Chapter 209: The Final Lesson Phase
The crimson moon pulsed with a sickening, rhythmic beat. Fresh blood gushed from the deep lacerations sliced open by the blade, but the gruesome wounds sealed themselves almost instantly. The grotesque, regenerative power of the Abundance surged through the torn flesh, gripping the embedded sword blade tighter and tighter like a vice of muscle and bone.
"Weak and futile!" Hoolay roared, his voice thick with bloodlust. "A mere mantis trying to stop a war chariot!"
Under the crushing pressure of the Borisin's regenerating flesh, the outer shell of the Ingenium flying sword began to violently warp. The delicate, high-precision components housed within the blade suffered irreversible compression. A horrific screech of snapping metal pierced the air. Deep inside the hilt, the miniature built-in computer operated in a frantic state of high-frequency calculation and self-defense. Sensors flared red as the system determined the flying sword had entered a state of high-risk oscillatory destruction.
[Initiating Final Lesson mode.]
Yanqing's pupils constricted to pinpricks. His shock did not stem from the imminent destruction of his weapon, but from the sudden, cold female voice ringing out directly in his mind. Beneath its usual icy exterior, the voice carried a deep, uncharacteristic tenderness.
The young boy's breath hitched in his throat. "Teacher...?" he whispered, his voice trembling over the howling wind.
"The content of the Final Lesson," the voice echoed, steady and serene. "I will only demonstrate it once."
The crushed components inside the blade emitted one final, agonizing buzz under the immense pressure. A burst of blue light erupted from the hilt, unfolding into a life-sized holographic projection right before Yanqing's eyes. The elegant figure stood exactly as she had when they first met. She possessed those same cold eyes and that untouchable, aloof temperament. Yet, in this fleeting moment, she leaned down slightly, her expression softening as if giving final, cherished instructions to a student on the verge of graduation.
Her projection began to violently flicker. The hard-light pixels trembled and fractured in the turbulent air.
"Hearts in unison, devoid of stray thoughts," she instructed, her voice dissolving into static. "The sword may break, but the will is indomitable."
The blade emitted one last, deafening crack. The metallic shell shattered completely, bursting outward in a shower of silver. The jagged fragments seemed to solidify in the air for a fraction of a second before scattering, flying outward like a slow-motion explosion of stardust.
"Do not... admit defeat."
The holographic projection dissolved into nothingness. The wind howled through the empty space. Only a jagged, broken hilt remained tightly gripped in Yanqing's trembling hand.
Where would a boy his age have experienced so many cruel partings of life and death? The sheer concussive force of the shattered blade blew him violently backward, his boots skidding across the deck. He did not even have the time to process the devastating loss that had just unfolded before his eyes.
Nearby, the heavy toy sword in Yunli's hands had also snapped under the Borisin's relentless assault, though thankfully, her trusted greatsword remained perfectly intact. "Little brother Yanqing!" she cried out, her voice laced with panic as she parried another brutal strike.
The ruined hilt in Yanqing's grasp remained dead and silent. In reality, the lack of response was simply because the internal speaker and the holographic projection module had been completely crushed. However, to the young prodigy, the silence meant only one thing. He truly believed his beloved teacher had just died to protect him.
"Tea... cher...?" he choked out. The boy gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.
This digital sword spirit had been one of the greatest teachers he had ever encountered. She was endlessly patient, possessed an unfathomable mastery of swordsmanship, and never once showed frustration toward his mistakes. She felt just like the General when he taught him the ways of the blade. Although their time together had been painfully short, the sword spirit had already become an irreplaceable guiding light in his heart. And then, with a single, cruel snap of metal, that guiding light had been extinguished right in front of him.
The boy took a deep, ragged breath. He forced his trembling legs to straighten, standing tall amidst the chaos. This was a battlefield. There was absolutely no time for sorrow. Even wielding her massive greatsword, Yunli was being pushed to her absolute limits, dangerously close to being beaten into a bloody pulp as she desperately tried to defend against the Broodlord's onslaught.
Strands of biting coldness suddenly materialized in the air above the Jingfeng Ship. The temperature plummeted in an instant. A single, crystalline flake of frost drifted down, landing softly upon Hoolay's massive shoulder. The old wolf paused. This eerie, bone-piercing chill was a sensation he knew all too well.
Yanqing closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the ruined hilt of his broken weapon. Frigid energy surged through his veins. Solid ice rapidly crystallized from the jagged metal, transforming into a razor-sharp blade. He stepped onto a conjured flying sword, hovering slightly above the deck. The ice extending from the broken hilt pushed forward, segment by segment, locking into place with sharp, cracking sounds. The new blade grew longer and wider, gleaming in the darkness like a solid shard of frozen moonlight.
It was not Jingliu. Hoolay realized this almost immediately, his initial spike of apprehension melting into a cruel sneer. It was merely a cub. A pathetic, grieving child. You dare bare your tiny claws at me after learning only a few superficial tricks? the Broodlord thought, his muscles bulging as he prepared to crush the boy.
Although the brief hallucination of Jingliu's signature chill had momentarily affected his judgment, Hoolay felt no true fear. With the power currently coursing through his veins, he would not hesitate even if he had to face the legendary Sword Champion of the past in a direct, one-on-one duel right now.
The flying sword beneath Yanqing's feet suddenly accelerated, tearing through the sound barrier with a thunderous boom. The massive ice blade pulled a blinding white arc of light through the heavy air. Hoolay scoffed, raising his massive right arm to block the pathetic strike.
The moment his dense arm bone collided with the ice blade, he felt the thin outer layer of frost shatter. However, instead of a blunt impact, a horrific, needle-like chill seeped straight through his thick fur and directly into his marrow. It was not the sluggish stiffness of being frozen. It was a precise, agonizingly sharp pain in every single cell of his body. It felt as if a thousand microscopic ice needles had been violently wedged into the microscopic gaps of his most fragile joints.
"Sword Illumination..." Hoolay gasped, his crimson eyes widening in genuine shock. This power is completely wrong.
In reality, the core processor within the sword hilt was not entirely broken, meaning its advanced combat-guidance functions were still actively correcting his posture and output. Though in Yanqing's tear-filled eyes, he firmly believed this was his sword spirit teacher's final, lingering will guiding his hand from beyond the grave. The silly child still genuinely thought this mass-produced AI weapon possessed an actual, sentient Machine Spirit.
The sheer, concentrated power of the boy's strike was so devastating that it left the ancient Broodlord momentarily traumatized. The frozen moonlight sheared cleanly through muscle and bone, directly hacking off Hoolay's massive right arm in a spray of steaming blood.
Jingliu... he thought wildly, stumbling backward. No, it is not her...
Snarling through the pain, the old wolf snatched his severed limb from the air and slammed it back against his bleeding stump. The grotesque power of the Abundance flared, rapidly reattaching his fallen arm and restoring it to its original, muscular state in mere seconds. Yet, a cold sweat broke out across his snout. The precision of that strike was too terrifying. It was practically haunting.
The heavy ice blade in the young boy's hand remained frighteningly steady, not wavering by a single millimeter. The flying sword beneath his feet carved a sharp, impossible arc in mid-air. Yanqing charged at Hoolay once again, launching himself like a lethal arrow leaving a heavy bow, carrying the crushing weight of that frozen moonlight. The ice blade violently collided with the Broodlord's razor-sharp claws. A shockwave of shattered ice crystals exploded into the air, turning the dark battlefield into a captivating storm of countless, tiny points of glittering light.
This frail kid clearly could not even scratch his outer defense just moments ago, but now, every single strike fell heavier and more lethal than the last. The ice blade emitted a clear, resonant hum that vibrated through Hoolay's skull. Countless complex sword moves, flawless footwork, perfect breathing rhythms, and mathematically precise power angles flowed smoothly together. They were all the exact techniques his digital teacher had drilled into him.
Hoolay found himself fighting on the defensive, his massive frame soon drenched in a cold, nervous sweat. Have the human cubs of the outside world truly reached this absurd level of strength now? he thought, parrying another blindingly fast thrust. No wonder the Borisin packs have weakened to such a pathetic extent if this is what they face.
Wait, are my people all inbred now?! Hoolay cursed internally, dodging a sweeping strike from Yunli's greatsword that nearly took his head off. How come no such monstrous genius has appeared within the Borisin packs in the last few centuries?
He paused, a bitter realization hitting him. Oh, that is not entirely right. One such genius did appear. But that anomaly was a lowly Foxian, and an escaped war slave at that, who eventually slaughtered her way up to become the fearsome General of the Yaoqing.
The thought made Hoolay feel even more deeply frustrated. It was not that he fundamentally thought there was anything wrong with a powerful Foxian claiming the title of General through sheer strength; he simply felt that the current generation of Borisin were becoming increasingly, embarrassingly useless.
The brutal clash of steel and claw echoed across the deck for several more agonizing minutes. By the time Feixiao finally arrived at the scene, the battle had reached its bloody conclusion. Hoolay, having been forced to activate his terrifying double crimson moon mode, stood panting heavily over the broken deck. He had finally managed to knock the two exhausted children unconscious, their bodies slumped amidst the shattered ice and ruined metal.
He stared down at them, his chest heaving. Just what kind of absurd strength do these two children possess?
Hoolay was absolutely certain of one thing. If he had not consumed that precious New Sprout before setting out on this mission, leaving him with only a single crimson moon burning in his chest, he would have definitely been slaughtered by these two wicked cubs. They were simply too wicked, too unnaturally talented for their own good.
"General of the Yaoqing," Hoolay rumbled, his deep voice echoing across the silent ship as he turned to face the newcomer. "I have been waiting for you for a very long time."
He spoke the words with dramatic flair, even though he had literally just finished fighting for his life. In truth, he felt like he had waited a long time simply because those two monstrous children had dragged the fight out and nearly sent him to an early grave.
Feixiao stood calmly in front of the unconscious forms of Yunli and Yanqing, her piercing gaze sizing up the terrifyingly large wolf before her. Hoolay did not move, his crimson eyes equally busy sizing her up.
So this was the infamous Foxian war slave. She had fought her way up from the absolute lowest dregs of slavery, clawing through mountains of corpses to eventually sit upon the high throne as the Yaoqing General. The Borisin traditionally looked down on Foxians, viewing their entire race as weak, incompetent vermin fit only for servitude. But Hoolay knew the truth from the very first moment he laid eyes on Feixiao. Compared to the vast majority of pureblood Borisin he had commanded, this silver-haired Foxian standing before him possessed the aura of a true, apex wolf.
"Your aura is incredibly unstable," Hoolay noted, his wet nose twitching as he caught her scent on the wind. "What exactly are you suppressing in there?"
Feixiao remained completely silent, her expression an unreadable mask of cold authority.
"I can smell it on you," the old wolf continued, his mouth splitting open to reveal a horrifying row of jagged fangs. "There is a beast inside you, screaming to tear its way out. Moon Rage. The savage blood of the Borisin is boiling right now in your veins, yet you desperately keep it suppressed beneath that fragile Foxian skin. Tell me, General... isn't it agonizingly painful?"
"Are you quite finished yapping?" Feixiao asked, her voice dangerously calm.
Her hand casually gripped the long shaft of her heavy axe-polearm. A swirling, emerald-green wind began to rapidly spread from the razor-sharp tip of the blade. It was not a gentle, natural breeze. It was a violent, tearing green astral wind, howling with the promise of absolute destruction.
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