511: Chapter 511 The Sword's Echo Through the Ages

"Shut — — up — — ! !"

This was no longer a sound, but the collective screeching of billions of broken swords and remnant Souls!

The Ancestral Sword Spirit's roar tore through the Void Realm, transforming into a visible tidal wave of sound. Wherever it passed, even the Laws trembled, wailed, and froze inch by inch!

Frost, solidified from grief, indignation, and killing intent, spread from beneath his feet.

The Void Realm let out an unbearable groan, cracking with spiderweb-like fissures.

That phantom of the dark red long halberd, which pierced through heaven and earth, actually trembled and hummed amidst this roar, as if struck by an invisible giant hammer!

The gold-blue Dragon of swords collapsed with a bang, and billions of streams of light gathered like a hundred rivers returning to the sea, reforming into a human shape.

But the Ancestral Sword Spirit at this moment was no longer the same as before.

His body had become semi-transparent, like a dying lamp about to burn out, its light flickering between existence and non-existence.

His aura was as weak as a candle in the wind, and every breath tugged at the tearing pain deep within his Divine Soul.

Yet his eyes were colder than cold iron tempered for ten thousand years, and quieter than the dead silence at the end of the starry sky.

This was a kind of killing intent—the purest kind—left behind after casting all emotions—anger, grief, attachment, unwillingness—into the furnace of the Soul and burning them to ash.

He slowly raised the heaven and earth wandering dragon sword in his hand.

The gold-blue divine radiance on the sword blade was fading, like stripping away a gaudy brocade robe to reveal the most essential texture within.

The sword edge transformed into an ancient, grayish-white color; it did not reflect light, nor was it dazzling, looking like a piece of stubborn iron just fished out of a deep mountain cold pool, leaving only a sharpened, silent blade.

This was the most primitive form of a sword—not for decoration, not for showing off, only for cutting.

"You... "

The Ancestral Sword Spirit spoke, every word like chiseling into the Void Realm with a sword edge, branding sword marks that would never fade:

"You... bugs... who only dare to squirm in the shadows..."

His hand holding the sword was very steady, as steady as if it were holding the weight of the entire world.

The sword tip slowly rose, pointing toward that curtain of darkness that devoured everything, pointing toward the phantom of the ferocious dark red long halberd deep within the curtain.

"You have no right — — "

Above the sword edge, a tiny point of light ignited.

This was not light.

It was sharpness itself awakening.

It was the first fissure that split the Grandmist when Chaos had yet to divide; it was the most primordial will at the moment the concept of 'sword' was born; it was the source of all cutting and separation.

It was so simple, so faint, yet it caused all existences watching it to feel an illusory pain deep within their Souls, as if they were being sliced open.

"To mention his name! ! !"

The last three words were not roared out, but slashed out!

The moment the words left his lips — —

"Clang — — !"

The heaven and earth wandering dragon sword let out a resonant sound of extreme clarity; the sword body trembled, and the grayish-white faint light rippled out like water waves.

The Ancestral Sword Spirit's figure blurred.

He and the sword lost their boundaries at that moment.

The person was the sword, and the sword was the person.

A grayish-white, hair-thin sword light quietly appeared in the Void Realm.

It was so quiet, so simple, like a shallow mark someone had inadvertently scratched onto the night sky.

There was no earth-shattering momentum, no dazzling light, not even the slightest sound of wind.

It just quietly, straightly, thrust toward the very core of the dark curtain—the source of the phantom of the dark red long halberd.

Slow.

Composed.

As if keeping an appointment that had been destined long ago.

But wherever it passed — — all things were divided.

The surging tidal wave of darkness split silently the moment it touched the sword light.

It was not cut, but rather the very concept of separation naturally took effect before the Sword Intent — — the darkness retreated to both sides, like a curtain pushed aside by an invisible hand.

Those dense dark red eyes of nothingness saw their pupils suddenly contract when the sword light swept past, and then they quietly burst like bubbles.

There was no wailing, no struggling, as if their very existence had been negated by this sword light.

The viscous power of annihilation attempted to envelop and devour the sword light, but at the moment of contact, it was like spring snow meeting the sun, evaporating and dispersing with a hissing sound.

This was not a confrontation of energy, but a crushing of "existence hierarchy" — — the "cut" represented by this sword light was higher than the rule of "annihilation".

"The Sword Intent of All Worlds Returning to One?! No! This aura is... This is Lu Changzhi's True Intent of Void-Cutting! You actually dare to forcefully catalyze his Sword Intent?! Ancestral Sword Spirit, you are mad — — !!!"

Deep within the dark curtain, the Void Sword Spirit's roar was tinged with fear for the first time.

That phantom of the dark red long halberd trembled crazily, the dark red blood light on the halberd surged, and countless twisted resentful spirits poured out from the halberd tip, turning into layer upon layer of curse barriers, each layer capable of causing stars to rot and True Immortals to fall.

Yet the grayish-white sword light continued to advance, slowly and firmly.

It passed through the first layer of curse barriers; those wailing resentful spirits instantly froze, and then scattered like dust.

It passed through the second layer of blood-light barriers; the barrier split silently, like an ancient silk scroll being cut open.

It passed through the third layer, the fourth layer...

Nothing could block it for even an instant.

Because what it cut was not matter, not energy, not even rules.

It cut existence itself.

Finally, under the desperate gaze of the Void Sword Spirit, the grayish-white sword light touched the tip of the dark red long halberd phantom.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely at this moment.

The halberd and the sword connected quietly.

"Crack..."

A crisp sound, so slight it was almost inaudible.

Starting from the point of contact, spiderweb-like cracks instantly crawled over the entire phantom of the long halberd, and then spread like a plague to the endless dark curtain behind.

Those dark red eyes exploded one after another, like a grand and tragic blood-colored firework festival; the viscous darkness, like a smashed ink bottle, peeled off and dissipated in large swaths.

"Urgh ahhhh — — !!!"

A wail, so shrill it transcended the limits of life, erupted from the deepest part of the darkness!

This was not a sound, but a mental storm that erupted when the Soul was being slashed to pieces inch by inch, sweeping through the entire Void Realm!

"Ancestral Sword Spirit! You burned the Sword Spirit Origin to forcefully catalyze this intent! You madman! Madman!! You will suffer Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering, and never be reincarnated — — !!!"

The Void Sword Spirit's wail was filled with venom, pain, and a trace of fear hidden deep in its bones.

The grayish-white sword light gradually faded, turning back into the figure of the Ancestral Sword Spirit.

He was almost completely transparent, like an ice sculpture about to melt, with only his outline barely maintained in the Void Realm.

Yet his spine remained straight, like a sword monument that would never fall.

Those gold-blue Dragon eyes watched the collapsing darkness calmly, as if admiring a finale that had come ten thousand ages late.

"If I can cut you..."

His voice was very light, as light as a sigh, yet it made the entire shattered Void Realm solemn:

"To dissipate, what does it matter."

At this very moment.

Below, at the Inheritance Plaza.

This ancient plaza, which had once carried the glory of the Sword Dao and had now turned into ruins, was already shattered beyond recognition under the crushing of the Void Realm and the darkness.

Fissures spread like spiderwebs, rubble floated, and the few remaining broken pillars trembled slightly in the energy aftershocks, as if mourning the end of an era.

The Sword Child had stepped forward at some unknown time.

He stood in the center of this ruin, his robes flapping in the raging turbulent energy, but his figure was as steady as a mountain.

The gray long sword in his hand, the tiny point of light at its tip, had somehow become as blazing as the midday sun, illuminating the area for a dozen feet around, making even the dust floating in the Void Realm clearly visible.

He slowly looked up.

His gaze pierced through the cracked Void Realm, pierced through the dispersing darkness, and finally landed on that almost transparent, straight-spined figure.

Then, under the astonished gaze of Jian Tanghuang and the Gong Clan man — —

He let go of the hand holding the sword.

"Clang..."

The gray long sword did not fall, but floated quietly in front of him, the sword body trembling slightly, emitting a clear and long-lasting hum.

This sound was initially slight, like a spring in a deep valley, then grew louder and louder, as if a Dragon that had been sleeping for ten thousand ages was awakening, each tremor inducing resonance in the surrounding Void Realm, even the broken stone pillars vibrating in unison.

Jian Tanghuang's pupils contracted sharply.

The life-bound sword in her hand trembled crazily, the scabbard humming incessantly.

She gripped the hilt tightly, her knuckles turning white, but that spiritual sword, which she had nurtured for over ten years and which was as connected to her as an arm, was now like a frightened young beast, desperately trying to break free from her control, bowing toward the direction of that gray figure — — bowing in submission.

She looked up at the Sword Child.

This gray-clothed youth, who had been taciturn and even a bit dull along the way, was still standing there, his figure unchanged, his robes as before.

Yet his back made a tremor arise from deep within Jian Tanghuang's Soul, a tremor that could not be described.

This was not fear.

It was the awe a Mortal feels when looking up at the starry sky, a feeling so small it was almost void.

The mockery on the young Gong Clan man's face froze completely.

The dark red patterns deep within his pupils, which had always lain dormant, were now like live snakes thrown into boiling oil, twisting and jumping crazily, almost about to break free from the shackles of his eye sockets!

A fear originating from the deepest part of his Bloodline, dormant for who knows how many ten thousand ages, was forcibly awakened at this moment, flowing through his entire body instantly like cold venom.

He staggered back a step, his face as pale as paper.

In the Sword Child's eyes reflected the finale of the entire battlefield:

The burning figure of the Ancestral Sword Spirit, the collapsing dark curtain, the unwilling wail of the Void Sword Spirit, and that desolate and resolute Sword Intent permeating every inch of space.

Deep within his gray eyes, billions of broken images flashed by like a revolving lantern: someone wielding a sword to slash the sky, someone drinking alone under the moon, someone leaving a trail of footprints on the peak of a snow mountain, someone looking back at the end of a sea of blood... Those images were fragmented, yet all were haunted by the same lonely and proud Sword Intent.

Finally, all the images fell silent.

The Sword Child spoke slowly.

His voice was very calm, without anger, without sadness, yet it carried a peculiar sense of familiarity, as if it had traveled through the endless river of time, like a greeting upon meeting an old friend, or a sigh after the sedimentation of years:

"Old friend..."

"It's been so many years."

He raised his hand, not gripping the sword, but gently brushing over the sword body, his movement as soft as brushing dust off an old friend's shoulder.

"That temper of yours, always risking your life with others..."

"Still hasn't changed."

The moment the last four words fell — —

"Boom!!!!!!!"

An indescribable, vast Sword Intent erupted from within the Sword Child's seemingly ordinary body!

This was not a gushing of energy, but an awakening of will!

It was as if a primordial giant beast that had slept for ten thousand ages opened its eyes, as if the dust-sealed First Sword of Heaven and Earth saw the light of day again, as if all the lost glory of the Sword Dao returned in this instant!

The Void Realm trembled, time twisted, and even those scattered remnants of darkness froze at this moment!

Around the Sword Child, an invisible Sword Domain unfolded naturally.

Within the domain, there were lone peaks holding up the sky, long rivers and setting suns, stars flickering on and off, and the vast Mortal World.

This was his Sword Intent — — and it was also the vastness of the ages he had walked through.