possibly too small a motion for either Wu Yulan or Lan Xiaohui to notice, and even if they did, I doubt they would be proud of it. After all, they are not here to impress this figure.

Sword Moment: Six-Fold Symmetry Seal — to my knowledge, it is the ultimate technique of [Eternal Moment Swordsmanship]. Beyond this — the fourth layer — I don’t know if her martial arts contains more layers and techniques.

It is a technique that seals the past, present, and future potential of a sword’s moment into the six symmetries of a snowflake. At the intersection of these symmetries, space itself is cut. It is of a class of techniques referred to as forbidden because the memory and attainment of the sword itself are sealed away, and with it, the past, present, and future potential of the user as well. The other reason why it damages Wu Yulan’s talent is because this technique can only exert its full power in the realms beyond Nascent Soul Ascension. Forcing it into existence here can not come without consequences.

However, the result of forcing the technique is an enormous amount of sword force that could obliterate even the shell of my vessel; even though Wu Yulan is an ally, my sub-cores are elevating her threat level.

The shadows beneath Wu Yulan all collapse together into one instance, again, and Wu Yulan’s body disappears in a burst of ice energy. The temperature in the room immediately drops to below freezing, and Wu Yulan’s appearance next to the veiled figure is preceded by another, even more extreme warping of space.

Looking directly at Wu Yulan and the figure, it is as though I can see multiple sides of them and multiple instances of them. Dozens of shadows are smeared across the ground beneath them, and I see dozens of swords thrusting forward. It is all the same sword and the same shadow, but space is so warped around them that even I find it difficult to recognize what is happening. For an ordinary opponent, dodging this attack would be impossible.

At the tip of Wu Yulan’s sword, a snowflake forms — the sealed sword moment with six symmetries — and her sword pierces into it.

There is a sound like that of a crystal or glass bell gently ringing out once. It is high-pitched, resonant, and clear. Sparks fly all across the room, fragments of broken sword intent fling out from the point of impact, scoring into the walls, floor, and ceiling, leaving trenches of broken and frozen material that trail an abyss of blackness in the wake of broken natural laws. I even hear the invisible chains ring out and groan under the strain of the unleashed sword force.

The figure’s veil sails through the air, disappearing into the storm of cascading white and blue sword energy that is released from the point of impact, but because the space is so warped, even with my absolute perception I cannot tell what impacted and where. Before the storm of sword and ice energy enveloped them, all I could see was the swords thrust forward.

When the storm of energy subsides, the veiled figure stands in the same place as before, the index finger of her left hand pressed into the snowflake that is pinned on the other side by Wu Yulan’s also trembling sword.

The figure’s hair has changed color again — now a dull silver with light blue tones captured in the sheen of light.

No space is cut — as if that were even possible for Wu Yulan’s cultivation realm, no matter how much of her talent she sacrifices — but what is worse, in the region around the figure, space law itself is frozen. I sense a degree of ice energy around the figure — not Wu Yulan’s — that is of such a high order, that I cannot even begin to comprehend it. How is that even possible?

Is this figure truly a deity?

“Cutting your roots to play with snow in front of this princess,” the figure says, tone indifferent even when disappointed. “Are you even taking this seriously?”

The figure scoffs and flicks her outstretched finger. It is a simple and abrupt motion, but the impact that travels through Wu Yulan’s sword breaks her arm and sends her flying into the wall on the opposite side of the room. Her ribs break, again, from the impact, and when she slides off the crater in the wall and falls to her knees on the floor, she coughs up several mouthfuls of blood.

The now-unveiled figure glances over her shoulder at her veil — which is not cut into several pieces — and frowns, before looking back at Lan Xiaohui.

When a single drop of blood splatters on the ground, from the figure’s left index finger, Wu Yulan’s eyes half-close, as she chuckles darkly, even in her half-dead state.

When she hears Wu Yulan’s chuckle, the figure glances at her finger and then shows the tiny, insignificant wound on her fingertip to the two. “Does this make you happy?” she asks, coldly.

Wu Yulan, dangerously close to passing out, still reaches for her discarded sword with her left, unbroken arm. “It is more than… enough for me,” Wu Yulan whispers.