He had witnessed doomed souls marching to fate's execution, facing death with serenity.
"We walk the Illuminated Path. You will sever its final thread."
He had seen Cloud Knights burning with life's fire, advancing even when hope had died.
"The Xianzhou soars! The Cloud Knights triumph!"
He had watched warships plunge from the sky by the thousands, their crews' defiance blazing brighter than their burning hulls.
A suicidal charge—paving victory's road with blood.
He had endured the Divine Archer's judgment, where mortals crumbled like dust before godhood.
And beneath the peach tree—
A girl waiting for him to come home.
These were Anming's entirety. His past. The forge that shaped the man named "Anming."
The sword scabbard, blacker than midnight, rose in his left hand. The street fell silent. Abundance Followers stared in confusion. Intelligence reports had never mentioned this elderly short-life species. Who was he?
"Don't falter! Activate the beacon!"
Blades pierced the mist, converging on the figure at the crossroads.
Behind Anming, wounded Cloud Knights gathered. Their eyes burned with reverence for the motionless silhouette before them.
"Shield the Sword Sovereign!"
"We charge with you!"
Blood long cooled in Anming's veins reignited. His right hand gripped the hilt—
—and drew one inch of blade.
A keening edge split the air. No one saw the strike. Only the result: a line of Wolf Legion soldiers clutching their throats, arterial blood painting the street crimson.
"What the hell?!"
"Focus fleet fire on him!"
They fell like wheat before a scythe. The whistle of severed necks drowned their cries.
Three inches drawn.
The street resembled a storm-ravaged wasteland, crisscrossed with sword scars. Blood pooled at Anming's feet as he gazed toward the shuddering Radiance of Ten Directions.
He waited. For the moment.
"Sword Sovereign!" A Cloud Knight's voice trembled with desperate hope. "We'll evacuate civilians to the docks, but even Luofu's fastest ships—"
"I will be here."
Anming raised Wuye horizontally. Wind howled as he—
—drew the sword fully.
The blade's arc split the heavens. Firestorms erupted among the clouds, incinerating hundreds of warships. Burning debris rained down, illuminating eyes sharper than the steel they reflected.
I will be here.
A vow.
The Cloud Knights saluted and retreated, leaving the white-haired swordsman alone against an ocean of enemies.
One man. One sword.
A bloodline drawn across the street.
Cross it, and die.
The Abundance horde charged.
The Tide
Yaoqing's absence left Anming as Yuque's final bulwark. Fresh legions poured from landing craft. Emerald vines strangled the streets—and deep within the abyss, Táowù stirred.
The ancient beast's crimson eyes glowed as tendrils pumped it with stolen vitality. The Radiance of Ten Directions fractured, crystalline shards cascading like dying stars.
Civilians huddled at the docks, trapped by the mist. Behind them, the clash of steel and screams faded beneath Wuye's song.
The Abundance built bridges of corpses to reach him.
Even gods tire.
But Anming grew stronger.
Warships. Warbeasts. Blades. All shattered against him.
"What is he?!"
Dawn's faint glow pierced the thinning mist.
Before dawn, the sky is always darkest.
Mountains of dismembered corpses flanked Anming. Wuye dripped crimson, its edge chewing through another wave.
He feared not death—only loss.
A seismic roar shook the earth. Táowù emerged, its mammoth form shredding the last of the Radiance's seals. A tsunami of vines erupted from the abyss.
Somewhere beyond mortal sight—
A gaze fell upon him.
Destiny's gaze.
"Anming!"
The voice tore through the battlefield's din. He froze.
"Don't go! Don't you dare die!"
On the horizon, a silhouette merged with the rising dawn.
Fu Xuan.