70: Chapter 70 An Eighth-Tier SS-Rank Rival!

3:00 AM.

The radiator in the hotel room emitted an overwhelming clacking sound, its rhythm sounding like it was beating time for the hesitation of someone on the verge of death.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng leaned back in his wheelchair.

His gray-blue eyes were bloodshot.

His gaze was fixed firmly on the holographic screen in front of him.

The pink "Pre-order Now" button twinkled in the darkness like a malicious star, mocking him.

His left hand, missing half of its little finger, hovered in mid-air, the tip of his index finger less than a centimeter from the screen.

In the past two hours and forty minutes, he had repeated this action no less than ten times.

It was always the same—closing his eyes, his mind would involuntarily replay the image of that Tier 2 apprentice slowly pulling out an RPG and a mortar.

That unreasonable, pure physical destructive power held a near-demonic temptation for an old cripple who had lost sensation in his lower body.

Just by pressing this button, in three days, he would be able to stand up again.

He could even possess even more exaggerated suppression power than at his peak.

"It's just turning into a little girl."

His shriveled lips parted slightly as he spoke to the empty room.

His voice was as hoarse as sandpaper grinding against rock; it didn't sound like he was trying to convince anyone, but rather like he was reciting a prayer he didn't even believe in himself.

"The transformation time is very short. No one will see it. It seems it can be changed back, and there's no need to take what Chu Yin said seriously. I just want to become stronger..."

But when his gaze fell on the dress on the screen, with its dark lace trim and dark gray boots—

that pride belonging to a Tier 9 Sword Saint, hard as stone, once again pierced his nerves painfully.

The towering waves of the Canglan Strait. The siege of three Tier 9 Abyss Poison Dragons. A monument of the human faction.

If he went to the front lines to kill enemies wearing this indecent thing—even if he wiped out all the Abyss monsters, his lifelong reputation would probably rot in the mud along with that pile of monsters.

Chu Yin's heartbreaking words from tonight still hung in his ears.

A warrior's honor. A swordsman's dignity.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng's breathing quickened slightly.

In the end, that finger suspended in mid-air seemed to lose all its strength and fell dejectedly.

"...Forget it."

He sighed hoarsely and shut off the holographic terminal.

The room instantly fell into a deathly silence.

He touched his own paralyzed legs, a bitter, self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Even if I truly rot in this wheelchair and am eliminated by the times—"

He spoke the second half of the sentence to the darkness, as if carving the final stroke onto his own epitaph.

"—I must never lose the backbone of a sword cultivator."

There was someone in the hallway.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng only noticed it half a breath later.

There were three pairs of footsteps. Extremely light, yet extremely rhythmic.

They weren't guests. Guests wouldn't walk with this cadence at this time.

They weren't assassins either. Assassins' footsteps wouldn't be deliberately so orderly—orderly to the point of telling the person in the room: We are here. We are upright. We mean no harm.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

One long and two short knocks.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng didn't open the door immediately.

He placed his longsword horizontally across his knees with his left hand, the tip of the scabbard pointing towards the door gap.

Only then did he speak. "...Who is it?"

A voice came from outside the door.

Young. Respectful. Carrying a certain fanaticism that was deliberately suppressed but still seeped through the cracks of the words.

"Senior Sword Saint Lu Changsheng. Apologies for the intrusion. We have brought what you truly need—the ultimate armament."

One of the lights in the hallway was broken.

The remaining ones emitted a faint hum in the cold air at 3:00 AM, the light dim and yellowish, casting the long, thin shadows of the three white-robed figures onto the wall.

The person in the lead held up the constant-temperature combination box in his hands.

The moment the lid popped open, a dry, cold mist carrying the scent of metal particles overflowed from the gap, flowing down his wrist onto the floor.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng's left hand tightened.

It was a card.

The gold-red card face burned quietly in the dim hallway, not with flames, but with something more restrained—as if someone had forged the first light of dawn into a thin sheet.

Sword intent.

Pure, righteous sword intent, without any impurities, slowly steamed up from the card face, condensing into hair-thin pale gold patterns in the air.

Those patterns scorched Sword Saint Lu Changsheng's retina for a moment, and then his left fingertips twitched uncontrollably. Three years. For three whole years, his broken spiritual meridians had resonated with a card for the first time.

"What is this?"

His voice was hoarse, but three degrees deeper than before.

It wasn't a question; it was an interrogation.

An old soldier who had lived on the battlefield for eighty years would hold his sword tighter when he smelled something good.

The leading white-robed person bowed slightly, his tone respectful and just right, as if reciting lines he had rehearsed many times.

" [Heavenly Sword Absolute Blade - Beast God Armament], Tier 8, SS-Rank.

We spent a whole year specifically adapting the backflow for the damage to your lower limb spiritual meridians.

This is a transformation Armament Card; you will not change gender after transforming, and your legs will directly recover. There are no side effects, just pure Sword Dao amplification. It can make you stand up directly, and even surpass your peak period."

"I have lived for eighty years. I have seen more good things than you have eaten meals."

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng's voice was very flat.

"I never believe in pie falling from the sky."

The white-robed person was silent for a second, then sighed softly.

That sigh didn't sound like he was offended, but more like a kind of helplessness at being misunderstood.

"Senior Sword Saint Lu Changsheng. When you single-handedly stopped three Tier 9 Poison Dragons at the Canglan Strait back then, did you think about the reward?"

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng did not answer.

"We are just a few unknown Card Creators.

You don't know us, but we have lived on the defensive lines you guarded.

The failure rate of this card is very high, and it was originally going to be destroyed.

But we thought, rather than letting it rot in the laboratory, it would be better to hand it to the person it should belong to.

As for the appraisal—"

The white-robed person stepped back. "Truth Sanctuary can appraise it as they please.

If the masters of the Sanctuary say there is even the slightest problem with it, you can destroy it on the spot; we will have absolutely no complaints."

Only the clacking sound of the radiator remained in the hallway.

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng looked down at the gold-red card.

He picked it up with his left hand, which was missing three fingers, his movements very light, as if holding a thin piece of ice that could shatter at any moment.

The sword intent rushed up his wrist from his fingertips, burning all the way along his meridians that had withered for three years, exploding into a small cluster of warm airflow at the center of his brow.

There was no expression on his face, which had been hard for eighty years, but deep within his gray-blue eyes, something was shaking violently.

"...When do we leave?"

"The car is already waiting downstairs."

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng put the card into his chest pocket, pushed the wheels of the wheelchair with his left hand, and the rumbling sound rolled through the hallway at 3:00 AM.

He paused for a moment when passing by the white-robed figures.

"You have quite the nerve, actually not fearing even the appraisal of the Truth Sanctuary. Interesting, who is behind you?"

The white-robed person bowed deeply.

"Gate of the Underworld."

"Oh, so that's it. You were also the ones who boycotted the magical girl card before..."

Sword Saint Lu Changsheng nodded slightly, and the wheelchair continued forward.

The rumbling sound gradually disappeared at the elevator entrance at the end of the corridor.

The three white-robed figures stood where they were, watching the hunched back.

Not until the sound of the elevator door closing came did the leader slowly straighten his waist, the corners of his mouth under the hood curving into a very faint arc.

"...Boycott? Heh, of course we had to boycott it."