Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Sixty-Five: Certain Death
Clad in white robes, filthy and tattered, Li Guifan sat alone upon the muddy, blood-soaked earth. His face was deeply obscured beneath the shadow of a tree, eyes lowered, unmoving as he stared fixedly at a pool of fresh blood before him.
His lips moved silently, whispering the same words again and again.
“I’ll make it in time.”
“I’ll make it in time.”
He gazed ahead, repeating the phrase over and over.
A short distance away, a giant bear, impaled by a long sword, writhed upon the ground. The beast lay in a pool of its own blood, its entire body soaked in crimson. Most terrifying of all—it had no head. From the neck cavity, blood gushed forth in torrents.
Time passed, dragging onward.
The headless blood bear struggled with increasing ferocity, causing the sword pinning it to wobble more and more violently. Blood poured from its body, dyeing the earth beneath the tree a vivid red.
“I’ll make it in time,” Li Guifan murmured, his gaze locked upon the spreading scarlet before him.
…
“Beyond the two greatest horrors, the Sea of Mist holds countless other terrors. Many of them defy the very laws of the mortal realm,” Ying Kui stood at the prow, gazing at the ethereal expanse of sea ahead.
“No one dares claim true understanding of the Sea of Mist. Compared to what people know, there are far more horrors here that no one can comprehend,” Song Mingyu spoke of the strangeness of the Sea of Mist, her expression uneasy. She edged closer to Jian Jiu.
“For instance, the dreadful ghost we encountered this time—there’s no record of it in our sect’s archives.”
Some time had passed since they’d encountered the coffin-bearer. As Jian Jiu and Ye Mingke discussed the Sea of Mist’s various enigmas at the bow, the six men aboard had resumed rowing the boat forward, eager to press on.
Ye Mingke’s earlier speculation—that the appearance of the beast tide meant they were nearing the Sea of Mist’s shrinking boundary—had put hope on everyone’s face, brightening their spirits.
“There may be records, but they’re still out of our reach. The secrets of the Sea of Mist are many, and most remain hidden from us,” Jian Jiu added, following Song Mingyu’s words.
Just then, a flash of tender green pierced the fog, drawing everyone’s attention.
A small island appeared ahead on their course, lush and verdant, with mounds and dense forest rising from its surface.
The boat continued steadily forward through the mist.
Suddenly, a loud “bang” echoed—the boat struck something, as if a submerged reef, sending a violent jolt through the vessel. Ying Kui, standing at the bow, was nearly thrown overboard.
He steadied himself only by gripping the rail tightly, having not used any spiritual power.
“What the hell is that?” he snarled, peering over the edge, his temper volatile.
But as he looked down at the sea beneath, his pupils contracted sharply.
…
“I’ll make it in time.”
“I’ll…”
As the boat collided with the hidden obstacle, Li Guifan, upon the island, abruptly opened his eyes. His lips, still moving, uttered the final syllables.
“Make it in time!”
A resonant clang rang out.
The sword that had pinned the headless blood bear beside him suddenly soared into the air, brilliant swordlight slashing through the mist toward the direction of the boat.
Afterward, Ye Mingke would replay this sudden ambush over and over, scrutinizing his own carelessness.
The greatest cause was his perception—far beyond the range of anyone else in the Sea of Mist—which lent him a false confidence.
To sense farther than others does not mean one truly perceives far.
How far is thirty paces? For a swordlight, it’s but the blink of an eye.
When he sensed the sudden surge of swordlight, he only had time to shove Ying Kui beside him before being swept away by its force.
Ying Kui, though pushed, could not fully evade the blow. With a thunderous crash, he was struck down, smashing through the deck and hull, plunging into the icy sea.
Blood spread swiftly within the water.
Moments before, the boat had been intact; now, a huge fissure opened where the sword struck, and its passengers were thrown, scattered into the sea.
It wasn’t just Ye Mingke’s perception that misled them; Li Guifan’s self-doubt and lack of confidence had deceived everyone as well.
Self-doubt doesn’t only make one feel incompetent—it makes others believe so too.
To them, Li Guifan had always been the glue of the group, a genial elder, self-deprecating and complaining, older but not highly cultivated. They unconsciously overlooked that his cultivation was only lacking compared to the peerless Jian Jiu.
No sooner had the mighty sword qi passed than another dazzling swordlight, radiant as the sun, swept through the mist toward them.
All who beheld it felt a surge of terror.
“Use your spiritual power!” Ye Mingke, just surfacing from the water, shouted at Jian Jiu and the others.
Jian Jiu, his expression cold, drew the spirit sword “Polestar” from his back, leaping atop the waves to meet the incoming swordlight and the familiar figure behind it.
His sword had barely clashed with the incoming blade when a shrill, fearful scream arose from below.
A giant, headless blood bear, its body ablaze with ghostly blue thunderfire, charged across the water. Suddenly, it bent down and snatched up a struggling, screaming figure from the waves—Zhao Yuan.
The bear turned slightly, as if regarding the man with its nonexistent head. Then, running, it reached out with its other paw, twisted Zhao Yuan’s head off, and a fountain of blood shot skyward.
“Ah!” Fang Wu, witnessing the horror, convulsed and screamed.
The bear seemed to hear the scream, swinging Zhao Yuan’s headless body with force toward Fang Wu.
“Brother, be careful,” Fang Si, swimming beside Fang Wu, shoved him aside, but in doing so, moved forward himself—just in time to meet the flying corpse.
With a crash, Fang Si was smashed together with the corpse, blood spraying everywhere.
Blood pooled and spread across the sea’s surface.
All this happened within moments; two men died suddenly, and Ye Mingke was powerless to intervene. Even Song Mingyu, who had activated her spiritual power, could only draw her sword before colliding with the rampaging blood bear.
Thunderfire and swordlight clashed.
Song Mingyu was clearly no match for the blood bear ghost, sealed and allowed to grow by Li Guifan’s deliberate design—especially since her vitality had been depleted saving Jian Jiu, weakening her further.
After a few lightning-fast exchanges, the bear’s thunderfire-imbued paw struck her hard, launching her toward the island.
With a crash, she smashed through several giant trees, blood staining her already haggard face.
She struggled to rise, but the blood bear, thundering forward, struck toward her again. Her wide, dim eyes brimmed with despair.
“Mingyu!”
Jian Jiu, having exchanged only a few blows with Li Guifan, noticed Song Mingyu’s peril and shouted in fury. His “Polestar” sword shook off Li Guifan’s blade and he reversed in midair, ignoring the sword that followed him.
He took the blow from Li Guifan’s sword on his back, blood spilling from his mouth and soaking his white robes.
He did not look back, but kept his eyes fixed on the bear, now looming over Song Mingyu. His right hand formed a sword seal, descending from the sky with thunderous force—seven spirit swords beside him ringing and blazing with light.
“Big Dipper, Polestar!”
His blood-filled voice was broken but still cold.
The sword named “Polestar” moved forward, forming the spearhead of seven swords.
With a roar, the seven swords crashed into the earth, fierce sword qi enveloping the headless blood bear. The crimson Polestar sword pierced straight through the beast’s body.
Jian Jiu landed, gathering the exhausted Song Mingyu in his arms, shielding her from the wild sword qi. Within the sword formation, the giant bear was torn apart by sword qi and spirit blades.
Taking the blow and launching a killing strike, Jian Jiu’s pale face flushed with unhealthy red. He barely had time to catch his breath before he spun around, extending three feet of sword qi from his finger to block Li Guifan’s relentless blade.
A clang rang out.
His sword qi met the blade, but to his surprise, Li Guifan’s sword carried only a modest amount of spiritual power and was struck heavily to the ground, leaving most of his sword qi unused.
Something was wrong.
Jian Jiu was startled. A giant palm, suffused with green astral energy, appeared before him, crashing down upon him and Song Mingyu.
He could only raise his hand to block.
With a thunderous impact, dust flew as Jian Jiu and Song Mingyu were forced to their knees beneath the crushing weight of the green palm, both groaning as blood poured from their mouths.
The enormous, green palm pressed harder still.
“Hahaha, didn’t expect this, did you? My strongest art isn’t swordsmanship at all!”
“Jian Jiu, Jian Jiu, why did you think the Sword-Bearer’s position was beyond my reach?”
“I simply disdain it! Disdain it!”
Li Guifan, hair disheveled and face wild, landed on the island, controlling the giant green palm as he laughed madly at Jian Jiu, struggling beneath it.
“I’m not the Sword-Bearer. I don’t have a sword, but I’ll kill you just the same!”
“Why? Why do you all look down on me?”
He laughed and laughed, tears suddenly streaming from his contorted face.
“Is it just because I come from the mortal realm?”
“Or is it simply because my name is Guifan—Return to the Mortal—and so I must return to the mortal?”