Chapter 9
The forest of swords no longer hummed.
It was silent, subdued, as though the Dao itself had paused to watch what had unfolded. Where once the sword beast's roars had echoed, now only the faint whisper of steel dust remained, carried by an unseen wind.
Nyxen sat against the trunk of a shattered blade-tree, chest heaving, every breath pulling raw pain through his lungs. His skin still bore glowing cracks where black and silver light pulsed beneath, the reminder of his unstable fusion.
Liuying knelt across from him, eyes closed, her hand still resting lightly against his chest. Her Sword Intent flowed into him in controlled waves, tempering the violent surges of demonic qi that threatened to consume him.
It was a strange intimacy, one that neither had sought.
"You should be dead," she said quietly, her tone more statement than scolding. "No one should be able to contain that Core. It was meant to shatter you."
Nyxen chuckled, though the sound was broken by a cough that spat blood onto the ground. "Should, should, should. The world is full of shoulds. I prefer what is."
Her eyes opened, pale and steady, fixing on him. "What is, is dangerous."
He grinned faintly, crimson eyes flecked with silver glinting in the dim light. "And yet you're still here, snow maiden. Dangerous men usually don't get caretakers."
She didn't look away. "Don't mistake my actions. I keep you alive because this world doesn't forgive weakness. If you collapse, I'm left alone against it."
"Practical," Nyxen murmured. His smile widened. "Almost demonic."
For the first time since they had met, her expression shifted—just a flicker, a crease between her brows.
They rested in silence, though silence itself seemed heavy.
Nyxen tilted his head back, eyes tracing the blade-filled sky. "Strange, isn't it? A world built from swords, yet it feels more alive than the so-called living."
Liuying followed his gaze. Her voice was softer now. "Every sword here carries a remnant of its wielder. Their regrets, their convictions. That's why it feels alive."
"Regrets, convictions…" Nyxen muttered, almost bitterly. "All I see are corpses clinging to steel."
"Do you have none?" she asked suddenly.
The question struck sharper than any sword.
Nyxen stilled. His smirk faltered for the briefest moment, a shadow of something raw flickering across his features. But then he laughed, though it was hollow.
"Regrets are for those who had choices. I had survival."
Liuying's gaze lingered on him, as if trying to pierce through the armor of words he wore. "You hide behind that," she said finally. "But I've seen your eyes. Even when you grin, they don't laugh."
Nyxen said nothing.
Later, as the void sky shifted into its false night, Liuying gathered broken fragments of blades into a small firepit. With a spark of sword qi, they glowed faintly, casting pale silver light.
Nyxen watched her in silence, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"You could have left me to die," he said at last.
"I could have," she agreed, her tone calm, even.
"Why didn't you?"
Her fingers paused briefly over the hilt of her sword before she answered. "Because… a true sword does not turn away from those who fight, even when their path is wrong."
Nyxen barked a laugh, low and sharp. "You call this wrong?" He raised his cracked hand, silver and black light spilling from beneath the skin. "This is strength. Pure and filthy, married in defiance. Tell me, what is wrong with power that works?"
Liuying looked at him, her gaze steady. "Because it devours you even as it feeds you. And one day, you'll forget why you sought it in the first place."
Her words lingered, echoing against the silence.
For the first time, Nyxen found himself unable to mock her.
The firelight flickered between them.
Liuying shifted, her sword resting across her lap, her white hair gleaming silver in the glow. Nyxen studied her—the way her posture never faltered, the way her eyes held clarity even in exhaustion. She was purity personified, and yet she had chosen to sit here, steadying his chaos, sharing warmth instead of walking away.
Something unfamiliar tugged at his chest. Not weakness, not hunger. Something more dangerous.
Possibility.
He looked away quickly, scoffing. "Don't get attached, snow maiden. The moment this trial ends, our paths will split. You'll chase your purity, and I'll chase survival. That's how the story goes."
Liuying's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile—so subtle it was almost a secret. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the swords will decide otherwise."
When Nyxen finally drifted into uneasy rest, his dreams were strange.
Not the endless void he had grown used to, but flashes—faces he no longer remembered, a life half-forgotten. A hand reaching for him, not to kill, not to betray, but simply to hold.
And a whisper,