The interior of Qlipoth Fort seemed to freeze in time. With a crisp click of a sheathed blade, a thin, light-piercing fissure split the towering floor-to-ceiling window behind them.
The cut was so clean that the glass itself hadn't yet realized it had been severed—still holding its form, save for the glaring slash of sunlight now streaming through its center.
Cocolia felt it instantly—the voice in her mind fleeing, not just fading, but scrambling away in panic, unwilling to face even a fraction of that sword's intent.
Wuye had barely left its scabbard an inch, yet it shattered the arrogance of the Stellaron, forcing it into retreat.
For the first time, Cocolia witnessed that voice cower. A dizzying realization struck her—what she had believed to be absolute power was merely the limit of her own understanding.
The world beyond was far harsher than she had imagined.
Could this strength truly save Belobog's future?
"Guardian, I've brought the four outsiders as requested."
Serval's voice shattered the silence. Even a blind man could spot the glaring sword scar across the window behind Cocolia.
Qingque's eyes lit up.
Every craft left its signature—just as painters wove their names into brushstrokes, so too did swordsmen etch their essence into their blade's intent.
A single glance was all it took.
That sharpness, that unshakable confidence—
There was no mistaking it.
Only one person's sword could make her feel this way.
Her gaze darted past Cocolia, searching—
…
"Who the hell are you?"
Qingque blinked in confusion. This scruffy-looking kid didn't match any of her memories. Had she misread the sword's intent?
"This is Anming, the Immortal of Mortar and Bricks," Stelle chimed in, relieved Qingque didn't seem to recognize him. Good—at least he wasn't some heartbreaker with a trail of lovelorn women across the galaxy.
March 7th nodded sagely. "Told ya she got the wrong guy. Anming's been with us the whole time. Unless he's been dream-hopping into girls' hearts—"
"Wuye..." Qingque's voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes locked onto the sword.
She knew that blade.
After the battle at Yuque, the Alliance had dispatched thousands of Star Rafts to search for Anming's remains.
Fu Xuan's divinations had led them to a black hole's edge—where they found the shattered remnants of Yuque, an indestructible corpse, and Wuye, cracked and entwined in vines.
Fu Xuan had personally sought out Huaiyan to reforge it.
From that day on, she never let it leave her side.
For Fu Xuan, Wuye was a keepsake of the highest importance.
Unless—
Qingque ascended the steps, stopping just before Anming. Her hand hovered, trembling slightly.
For the first time, she understood a fraction of Fu Xuan's grief.
That kind of longing never faded—it only sank deeper into the heart with time.
Anming's vision blurred.
Before him stood not the whining, sword-dropping girl from under the peach tree, but a full-fledged swordswoman—her calloused hands betraying years of unseen effort.
People grew up in an instant.
Often, it took loss to force that change.
His sacrifice had reshaped her.
Outwardly, she remained the same lazy sparrow—but after clocking out from the Divination Commission, she'd swing her blade under the moonlight, again and again.
Never again would she feel that helplessness.
Anming had taught her: "So long as you hold a sword, even a god can be slain before the world's eyes."
His hand settled atop her head, just like old times.
Qingque's eyes reddened instantly.
No one else—no one—had ever patted her head and handed her a candied hawthorn stick when she was on the verge of giving up.
"Grandmaster—!"
She crashed into his chest, tears spilling freely.
Anming gently patted her back. "Sorry for making you wait so long."
"March, ouch."
"I know. But my heart hurts more."
March 7th clutched Stelle's arm, eyes wide. After several steadying breaths, she whispered, "Were all those stories he told us… not dreams?"
No way. The timeline didn't add up!
Stelle tilted her head at a melancholic 45-degree angle. "As expected of the First Immortal… To bear the weight of severed epochs and a trail of heartbroken women. My respect."
"Could you respect something wholesome for once?!"
March elbowed her before turning to Dan Heng. "Well, Professor? Thoughts?"
Dan Heng crossed his arms. "From what I know, Qingque has two masters. One is the current Master Diviner of the Luofu. The other… was the Nameless Sword Sovereign who fell during the Battle of Yuque."
"Wait, reincarnated Sword Sovereign?!" Stelle's eyes widened. "No wonder he fights like a New Game+ character. That explains everything."
"Uh—"
March 7th tapped her chin. "So he's, like, your fellow countryman?"
Dan Heng frowned. The timeline still didn't align. That man had been a short-life species. And he'd died centuries ago…
"Grandmaster," Qingque's voice sharpened, her emerald eyes drilling into Anming, "If you've been alive all this time… why didn't you return to Fu Xuan?"
Anming coughed. "What if I said I had amnesia?"
Qingque's stare turned flat. Her genius brain connected dots at lightning speed.
"…So while you were amnesiac, you cheated on Master?"
Since when had this kid gotten so scarily perceptive?!
Anming had taught her swordsmanship, but years of bureaucratic warfare in the Divination Commission had honed Qingque's instincts to razor sharpness.
She could read him like an open book.
Shit. What do you do when your disciple's too smart?
Qingque bit her lip.
What do I even tell Fu Xuan?