Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter Six: The Swordmaster

The bright moon hung high in the sky, and all was silent.
Inside the house, two silhouettes stood facing each other, unmoving.
Before Yun Que, all light faded away, revealing a scene unlike anything he had ever seen.
He found himself in a realm of nothingness, mist swirling all around, as if drifting beneath the ocean, surreal and dreamlike.
“Where am I?”
Yun Que looked down at himself, only to discover he had become a shadowy, ethereal form!
“Am I dead? Is this the underworld?”
He glanced about, trying to determine his location.
“This place is called the Sea of Spiritual Consciousness, the resting place of the soul; everyone possesses one.”
The Herbalist’s voice echoed from every direction, its ethereal tone tinged with delight. “I’m lucky indeed. Your Sea of Consciousness is so vast—it can nurture a powerful soul!”
With his keen wit, Yun Que grasped much from those words.
The Herbalist intended to seize his body!
The chilling term “body snatching” sent shivers down anyone’s spine.
Legend spoke of a sinister technique in the world of cultivation, allowing the soul to occupy another’s body and gain a new life.
Yun Que finally understood the sequence of events.
Chu Xi had been a vessel cultivated by the Herbalist; after Yun Que destroyed Chu Xi, he became the Herbalist’s next target.
No one wished to have their body possessed by another, and Yun Que was no exception.
He dashed through the mist.
Yet no matter how he fled, the Herbalist’s laughter echoed nearby, unending.
“It’s useless, little mouse. You can’t escape my grasp, hahahaha.”
That rampant laughter brimmed with absolute confidence!
Yun Que stopped, his heart steeling itself.
He resolved to fight to the death!
Better to have his soul obliterated than let the other succeed.
A fierce wind swept through, scattering the mist and revealing the Herbalist’s figure.
In that instant, Yun Que’s heart sank.
The Herbalist’s form towered like a small mountain, his strength at least a hundred times greater than Yun Que’s!
Before the Herbalist’s soul, Yun Que was nothing but a pitiful insect, easily crushed underfoot.
The disparity was overwhelming; Yun Que could see no other option but to await death.
Such a powerful soul could never belong to a low-level cultivator.
The Herbalist’s cultivation was unfathomable!
“Master, your cultivation is profound. Why seize my insignificant, untrained body?”
Yun Que sincerely suggested, “There are countless experts in the Sword Palace. You should seek a more talented vessel.”
The Herbalist laughed down from above:
“Body snatching is unlike other techniques; the higher the target’s cultivation, the stronger their soul, and the more likely the attempt will fail. For safety, it’s best to possess someone just starting their cultivation. And you are the ideal candidate.”
As he spoke, the Herbalist emanated a terrifying pressure. Yun Que felt as though caught in a tornado, utterly immobilized.
Against the Herbalist, his strength was as futile as a mantis trying to stop a cart.
“I have a word for you, though I’m not sure if I should speak it!”

“You may speak.”
“Curse your grandmother!”
“Die, you sharp-tongued little mouse.”
The Herbalist sneered, opening his mouth wide.
Once he devoured Yun Que’s soul, he would become the master of this realm.
Just as the Herbalist believed victory was certain, the surrounding mist suddenly surged, transforming into a pitch-black river.
A strange, endless river flowed forth from the void.
“What is this!”
The Herbalist cried out, “How can there be a river in the Sea of Consciousness? No, this isn’t real water—this is the River of Souls!”
Countless shadowy figures floated in the black water, men and women, young and old, battling and devouring one another, rising and sinking, their faces obscured, all resembling malevolent spirits.
The infinite black river resembled the River of Forgetfulness in the underworld.
As the river appeared, the pressure on Yun Que suddenly vanished.
Before him emerged a middle-aged man shrouded in a tattered black robe, long hair falling, his face chiseled and weathered.
“A descendant of the Yun family—at last, a sword wielder emerges…”
The man in black spoke in a hoarse, ancient whisper, as if murmuring from antiquity.
“Who are you?”
Yun Que asked in surprise, not expecting anyone besides the Herbalist.
His Sea of Consciousness was hardly a teahouse or tavern—why so many guests?
“My name is Kongwang, one of the Nine Tribulations.”
His eyes held no emotion, only a deathly stillness.
“So I can absorb sword energy from sword talismans because of you! Do I possess a spiritual root or not?”
Yun Que pressed eagerly.
If he was one of the Nine Tribulations, he must be the sword spirit of the Nine Tribulation Sword!
Kongwang slowly shook his head.
“I really don’t have a spiritual root…” Yun Que said, disappointed.
“Whether you have one or not is irrelevant.”
Kongwang’s deep voice continued, “Spiritual energy strengthens oneself, but sword energy can do the same. Since you have awakened the Nine Tribulation Sword, cultivate with sword energy—let all famed swords in the world serve as stepping stones.”
Yun Que rolled his eyes. “Uncle, that’s quite the boast.”
Countless powerful beings existed in the world; to claim all legendary swords as stepping stones was audacious beyond measure.
Kongwang offered no explanation.
As his black robe swayed, the countless evil souls in the river transformed into sharp swords—thousands upon thousands, innumerable!
In an instant, the river was filled with sword light, becoming a sea of swords!
“This is the Sword River of Forgetfulness, binding billions of sword souls. These souls were all masters of the sword in life—command them, and they can destroy worlds.”
Staring at the boundless black sword river, Yun Que was stunned.
Even without considering their power, the sheer numbers could crush armies!
“How do I command them?”
“You cannot, not yet.”
“Why not?”

“Your cultivation is too low; summoning sword souls would lead to your own destruction.”
“That’s easily remedied—when my cultivation improves, I’ll be able to wield them.”
Kongwang shook his head again.
Yun Que was puzzled. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, you’re correct. Improving your cultivation will allow you to command the sword souls. However, you do not have time to slowly cultivate.”
“No time? What’s happening?”
Kongwang gazed at the endless sword river, his voice full of ancient sorrow:
“You have awakened the Sword River of Forgetfulness, and gained my sword spirit’s power. The Nine Tribulation Sword possesses nine sword spirits, but unfortunately, my power is the least suited to weak cultivators.”
“So the nine sword spirits each have unique powers. What is yours?”
“The death tribulation among the Nine Tribulations.”
Kongwang calmly added, “The Nine Tribulation Sword has become your sword meridian; you must constantly absorb sword energy to delay the eruption of death tribulation. Otherwise, your sword meridian will drain your blood and flesh, turning you into one of the sword souls.”
Yun Que could hardly refrain from cursing.
“If other swords can’t cut through enemies, yours can’t even spare its own wielder.” Yun Que muttered helplessly, “What use are you, Uncle Kongwang?”
“At least, before you’re consumed by the power of death tribulation, no one can kill you.”
As Kongwang whispered, the Sword River of Forgetfulness splashed, and a new sword soul dropped into its depths.
It was the Herbalist!
The Herbalist’s soul, once towering, was now as insignificant as a droplet in the sword river.
“You little bastard, you tricked me! Your Sea of Consciousness connects to hell! Let me out! Release me!”
The Herbalist screamed in terror, struggling desperately.
“Now you realize it—too late. Stay in hell for the holidays, old bastard.” Yun Que waved in farewell.
“Let me go! I’ll give you immortal elixirs! Peerless sword techniques! I know many secrets—I’ll tell you everything! I actually come from…”
Yun Que listened intently, but the words abruptly stopped.
Looking up, he saw the Herbalist had sunk into the sword river.
Moments later,
The Herbalist’s head burst out of the water, shrieking madly.
“A sword cuts through the ages like the sea!”
With those final words, the Herbalist’s soul was dragged into the depths by countless spirits, becoming yet another sword soul.
“Hey, Uncle Kongwang, he was about to give me peerless sword techniques. Why did you drown him?” Yun Que complained.
“Peerless sword techniques? Hmph.”
For the first time, Kongwang’s tone changed, tinged with a faint, solitary pride:
“My sword can break all laws of the world.”
Then let me survive first, Yun Que grumbled inwardly.
Though he had gained an astonishing sword meridian, he now faced a great crisis.
If his cultivation could not keep pace with the eruption of death tribulation, he was doomed.
It seemed his first priority was not cultivation, but seeking swords…
Ah, Sword Palace!