Volume Two: The Mortal Realm, Chapter 114: I Offer My Blood as a Sacrifice to the Mortal World

A warmth radiated through Ye Mingke’s hand as it pressed against the sword case. He felt the case come alive, and in a daze, he could almost perceive its thunderous heartbeat and the pulsing of its veins.

Two cultivators of the Wheel-Sea Realm, one in front and one behind, launched their spells toward him, closing in fast.

"Click."

The soft sound of a latch springing open rang out clearly in everyone’s ears. The seamless sword case began to open slowly of its own accord. Blood-colored light surged from the widening gap. A golden light, tinged with crimson, shot out first, intercepting the biting blade of the lead cultivator from the Sword Crown sect.

Then came a chattering sound; tiny white shadows swarmed from the case, darting back toward the cultivator behind Ye Mingke, who wielded a dragon-patterned staff.

"Boom!" "Bang!"

Spiritual energy bloomed, and force rippled outward. The cage of thorns trapping Ye Mingke shattered instantly. The Sword Crown cultivator was knocked back by the golden light, which dimmed to reveal a fair-skinned, jade-like youth standing with clenched fists, his golden eyes glowing brilliantly. It was the same puppet youth that the Immortal Lingchen had commanded on that snowy night days ago.

Behind him, the staff-wielding cultivator’s weapon collided with the tiny white shadows. Though the shadows were crushed one after another by the immensely heavy staff, they kept chattering and lunging forward. Combined with the slow regeneration of the destroyed ones, they barely managed to hold the strike at bay. These were the miniature wax figures once controlled by Immortal Lingchen.

Ye Mingke suddenly remembered what the old beggar had told him: after they killed Immortal Lingchen that snowy night, they could neither destroy the wooden box left behind nor find a way to suppress its malevolent power. Eventually, Ye Mingke’s own sword case had opened on its own and swallowed it. After waking up, Ye Mingke had tried to tinker with the strange, seamless case left to him by Uncle Jian, but to no avail. Yet, at this most critical moment, the case had acted with a life of its own to save him.

Pressing his hand against the case, Ye Mingke suddenly sensed the presence of both the large and small puppets. He felt as if his consciousness could control their movements. The sword case had refined the strange puppet box and surrendered that control to him, granting him the power he needed most.

The situation on the field shifted abruptly. The chattering white shadows and the golden-eyed youth held off the two flanking Wheel-Sea Realm cultivators. At that same moment:

"Mingke, catch the sword!"

With a loud crash, Liu Xi, who had been carrying the heavy sword "Humanity," unslung it and threw it, planting it firmly in front of Ye Mingke. She then turned back, still empty-handed, to face the two cultivators of the Origin-Crossing Realm.

Ye Mingke focused his mind, directing the wax figures and the golden-eyed youth to coordinate against the two Wheel-Sea cultivators. The youth’s strength could suppress the saber-wielding cultivator, while the wax figures, though weak, regenerated quickly enough to provide the necessary support. Together, they managed to hold the line.

But holding back two was not enough. Two other Wheel-Sea cultivators had noticed him and were closing in. He was back to facing two cultivators of that realm alone. Since stepping into the Innate Realm, he had grown from being able to fight only those with physical defects in the Spiritual Aperture Realm to challenging peak-stage Da-Jing cultivators. However, on the open battlefield, he was no match for the Wheel-Sea Realm, where cultivators communicated with heaven and earth and possessed seemingly endless spiritual energy—let alone two of them.

His only hope was that sword.

Ye Mingke reached out and gripped the heavy sword named Humanity. As it entered his hand, it remained heavy, its weight stacking continuously the longer he held it. He still could not truly wield it.

"Clang."

Ye Mingke let go of the sword as he raised it, letting it fly upward. He shifted his body behind the wide blade, using it to block a strike from the spiritual sword of a black-clad Wheel-Sea swordsman.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

Ye Mingke’s figure darted between the heavy sword and the two Wheel-Sea swordsmen. Just as he had done against Yi Er, he utilized the sword's weight and its property of insulating spiritual energy to arduously fend off the pincer attack. These two cultivators were like twins, identical in appearance and dressed in pure black robes. One wielded a red spiritual sword, the other a blue one—fire and ice, hard and soft, complementing each other perfectly. They were far more difficult to handle than the previous two.

The only flaw was that the red-sword wielder had been dragged along the ground by Liu Xi earlier, and his unhealed wounds hampered his speed and strength. That was the only reason Ye Mingke could persist. However, the two soon realized how to break his defensive turtle-shell tactic. They crossed their blades, sealing his movements and forcing him toward a surface fissure glowing with dark red flames. Below the crack lay the Hellfire, capable of melting gold and stone.

As he was pushed toward death, Ye Mingke’s eyes, hidden behind the blade, burned with madness. He knew that if this continued, he would fall into that terrifying abyss. He struggled to recall how he had awakened the sword that night. The pressure from the two spiritual swords grew, yet Ye Mingke became increasingly calm. Scenes from that night surfaced in his mind, and details he had previously ignored began to align.

He faintly felt he had grasped something.

"Clang!"

Ye Mingke held the heavy sword horizontally, blocking a strike from the red-sword wielder. The immense impact made his hands tremble violently; his palms, already scarred and clotted, split open once more. As he released his grip, a faint bloody print was left on the hilt.

Blood?

Ye Mingke suddenly remembered that night—his palms had been slashed, and as he struggled to stand, his blood had drenched the entire blade. Then, the sword had awakened.

He had no time to deliberate. He channeled his internal energy, tearing his wounds open further. As a flood of blood poured out, Ye Mingke gripped the heavy sword deep and hard.

*I can give you my blood.*

*But please, give me your power.*

All complex thoughts vanished from his mind, leaving only this pure, singular intent—a pure... supplication.

He felt it.

The sword in his hand trembled. The feeling of it being a living thing, which he had experienced that night, returned. Unlike the unconscious, maddened state he had been in then, he was now clear and focused. He felt the sword's excitement and... its greed. The excitement of drinking blood, the greed for his own vitality.

The blood flowing onto the blade quickly lost its luster and warmth. The sword’s vibration grew increasingly violent. Ye Mingke once again felt that mountain of sword energy, that crushing, thousands-of-pounds weight.

"So, I am not truly the Human Emperor's vessel. You just... like my blood, don't you?"

A touch of self-mockery welled up in his heart, followed by... gratitude. Being used was not a pleasant feeling. But when you have nothing left and are in total despair, and someone is willing to lend you power—even if it is using you—it at least gives you... hope.

"Boom!"

Not far away, Liu Xi, also fighting in a bloodbath, was struck by multiple spells and sent crashing through the rubble. The silent, stoic woman struggled to rise from the ruins. Her tattered clothes were soaked in blood, and half of her delicate face was smeared with it. On her back, A'ru, having exhausted her innate curse arts multiple times, lay unconscious, her face gaunt and pale, also stained with blood.

Liu Xi’s growth had been no slower than Ye Mingke’s. Since that snowy night, she had sensed the laws of martial arts for the first time in years, leading to a breakthrough. Once limited to the strength of the Eleventh Floor of Martial Arts, she could now face Origin-Crossing Realm cultivators head-on. But she had been wounded from the start, and she was facing not one, but two such masters.

She, too, had reached her limit.

Ye Mingke looked at her, seeing her near-desperate state and the two Origin-Crossing cultivators closing in. He could also feel the cracks in the circle drawn by the old beggar in the sky; they were becoming dense and could shatter at any moment.

"Clang."

Ye Mingke blocked another strike. He took a step back, and the gravel beneath his feet fell into the fissure of dark red flames, hissing as it melted. One more step, and he would fall into the abyss of hell.

He held the heavy sword, sensing the terrifying, surging power within. Even though the sword had briefly accepted him for his blood, his own body could not control even a ten-thousandth of that crushing sword energy. That snowy night, he had managed only one strike, severing the arm of the Origin-Crossing puppet before collapsing from exhaustion.

Power never comes without a price, does it?

With his body already severely wounded, how many strikes could he unleash? How much power could he exert? Could he break... this dead end?

"I can give you all my blood."

"But, you must help my friend. Save them."

Ye Mingke stared at the heavy sword, sensing its spirit, and spoke silently in his heart.

The sword.

Greed, hesitation, calculation, then greed once more.

The hilt trembled slightly.

It nodded.

Ye Mingke suddenly reversed his grip. In the stunned silence of the two swordsmen, he thrust the heavy sword into his own chest.

The wide blade nearly cleaved his body in two, and blood spurted out like a fountain. The crimson sword, now coated in layers of fresh blood, let out a fierce, impassioned cry.

Ye Mingke held his final breath. With half his face covered in blood, he slowly turned to look at Liu Xi.

He looked at the woman who had only ever watched the old beggar and him amidst the flames, the woman whose gentle eyes always hid swords and sorrow, the woman who had carried "Humanity" for a decade—the woman who was, in truth, the only one truly qualified to wield this blade.

He spoke, word by word, his voice calm yet firm, ringing across the battlefield:

"Second-generation sword-sacrificer, Liu Xi."

"Take the sword, Humanity!"

Liu Xi turned abruptly.

She looked at the youth who had become a man of blood. He was looking at her, his clear eyes, stained red, carrying a raging fire. His lips moved silently across the distance.

Though he made no sound, Liu Xi read his words, and her eyes instantly turned bloodshot.

*This is your sword.*

*Please, protect A'ru.*

Ye Mingke closed his eyes and swung the sword with all his might.

"Humanity" roared.

The heavy sword surged forth, wreathed in vast, billowing sword energy. It tore through the swordsman with the blue blade and flew toward Liu Xi.

With his last ounce of strength, Ye Mingke lunged forward and locked his arms around the other Wheel-Sea swordsman, who had been left unsteady by the shockwave, dragging him down into the fissure of surging, dark red magma.