Chapter 287: Sword Spirits
“The world is so vast and full of wonders beyond your imagination. If you can truly climb to the top of martial arts, naturally, you will be able to appreciate some of these wonders, but… It's just too difficult. Even the Demon Night, a race so naturally powerful, is nothing compared to the various races across the world,” heaving a sigh, the cyan dragon shook his head.
'Such a powerful race is nothing in the context of the whole world?' Zen was shocked.
Having realized that he had exaggerated a bit, the cyan dragon quickly added, “But even though mankind has some innate weaknesses, they can still achieve great things. You don't need to feel dejected. In light of your talent, luck, and…” he trailed off. Although he wanted to mention the mysterious smelting surface, he eventually stifled the thought and said instead, “You may still have a shred of hope to reach the peak.”
At that moment, Zen's sparkling eyes caught the cyan dragon's attention. It was as if stars were gleaming in his bright orbs—the dragon could tell that he was looking forward to the challenges in the days to come.
'This kid didn't listen to a word I said…'
Zen's reaction brought the cyan dragon a hint of gloom.
As a member of the immortal dragon race, he had not had a taste of melancholy for who knew how many years.
In the end, all he could do was shake his huge head. 'Perhaps I did underestimate this young man.'
Just then, Zen flickered his eyes on the mysterious weapon left by the Demon Night and said, "Cyan dragon, I am a man of humble birth. Though I've had my achievements in Cloud Sect, I won't be complacent or gloat about what I've done, nor will I stop working hard so I can eventually live an easy life! We, humans, have a will to persevere and keep taking steps forward, even against a crowd of a thousand men.
Whatever or whoever gets in my way ahead, I will overcome them!"
'Merely a thousand men?'
Almost like instinct, the cyan dragon wanted to retort.
But Zen continued to explain. “Of course, this doesn't only refer to the literal figure. It's inevitable—I'm going to have to challenge countless strong creatures in the world, the talents among maybe thousands, millions, or even trillions of creatures!”
Since ancient times, there were those who shot for the stars always, without a doubt, had extraordinary talent and great perseverance.
As Zen grew up, he encountered astonishing geniuses, one after another, and his horizon grew wider and wider. The martial artist had met Jacques, Rocher, Patrick, and many more.
The stronger his opponent was, the firmer his aspiration became to climb to the peak of martial arts.
In the eyes of the cyan dragon, Zen's current power was like that of a tiny ant, maybe even less. However, the man's burst of resolution and desire to dominate reached the dragon's heart.
'This little guy is pretty interesting. It's a shame…it would be delightful if I could wake my third brother and discuss this with him. Well, let's just wait and see, ' muttered the dragon in his head. As a matter of fact, the nine dragons came from the same clan.
Somehow, they had turned into sculptures and stationed themselves around the mysterious smelting furnace. Now that the furnace entered Zen's mind, the nine dragons naturally followed.
As far as first impressions went, the cyan dragon did not think very highly of Zen. Judging by his standards, Zen seemed rather mediocre in all aspects. To the dragon's surprise, however, he found that the young man had been progressing at a speed that was utterly beyond his expectations.
Considering the talent that Zen currently had, the cyan dragon could easily give him a positive review.
Being an everlasting creature, the dragon had come across too many geniuses—too many to find anyone that was truly special. Thus, praise from the cyan dragon was more than enough to prove Zen's outstanding gift. What was more, the cyan dragon could tell that the kid's potential was even growing further. Perhaps, one day, the dragon would no longer find it proper to regard Zen with a mere, 'pretty good.'
Without another word, Zen continued to climb the mountain from halfway.
When he approached the low-grade mysterious sword that the Demon Night left behind, the seemingly ordinary sword abruptly shot out a jet of sharp sword intent.
It was utterly murderous. Like a god of death, it hacked relentlessly at Zen's head.
'No sword spirit has been fostered yet?
Even though the cyan dragon said the Demon Night was extremely powerful, it's still hardly possible to foster a sword spirit with a low-grade mysterious weapon. Even without sword spirit, this sword intent is already way too fierce!'
Without hesitation, Zen swiftly activated the phoenix crystal in his right arm. The Streamer Sword he was holding transformed into an assemblage of silver flowers, each containing a trace of sharp sword intent.
Clank, clank, clank….
It was only when he launched ten strikes with his sword that Zen was able to get the ferocious sword intent smashed.
Despite his frantic strikes, the Demon Night's sword still buzzed in a frenzy for a while as if it was unwilling to admit its defeat. Eventually, it quieted down and a ball of scarlet sword spirit escaped the object.
It was extremely small—the size of a rice grain, perhaps, and far too small compared to the sword spirits Zen had seen before. In the past, when Zen destroyed similar matured swords, usually, hundreds of sword spirits would come fluttering out from the weapon, each much larger than the scarlet one before him.
But when the rice-grain-sized sword spirit shot straight into Zen's body, he instantly sensed a special change stirring inside him.
Since the spirit was rife with intent for killing, the bloodthirsty aura soon contaminated the sword spirits Zen had acquired.
His spirits came in various colors, but they could not mix together. Without a way to utilize them, Zen had no choice but to merely store them inside his body.
However, after this scarlet sword spirit injected itself inside him, its strong intent for killing infected all the rest of the spirits.
The colors of the sword spirits began to shift gradually.
Whether they were black, yellow, or blue, every single sword spirit turned red and merged together. As they mixed together, they began to form a single figure—a human form.
"This is…
This is sword spirit transformation!" The huge cyan dragon in Zen's mind stirred with excitement. It should be noted that few things in this world could thrill a dragon. It wasn't Zen's great strength that got the creature pumped up but the fact that he had transformed his sword spirits within such a short time.
Even the cyan dragon, who had met numerous geniuses and talents, found the moment to be surreal. 'It happened too soon, didn't it? How did it turn out like this?
It should be impossible…
Indeed, Zen has collected many sword spirits along the way up the Killing Sword Mountain…But it should have taken him a long time to combine the spirits into one. That has nothing to do with his talent—it's just the way of the sword spirits. Nobody can simply cut corners when fostering them. It's bound to be a dull and lengthy process.
One should have to go through the absorbing and merging process over and over again. Each merging can take years. And he must continue doing it until the sword spirits mature.
But how long did it take Zen?
He merged his sword spirits shortly after he stepped onto the Killing Sword Mountain? Impossible…'
Leaning against the smelting furnace, the colossal cyan dragon quietly observed the merging of sword spirits within Zen.
Before this moment, he had kept disheartening the boy, no matter how extraordinary he was, he could hardly gain the recognition of the dragon—after all, the geniuses the creature had met were indescribable in the words of mankind. But not even the dragon could disregard the rapid fusion of the sword spirits.
Surprising a dragon was already something Zen could brag about for a lifetime. However, at that moment, he paid no attention to the cyan dragon as he focused all his attention on the ongoing change in his body.
The sword spirits kept gradually merging together. Slowly, the head appeared, then the trunk, the arms, the legs…
In the beginning, the figure's outline was very fuzzy, like a clay figurine shaped by an amateur. Soon after, it grew more and more detailed and distinctive.
First came the figure's chest. The originally flat surface swelled up into two plump breasts, leaving Zen dumbstruck.
“Goodness… why did the sword spirits turn into a shape like this?”
The absurd change was truly astounding. Its arms grew slimmer and slimmer until they were as thin as a lotus root. At last, the sword spirits turned into an exquisitely carved woman. Her garments, facial features, and eyes immediately came into being.
Undoubtedly, the woman was extremely gorgeous. But her eyes were as sharp as a knife, which made her look like a volcano about to erupt. In spite of the fact that she was just conjured by sword spirits, her appearance was of utmost beauty. The murderous air she was emitting was exactly the same as that of the rice-grain-sized sword spirit.
'What on earth is going on?
I've never seen this woman…so why have my sword spirits transformed into such a shape?'
Zen was left utterly bewildered.
Staring at this beautiful human-shaped sword spirit, Zen just couldn't figure it out.
If he could choose, he certainly wouldn't let his sword spirits transform into a woman—it was too awkward. The problem was that the transformation of sword spirits was very different from the transformation of life vitality. Life vitality's transformation was shaped by the practitioner's subjective mind. Sometimes, when a practitioner was halfway through the process and was unsatisfied with the figure, he could easily undo it and begin reshaping life vitality in his mind again. It wasn't a big deal, and many people were capable of doing it.
However, the shape of sword spirits was not up to the practitioner himself. Instead, it was formed by the many sword spirits inside the practitioner at the specific time it was being shaped.
Thus, the practitioner had no control over its shape.
At the sight of Zen's baffled look, the cyan dragon snickered.
“Cyan dragon…what is happening?” Not understanding why it turned out like this, Zen had to ask the dragon.
“If I'm not mistaken, this woman your sword spirits turned into is the owner of that sword,” the dragon replied blandly.
"Ah?
No way…“ At the dragon's explanation, Zen turned pale with fright. ”The Demon Night aren't human beings…are they?
Why does she look like this?
Even fairer than humankind?"
By men's aesthetic standard, this woman constituted by all the sword spirits looked nearly perfect at every angle.
Zen's experiences had brought him face-to-face with demons, ogres, and the like. The appearance of ogres was fairly acceptable to Zen. As for the demons he ran up against in the White Emperor City…well...that picture was too horrible. If a weak-hearted man glanced at it, he would probably have nightmares.
When Zen heard about this race from the cyan dragon, he thought that since it was called the 'Demon' Night, they should look like the demons he was used to facing—perhaps with more mouths or pairs of eyes.
To his total astonishment, this woman from the Demon Night was utterly gorgeous—she was even more impeccable than human beings in several aspects.