Chapter 6
The canyon stank of blood. Corpses lay where they had fallen, weapons rusting before they touched the ground. The storm of sword qi that had once howled here was gone, as though even the world itself recoiled from the carnage.
Nyxen stood at the center of it, his robes dark with ash, his smile thin. Beside him, Liuying's blade dripped scarlet. Her white hair swayed with the wind, but her eyes were steady, sharp, unwavering.
Only two enemies remained: Feng Jinhai of the Scarlet Flame Sect and Shen Wu of the Moon-Severing Sect. Both wounded, both furious.
And both now staring at Nyxen.
"You vulture," Jinhai spat, clutching his side where blood poured freely. "You waited for us to bleed each other dry."
Shen Wu's lips curved faintly, almost amused. "Not a vulture. A serpent. Patient. Venomous."
Nyxen tilted his head, crimson eyes glimmering. "What flattering comparisons. But you're mistaken." His voice lowered, smooth and mocking. "I'm not waiting to scavenge. I'm waiting to kill."
Before either could answer, he moved.
The battle that followed was swift, brutal, and uneven.
Jinhai's flames roared one last time, his saber splitting the air with molten fury. Shen Wu's crescents slashed in silence, silver arcs carving shadows. But Nyxen's demonic qi twisted between them like a tide of corruption, devouring the edges of both fire and light.
Liuying moved as well, her sword flashing pure, her strikes cutting gaps where Nyxen's corruption couldn't reach. For a heartbeat, their opposing paths formed a strange harmony—darkness and light weaving through slaughter.
In the end, it wasn't even close.
Shen Wu fell first, his body collapsing under the weight of Nyxen's devouring qi. His final smile was bitter, as if amused at dying to a greater serpent.
Jinhai followed, screaming as Nyxen's hand drove through his chest, tearing his core apart. His flames sputtered and died, leaving only silence.
When it was over, Liuying sheathed her blade. She said nothing, though her gaze lingered on Nyxen longer than usual.
He, meanwhile, crouched among the corpses, rifling through what remained. Spirit stones, talismans, fragments of manuals—all claimed with casual efficiency.
"You disgust me," Liuying said quietly.
Nyxen looked up, crimson eyes glinting with humor. "Disgust is such a fragile word. You mean terrify."
"No," she said, voice steady. "I mean disgust. You have no reverence for the dead, no respect for the sword. You are filth in human form."
Nyxen's smile widened, though his chest prickled at the words. "And yet, snow maiden, you still walk beside me."
She didn't answer.
They left the canyon behind.
The Sword Dao World shifted again, the terrain melting into a forest of towering blades. Steel trunks rose into the clouds, their edges humming with residual intent. The ground itself pulsed faintly with sword qi, vibrating like the heartbeat of some ancient beast.
It was here, in this forest, that Nyxen felt the pull.
Every breath scraped his lungs with invisible edges. Every step sliced his skin with unseen cuts. The air itself was sword intent, condensed and sharpened to a purity that could shred souls.
Liuying inhaled deeply, her aura resonating with the forest. Her sword pulsed at her side, eager, alive.
"This is the training ground," she said softly.
Nyxen's lips curved. "Training ground—or graveyard."
They stopped within a clearing where thousands of invisible blades whirled like a storm. Every step forward drew blood.
Liuying stepped first, her sword unsheathed, aura extending outward in a calm river of intent. The storm parted around her, edges dulled by her clarity.
Nyxen followed, and the storm screamed at him. His demonic qi resisted, twisting, corroding, but every edge cut deeper than the last.
He gritted his teeth, crimson eyes narrowing.
"So this… is Sword Intent."
Liuying turned slightly, her hair gleaming like snow. "It cannot be taken. It must be understood."
Nyxen laughed harshly. "Understanding? I don't need to understand. I'll devour it."
And he tried.
His qi surged outward, tendrils of black smoke swallowing the sword storm. For a moment, it seemed to work—the blades dulled, their sharpness corroded. But then the storm roared back, sharper, hungrier, tearing into him.
Blood spilled from his lips. His knees buckled.
The forest rejected him.
Liuying's gaze softened, though her voice remained cold. "You cannot corrupt the sword and expect it to bend. You must listen. Yield."
Nyxen snarled, forcing himself to stand, his body shaking. "Yield? That word doesn't exist for me."
The storm cut deeper, drawing lines of crimson across his arms, his face, his chest. Every wound burned, but he refused to fall.
Something inside him twisted.
Not his demonic qi. Not the sword intent. Something else.
A memory.