Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter 29: Fit Only for the Dogs

In a sudden burst of brilliance, the thunderous power of the Sealed Thunder Sword erupted. Lightning engulfed the cramped battlefield.

The timing was no accident; Yun Que had planned for this moment all along. With his own cultivation level not high and his spiritual energy limited, he needed to force Xuan Wenyen to reveal all his trump cards as quickly as possible, in order to strike a fatal blow.

Of the opponent’s three flying swords, Yun Que used the Sealed Thunder Sword, the Overflowing Spirit Ring, and his protective inner armor to block them one by one. Then he unleashed the thunder, creating a sweeping attack that left his adversary with nowhere to run and no way to defend.

Though his plan succeeded, a large portion of Yun Que’s inner armor shattered, leaving him defenseless. The sneak attack from a flying sword wielded by someone at the eighth level of Qi Refinement was not to be underestimated.

With his three flying swords tied up, Xuan Wenyen was left momentarily weaponless—a sitting duck. Yet, as the fifth-ranked Sword Disciple of the Eastern Court, he summoned a small, square shield at the last critical moment.

It was this shield that bore the brunt of the thunder’s onslaught. Even so, Xuan Wenyen was caught in the edge of the lightning, his hair scorched in patches, utterly disheveled.

“You bastard, you dare injure me! I’ll show you what happens to those who cross me!”

Like a madman, Xuan Wenyen tried to recall his three flying swords for a renewed assault.

Yun Que, however, had already abandoned the use of his magical tools altogether. He didn't even bother replenishing the now-dim Overflowing Spirit Ring with spirit stones. He simply stood silently where he was, his gaze fixed on the void, making a strange gesture of clasped fists in a direction where no one stood.

In that empty corner, the last faint afterglow of lightning rippled.

To Xuan Wenyen, this was nothing but a few dying arcs of electricity, not even enough to kill a rat—utterly useless.

But in Yun Que’s eyes, those faint sparks were coalescing into a phantom figure.

The Sword Soul.

At this moment, Yun Que not only saw the Sword Soul’s true form, but also glimpsed its past and present lives.

It was a youth, standing tall and straight beneath the open sky. Rising at dawn and practicing tirelessly, he honed his swordsmanship with relentless determination, never uttering a complaint even as blood blisters formed on his hands. With only the briefest bandaging, he would resume his training.

Orphaned from an early age, he had no one to rely on. In a world wracked by chaos and war, only the cold iron sword in his hand could offer him a sliver of warmth.

He marched to the battlefield, always charging at the forefront, wielding his not-so-broad shoulders to shield his companions and fight for his own survival.

In the end, he fell on the field of battle.

Before him lay an ancient city. Behind, the thunder of galloping hooves.

His short life was not filled with many words, only a single character, etched into his youth:

Sword.

He took pride in the sword, made it his home, lived by its edge.

Only the sword would remain by his side for a lifetime.

The young body was swallowed by the yellow sands of the battlefield, as if lost in a river of oblivion—floating and sinking in the River of Forgotten Swords, forming a Sword Soul that would never fade.

Having witnessed the Sword Soul’s life, Yun Que’s spirit blazed with a soaring fire.

It was the will of the sword—howling, restless, exultant!

In that instant, Yun Que became the Sword Soul’s confidant, their hearts in perfect accord.

The gesture of clasped fists was simply a farewell to an old friend.

A word of parting. A wish for well-being.

In another life, let us meet again in the sword!

Unarmed and drained of spiritual energy, Yun Que now performed an action that Xuan Wenyen could not comprehend.

He stood with his back straight, hands held as if gripping an invisible sword. Then, simply and solemnly, he raised and swung it down.

The movement was executed with utmost precision, his expression grave.

To Xuan Wenyen, it was utterly ridiculous. He sneered, “Playing tricks? Die, you bastard!”

Crack!

An invisible blade of sword energy split the shield, severed Xuan Wenyen’s entire right arm.

Blood spurted in a crimson arc.

Stunned, Xuan Wenyen momentarily forgot his pain. He looked down at the neatly sliced defensive artifact, then at his opponent, who had just made the slashing gesture.

“No sword… Where did that sword energy come from?!”

As agony overwhelmed him, Xuan Wenyen rolled on the ground, howling as he crawled toward the cave entrance, snot and tears streaming, as if pursued by vengeful spirits.

There was, indeed, no sword.

What Yun Que had unleashed was not a blade, but the first Sword Soul he had drawn from the River of Forgotten Swords.

The power of this strike was so great that not even Xuan Wenyen’s defensive artifact could withstand it, but it also exhausted the Sword Soul’s entire might.

And so, the Sword Soul dissipated.

Yun Que picked up the cold Sealed Thunder Sword and followed behind Xuan Wenyen.

“I keep my word. I said you’d be the first, and you will be the first.”

One stroke—severed his left arm.

Another—severed his right leg.

A trail of blood, a path of wailing misery.

By the time Xuan Wenyen struggled out of the cave, he was no longer recognizably human—a heap of mangled flesh, clinging to his last breath.

Howls…

A few small canine demon beasts prowled at the cave mouth, baring their fangs.

These were the very beasts Xuan Wenyen had lured from afar, hoping they would kill Yun Que and the others. Now, they had become his own executioners.

“Scum like you is only fit to feed the dogs.”

Yun Que turned and walked away.

Behind him, at the cave entrance, the demon hounds swarmed and tore the screaming Xuan Wenyen apart.

Returning to the site of battle, Yun Que collected the fallen flying swords and Xuan Wenyen’s storage pouch.

Spoils of war were not to be wasted; a few extra swords could only help.

He then continued deeper into the cave.

There was still the two-tailed demon wolf to deal with; who knew how Wu Dachuan and the others were faring?

Soon, he arrived at a spacious cavern within the mountain.

Overhead, a winding fissure let in ample light, revealing the surroundings clearly.

It was a strange place.

The ground was overgrown with dense, emerald-green vines, swaying ceaselessly, so that from a distance they resembled a lawn rippling in the wind.

At the center of the green lay a peculiar “tree,” formed by countless vines twisted together, like a giant braid.

Wu Dachuan and the others were scattered across the vine-carpeted ground, sitting or lying facing the vine tree.

Strangely, the two-tailed demon wolf was there as well!

It lay meekly on the vine grass, docile as a puppy—nothing like a demon beast.

Yun Que sensed something was amiss.

He kept his eyes fixed on the most dangerous presence, the two-tailed demon wolf, and stepped directly onto the vine-covered ground, moving toward the beast.

“What’s wrong with you all? This is no time to rest.”

As he spoke, Wu Dachuan, kneeling on the ground, shuddered violently and squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth.

“Don’t come… any closer…”

Yun Que stopped abruptly, glancing around, but saw no sign of danger.

Then Wu Dachuan began to tremble even more violently, using all his strength to twist his head and painfully turn half his face toward Yun Que.

The moment he turned, even Yun Que, prepared as he was, instinctively stepped back.

Emerald-green, slender tendrils were sprouting from Wu Dachuan’s eyes, nose, and ears.

When he forced his jaws apart, fresh green leaves could be seen growing between his teeth.

The vines blanketing the ground were growing into people’s bodies—alive, sentient, weaving a deadly web like an invisible spider spinning its trap.

The sinister spectacle was horrifying.

At last, Yun Que realized the source of the strange wounds on the decapitated head outside the cave. The hole in the forehead was left by a vine piercing through, and the ragged neck was the work of the strangling vines.

The vines were alive—and hunting.

Yun Que looked down in shock.

Tiny, green shoots were beginning to sprout from his own fingertips.