The land was below, looking familiar, just like the maps he used to study. Soon, Lorist realized — wasn't this the Northland? The land was moving rapidly beneath him. He quickly spotted his own family's territory: Xing'an Plains,
Lorist felt like he had become a bird, soaring high and looking down upon his family's domain. Following the Razor's Edge Mountain Range, he saw the Nico Academy under construction, with Tess resting against the building plans while her maid Winnie hummed a tune while holding baby Olga. He flew over Maple Forest Manor and saw his own chubby, tiger-headed son, Wardbek, mischievously hiding under a table playing hide-and-seek with Yilina…
He flew over the bustling Populus Town, over the Black Mud Swamp, saw the busy construction crews below, and then the bustling seaside shipyards, the sailors' camp, the docks, and finally the boundless ocean, with surging waves and rolling breakers. A fleet of five or six whaling ships was sailing against the wind and waves, pressing ever forward.
Soon, Lorist realized he had returned to the skies above Xiluvas Island. The island, shrouded in a thin mist at dawn, appeared so tranquil and peaceful — a pearl on the sea. This was his family's territory, and no one could ever take it from his hands…
What puzzled Lorist was that no matter where he flew, a small red dot on the ground was always following him. When he sped up, the red dot sped up; when he slowed, it slowed. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lorist decided to land and see exactly what this red dot was.
The ground rushed up to meet him, growing larger and larger. Lorist landed gently, and there before him was a round, red mark, about the size of a basketball. It looked utterly unremarkable, like a small splatter of blood…
Lorist stepped into the red mark. A blinding red light flashed, and the entire world transformed into a familiar blood-red hue. The blood-red color rapidly spread into the distance, and wherever it touched, that place naturally became part of the blood-red world…
Within this blood-red world, Lorist felt a joy akin to being a fish in water. It seemed that every blade of grass and every tree in this world, along with the snakes hibernating underground, the gophers digging their burrows, and the ants busily carrying food — every movement of these creatures was completely within his perception.
Lorist now felt a complete sense of familiarity and mastery. He was the god of this blood-red world; as long as he willed it, this world would change at his whim...
The air carried a familiar, sweet, metallic scent. Lorist breathed it in deeply. He recognized it—the smell he associated with slaughter. The screams and curses of his enemies as they perished echoed in his ears, finally coalescing into a rousing, blood-boiling battle hymn that echoed eternally throughout this crimson realm.
I am the master of this world of blood, Lorist thought with deep satisfaction. Yet, he also felt incredibly weary. Soon, the blood-red world began to fade. All the crimson receded from every corner, peeling away from objects just as it had spread, pulling back to coalesce beneath Lorist's feet into that basketball-sized red mark. Then, slowly, that red mark merged with Lorist once more...
…
Lorist opened his eyes. The first thing that greeted his vision was the familiar cabin of
Nothing seemed amiss. Lorist closed his eyes and began circulating his energy, turning his perception inward. He ran through a small circulation cycle. His body felt perfectly normal, his energy abundant—more vibrant, even, than usual.
Lorist rested his arms behind his head, feeling the gentle rocking of the Flying Fish as it cut through the ocean waves. He began to recall, bit by bit, what had happened.
It seemed he had fallen into a berserk state. He had boarded that large three-masted schooner and killed everyone, not sparing even that old man in brown who was a Great Swordmaster. In the end, it was El who had snapped him out of it. Then, he had tried to leave before losing consciousness...
Now he was on Dawn Academy's Flying Fish. Clearly, El or someone else had brought him back. From overhead came the familiar shouts of the sailors, guards, and Captain Wilson. Their voices indicated that the Flying Fish had successfully escaped the interception and siege battle. They were likely heading for the Shirowas Islands. He just didn't know how many days he had been unconscious...
What puzzled Lorist was how he had entered that berserk state after boarding the large three-masted schooner. The entire world had turned blood-red. Everyone had become indistinct red silhouettes, and their movements had seemed so sluggish and ridiculous, like marionettes on strings.
On the large three-masted schooner, their movements could not escape Lorist's perception.
With mere gestures, lives were taken effortlessly. Lorist still remembered how it felt at the time — as if he had become a tireless, merciless, iron-hearted robot. No matter whether those red silhouettes begged or fled, he reaped their lives with a blank expression, and even several sailors who had jumped overboard to escape had their bodies pierced by javelins he hurled at them…
Even if he had lost consciousness, why had he dreamed that strange dream?
By day one thinks, by night one dreams — Lorist believed this saying from his previous life held great truth. Seeing his family's fiefdom in the dream, seeing his loved ones, was because he missed them, missed that thriving family territory, and reaffirmed his resolve to protect those beautiful things.
But why, at the end of the dream, had he seen that blood-red world again, and that feeling of being the sovereign of that blood-red world?
Lorist's mind stirred, and he suddenly recalled the words he had heard before beheading that brown-robed elder — something about a Sword Saint, something about a domain. Could it be that the old man had not been calling for backup, but rather describing what Lorist had seen at that time — that blood-red hue, that realm of doing whatever one wished, was the so-called domain of a Sword Saint?
Come on — Lorist found it hard to believe he had so easily become a Sword Saint. That was simply impossible…
Although Lorist cultivated the Golden Water Technique passed down from his previous life's ancestors using
Before the assassination attempt by Great Swordmaster Garinan, Lorist had placed himself at the level of a second-rank Great Swordmaster, because he could barely fight to a draw with Lady Shinti, a second-rank Great Swordmaster. But during the assassination, after clashing with Great Swordmaster Garinan, Lorist discovered that before the third-rank Great Swordmaster known as "Half-Step Peak," his skills were worth nothing. The family soldiers suffered heavy casualties to rescue him. Jost was seriously wounded, Bodenfeng was seriously wounded, more than ten Silver Knights and over four hundred loyal and brave soldiers heroically sacrificed their lives…
Letty saved his life but was gravely injured and lost her memory. Lorist himself, gravely wounded, fell into the hands of the Mountain Barbarians, suffering the greatest humiliation of two lifetimes and leaving behind the deepest regret and scars in his heart. After recovering from his injuries, Lorist reflected deeply, training his swordsmanship with painstaking diligence and honing his internal force. After returning to the family fief, he still dared not slack off, training relentlessly day after day. Even when family affairs were hectic, he made time to cultivate — Lorist never wanted to experience another assassination attempt.
It was impossible—he hadn't even been cultivating for two years, so becoming a Swordmaster was completely out of the question. At best, he could only be considered on par with a third-rank Great Swordmaster. Moreover, if he ever did become a Swordmaster, his domain should be related to ice, snow, or frost—so what was that blood-red world about?
As Viscount Kristof, the first-rank Great Swordmaster, had said, he could exchange a hundred or so moves with Lorist at first during their sparring, but the matches grew shorter each time. Eventually, he couldn't last even forty exchanges, leading the Viscount to feel it was too humiliating and refuse to continue.
Kristof complained that it wasn't because Lorist's swordsmanship had improved dramatically, but rather because the bone-chilling cold that accompanied Lorist's strikes was simply unbearable. As a practitioner of water-attribute Combat Force, he was especially vulnerable to that cold. After a short while, he felt restricted and unable to fight freely. Kristof believed that if Lorist ever became a Swordmaster, his domain would certainly manifest that icy chill.
Like this time, when visiting an old acquaintance at Dawn Academy from
Thus, Lorist estimated his current level was near that of a third-rank Great Swordmaster, far from the realm of Swordmaster. Otherwise, against a first-rank Great Swordmaster like Instructor Klute, he should be able to handle the fight within ten moves.
But what exactly was that blood-red world? If he had been blinded by bloodlust at the time and perceived everything that way, why had he dreamed of it again? That sensation of dominating an entire world was utterly indescribable, marvelous to the point of being addictive—impossible to forget…
Lorist sat straight up and cycled through a complete circulation of his energy, confirming that his body was completely fine. In fact, he felt fantastic.
Opening his eyes once more, he saw an overjoyed Sward. "My lord, you've been asleep for two days and two nights! You're finally awake. I saw you cultivating just now, so I didn't disturb you. Are you alright?"
"Heh, I'm fine. Feeling great, actually—just a little hungry," Lorist replied.
...
The deck was a complete mess. About a dozen bandaged soldiers, wrapped up like mummies, were basking in the sun. When they saw Lorist come up, they called out joyfully, "My lord..."
"My lord, you're awake..."
Lorist nodded in acknowledgment to each of them, then climbed up to the bridge and saw Captain Wilson steering with his arm in a sling.
"Got yourself wounded?"
"Yes, my lord... took an arrow by accident..."
"Why are you steering when you're injured? Where's Old Jack?"
Captain Wilson lowered his head. "Old Jack is gone. He was hit by a crossbow bolt during the evacuation and died on the spot..."
"...Alright, tell me about how you broke through after I collapsed."
"My lord, when you boarded that large three-masted schooner merchant ship, so many enemies swarmed toward you — we were all terrified. But then you showed your might, slaughtering them like chickens and dogs without leaving a single piece behind. You made it look so effortless, my lord. Everyone — whether on our side or on the enemy ships closing in — was completely stunned..."
"It was Lord Josk who kept his wits about him. He reminded us to seize the moment and push away the two medium-sized two-masted fast-sailing merchant ships lashed to ours, unhook the iron chains, and break free. By then, you had killed everyone on that ship and were holding up an old man's head, laughing wildly. That laughter was truly cold — I still get goosebumps just thinking about it..."
That moment, the sea fell silent; the enemies were stunned. Lord Josk said your eyes were red, that you had entered a berserk state, unable to distinguish friend from foe. Lord El had no choice but to stand far away and shout at you. Fortunately, you were still lucid and responded to Lord El, which finally put our minds at ease.
But just as you were about to leave, you suddenly collapsed unconscious on the deck. Lord El rushed forward to carry you back. We hurriedly raised the sails. However, your collapse shook the enemies out of their stupor, and they unleashed nearly all their long-range weaponry at our ship. Fortunately, we were still sandwiched between two of their vessels; the ships to our left and right blocked the brunt of the attacks for us, catching fire, and the smoke and flames further concealed our departure…
It was only as we pulled away from those two enemy ships that we suffered a fatal blow. Another large, three-masted schooner merchant ship fired a massive volley of fire arrows and crossbow bolts at us. Old Jack was at the helm at the time. A fire arrow hit the foremost mast and started burning, so I went to deal with it. I had the sailors brave the enemy's long-range attacks to chop down that burning mast. To change course and drop the mast into the sea, I called to Old Jack to turn the helm but got no response. When I made it to the helm platform, I found he had been pinned to it by a crossbow bolt…
Because we lost a mast, our speed decreased significantly. The enemy ships took ages to untangle those iron chains and turn to give chase. That large, three-masted schooner was the fastest in pursuit, but once it caught up, Lord Josk displayed his awesome power. Three arrows brought down its foremast sails, and another severed the upper half of the middle mast. That ship then fell behind, and the enemy never chased again…" Captain Wilson recounted the breakout in meticulous detail.
"How many men did we lose?"
Captain Wilson gave a bitter smile: "Of the twenty-eight sailors, only seven are unscathed, thirteen are wounded, and eight are dead. Three of your ten personal guards are dead, and five are wounded. Of the five steel crossbowmen, only two remain, and they're injured too. But our guests are all unharmed. Apart from Old Jack, everyone else is still here…"
"And Josk and El?"
"Lord Josk is exhausted and has been asleep for a day and a night without waking. Lord El stood watch the entire night yesterday and just went to rest. My lord, it's fortunate you came around. Our ship's speed is currently less than six knots, and we'll reach the Sorrowful Sea very soon. I'm very worried about being robbed; we're critically short on personnel, and it's all wounded men. If we run into those pirates, no one would be able to resist…" Captain Wilson said to Lorist, his tone one of immense relief.
Lorist chuckled: "Alright, don't worry. Soon you'll have a fine ship and fine sailors…"
…(To be continued.)