The next dawn had barely broken when Bai He pulled Lucien groggily out of bed.
"You… your sword… is a fierce sword."
Lucien blinked blearily, wine still half on his lips. "…Hah? Old bird, what did you just say?"
The elder stroked his beard anxiously, recalling Yang Wudi's words through a sleepless night. At last, he forced them out.
"I just… know," he lied awkwardly.
"Know my ass. You've got basis?" Lucien's brow furrowed, jug dangling.
Bai He repeated Yang Wudi's fears: the sword was cursed, forged on souls and blood, its black aura controlling Lucien instead of being controlled.
Lucien froze.
What he said… lined up disturbingly well with his own nightmares. The swordsmith in the furnace. His sudden blackouts mid-battle. Rage not entirely his own.
He muttered darkly, "I thought it was just drink madness… But if it's what you say… tch. Bai Half‑Immortal, so what do I do?"
"Uh…" Bai He coughed, fiddling nervously. "I don't know either."
BANG! Lucien slapped the table, scowling.
"Then you wake me up this early, just to say you don't know?!"
The old man looked pained. Gratitude and worry tangled his chest. If he had a cure, he would have offered it with both hands. But not even Yang Wudi had one.
A few days later.
Bai Chenxiang, cheeks pink, bowed before her grandfather. "Yes… I'm going with Big Brother Lucien to Star Luo City."
Bai He sighed. The girl's heart is already his. Nothing could stop it now. He pulled from his robes the two red medicine vials Yang Wudi had given.
"Take these. Remember the flare of black fire that day, when Lucien almost lost himself? These pills restrained it once. If it happens again, you must use them."
Chenxiang held them solemnly, nodding. "I will, Grandpa."
In truth, he had first thought to hand them straight to Lucien. But if he lost himself, he would never be able to take them on his own. Only someone watching over him could.
Martial Soul City – Papal Palace.
Bibi Dong sat high upon the golden throne, her robe embroidered in black and gold glinting with malice.
The report slipped from her fingers, reduced to ash before it even hit the floor. Her eyes narrowed.
"…Who else knows of this?"
"Only the scout team, Your Holiness," drawled Yue Guan, bowing. "Our Soul Emperor squad."
"Then remove them."
The two words were colder than the grave. Murderous aura burst from her like a tide, even pinning Chrysanthemum Douluo himself under pressure.
He stammered. "B-but… they're loyal men, our finest scouts—"
"Did you not hear me?" Her scepter cracked the floor, a surge of soul power locking his throat.
"Yes! At once." Sweat drenched him.
Bibi Dong's lip curled into a sinister smile. A cursed sword, a drunken demon child… If it exists, I will bind it to Spirit Hall. Or bury it if I cannot.
Behind her, Ghost Douluo drifted silently from the shadows.
"Qianjun, Gui Mei. Time to enact the plan we discussed. No hesitation."
Their voices overlapped in bowing whispers. "Yes, Your Holiness."
The Pope's staff rapped the marble again. Her voice was venom.
"Fight me, will you…? We'll see whose schemes rule the continent."
On the road to Star Luo.
The luxury carriage rattled along. This time, Bai Chenxiang nestled shyly inside, making the trio cramped.
"Sister Zhuqing… am I troubling Big Brother Lucien?" Chenxiang whispered. "He didn't even drink his full two jars this morning—just one. It's not like him!"
Zhu Zhuqing chuckled softly, but glanced at Lucien. The younger girl was right. He lay silent, not pestering, not joking—simply staring out the window, or dozing against a shoulder, brows furrowed.
In truth, Lucien's eyes weren't on the scenery.
They were on the glowing screen only he could see.
[Name: Lucien]
[Level: 55]
[Martial Soul: █████]
[Spirit Rings: purple (2700), purple (3850), purple (5760), black (20350), black (22300)]
[Skills: Surge, Broken Air Slash, Sword Array, Sword·Will, Feng Chen Absolute Slash]
[Soul Bones: Dark Evil Phoenix left arm (49700), Explosive Power right arm (32150)]
[Bone Skills: Dark Fire, Earth Slash]
[Note: Special drunken bonus active]
His lips twisted. Level 55—already. His power soared after Titan's pressure and he'd even begun to feel sword intent.
But the "Martial Soul" section, censored in static and shadow, taunted him.
Even his cheat system was ashamed to admit it.
The sword wasn't just his partner. It was hiding something.
Something evil.
And for the first time, the thought struck him with clarity: Am I drinking to feed strength—or drinking to drown the sword whispering in me?
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