Form-Grass Sword?
Princess Prajna's expression was obscure and unreadable.
Within the Tenfold Dao of the Demonic Sect, the "Dao of Annihilation" was the most feared group of madmen. Even among cultivators, their very name was enough to make people tremble.
These lunatics were pure madness,without distinction between friend and foe, without any pattern.
Even members of the Demonic Sect had to tread carefully when dealing with them, for it was entirely possible that one day, they might be killed simply for stepping forward with the wrong foot.
But at the same time, within their indiscriminate madness, they also included themselves.
Thus, many times, before anyone even discovered where a believer of the "Dao of Annihilation" was, he had already self-destructed.
From a broader perspective, the overall danger of the "Dao of Annihilation" was far lower than that of the other nine Daos.
What was truly terrifying were those among them who retained reason,those who were only partly consumed by madness.
Form-Grass Sword was one of those.
No one knew his real name. Ever since his appearance, the sword art he practiced had been used as his name.
The so-called "Form-Grass."
His philosophy could be summed up in one line: "He who unites with the Dao without self, sees all forms as grass and trees, and cuts them as if felling a forest."
Simply put, in his world, there were only two kinds of people:
Fellow Daoists, and ants.
Anyone who did not share his Dao was, in his eyes, no longer human, but weeds and rotten wood,things to be plucked and chopped away at will.
As for himself, unless he encountered a bottleneck and could not advance even a single step in the Way of the Sword, he would never categorize himself among the weeds.
Unfortunately, Form-Grass Sword happened to be a prodigy of the sword.
This genius who lived only for the sword was merely thirty-seven years old, yet already a third-rank martial master in the Grand Hall Realm.
It was precisely these believers of the "Dao of Annihilation" whose impulse for self-destruction was minuscule that were the most dangerous.
Over the past few years, many experts of Great Wei had died under his pursuit of perfection in swordsmanship, and countless ordinary citizens had also been caught up in the Demonic Sect's operations.
One could say, he was the sharpest and most useful sword of the Demonic Sect.
"A Demonic Sect master of this level would certainly have the 'Sixth Division Star Lord' masking his traces. How did he know Form-Grass Sword was in the western part of the city?"
Princess Prajna stared at the sheet of paper in her hand, her unseen gaze sweeping over every word written upon it.
Beside her, Qing Jian saw her fall into a long silence and asked softly, "Your Highness, is something amiss?"
Princess Prajna raised her head, realizing that even Qing Jian could not understand the information written there.
Many of the materials listed were not only rare, but nearly impossible to find.
Ordinary people would not even have heard their names, let alone notice that among them were deliberately written errors.
Perhaps there were reasons of secrecy,precautions against the Demonic Sect or the Northern Garrison Prince.
Still, the fact that even her personal attendant could not be trusted left Princess Prajna deeply displeased.
Originally, she had kept Qing Jian by Gu Fangchen's side partly to monitor him, and now this move of his was undoubtedly a warning to her.
He was demonstrating that he could easily convey information right under Qing Jian's nose without her realizing it!
"This man's paranoia may even surpass that of the Saint of War..."
Princess Prajna sneered softly.
If that was the case, then the possibility that this man was a reincarnated old monster increased significantly.
"He doesn't reveal even the slightest clue about the holy relic, yet wants me to act for him? If he thinks he can trick me with empty hands, he's dreaming."
She was about to put the paper down and instruct Qing Jian to go to the western part of the city to verify the information first.
As for when to act,killing a third-rank master of the Demonic Sect was by no means an easy task.
"Qing-"
Princess Prajna had barely spoken a word when her expression suddenly changed. She snatched up the paper again.
Perhaps it was because too much time had passed,or perhaps because she had deliberately chosen to forget.
Only now did she realize that one of the herbs mentioned on that list existed only in the ancient kingdom of Garuda.
And Garuda had long since been destroyed...
How could a man from the Central Plains know of a herb unique to Garuda?
Every face, every person who had once lived in Garuda,she remembered them all clearly. There had never been a cultivator with a temperament like Gu Fangchen's among them.
Princess Prajna's expression shifted unpredictably. Finally, she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
Then she rose from her couch.
Qing Jian asked in confusion, "Your Highness?"
Princess Prajna waved her hand, and the sheet of paper floated into Qing Jian's grasp.
"Go to the Sanbao Temple. Find the apothecary and gather these items to deliver to Gu Fangchen."
"Yes."
Qing Jian bowed respectfully.
"What about Form-Grass Sword?" she asked.
Then she saw the peerless beauty before her lift her head with a face full of cold, murderous resolve. A slit opened between her brows, and from it a vertical eye like that of a beast or god suddenly snapped open, gazing into the distance.
"I will kill him."
At the same time, behind her, a faint, pale phantom of a compassionate Mother Buddha appeared,serene of face, four-armed and four-handed.
Two of her hands covered her ears, the other two crossed over her mouth.
Only her eyes were lifelike, as though they had been gouged from a living being and embedded there,ancient, solemn, and infinitely oppressive.
Qing Jian's eyes widened. All sound around her vanished, leaving only a vast, heavenly voice proclaiming slaughter echoing in her ears.
Her expression turned fervent, her gaze filled with intoxicated reverence as she immediately knelt in worship.
The World-Saving Mother Buddha possessed twenty-two incarnations, and only the Holy Maiden could summon them upon herself.
What stood before her was the fifteenth incarnation,the Great Silent Tara.
Great Silence,its meaning was killing.
Form-Grass Sword sat cross-legged, quietly on a simple wooden bed. From outward appearance he resembled a down-and-out swordsman: his frame was gaunt to the point of angularity, long unruly hair thrown about, brows cold and cutting with insolence. One did not need to open his eyes to know that a gaze from him held a chill no ordinary person could bear,like the unsheathing of a blade.
The sword energy he gave off could slice skin from a distance. His sword lay naked across his knees with no scabbard, an ordinary blade at first glance. The black fish-skin wrapped hilt was bound with filthy white cloth. Only the blade itself, bright and clear as water, betrayed anything unusual.
The sword was too bright, too clean, too new,without marks of chisel or the stain of blood. It looked as if it had just been forged, so new it made the heart recoil.
Only the dead who had fallen to Form-Grass Sword might understand why.
Form-Grass Sword was an ever-forward, unmatched quick blade. He advanced only and never retreated. One strike left no life; he was so fast the blade itself seemed not to take on blood. Opponents could not even react. Once a renowned old swordsman accepted Form-Grass Sword's duel invitation. On that day Form-Grass Sword struck once: the blade stopped at the old swordsman's throat; before the man could respond, Form-Grass Sword turned and left.
The old swordsman thought the younger man had won by virtue of skill and publicly celebrated, inviting guests and feasting three days and nights. On the fourth morning, servants called and found him unresponsive in bed; when they rolled his body, his head had rolled to the floor.
It turned out the single sword strike four days earlier had already cut his neck. While he stood the remaining tendons and flesh kept the head attached; when he lay down, the remaining tissue could not hold and it separated.
Listeners all turned pale in horror.
Since his debut, no one had survived facing Form-Grass Sword for even a single meeting. The more he matched his Dao of Annihilation, the stronger he grew; now he had reached third rank, the Grand Hall Realm. He believed that even the contemporary second-rank masters,excepting the Sword Saint and the Fate Saint,might not survive a single strike from him if taken unawares.
Still, without absolute confidence he would not attack a second-rank. For his whole way meant he could only ever issue one sword. That was his Dao-heart. "He who unites with the Dao without self sees form as grass and cuts them as forest;" thus any opponent should be treated like plants,one light cut severs the head of the weed. If he could not accomplish that, the momentum he had built over so many years would collapse in an instant.
Therefore every action by Form-Grass Sword required Demonic Sect cooperation to ensure that his one sword would kill his opponent. One could say the Demonic Sect had nurtured this sword bit by bit. If he faced second-rank openly, whether he won or lost was another matter; but if he drew a second sword, he had already lost.
This time he was reportedly to kill someone who had no cultivation at all. Form-Grass Sword lightly stroked his blade, emotionless. To him, the non–like-minded were mere chaff. Killing a cultivator or killing a commoner, killing ten thousand or killing one,no difference. All required was one sword.
He flicked his sword with a finger, bored, thinking if only he could strike and sing, he might be entertained; instead he had to lie in wait.
"Hum..." The sword sang with a keen note that lingered. Form-Grass Sword's mouth lifted in a rare smile at the resonance with an old companion, but the smile froze. The tone continued, then rose, and rose,until the pitch became a keen shriek unbearable to ordinary ears.
"Hum," The sword-tone shot up to a pitch that made the eardrums ache.
Form-Grass Sword's neck hairs bristled. He snapped his eyes open, face changing as he prepared to draw his blade,and then the sound vanished.
He stared with a very grave expression. Not only had the sword-sound vanished,no sound existed at all. The entire world had fallen silent.
Who? Who had moved?
Form-Grass Sword held his breath, tightened his grip on the blade, straining to sense the intruder. But there was nothing. How could there be nothing?
He looked up and found the thatched hut around him gone. Darkness surrounded him; there were no people, not even ghosts.
When had this happened?
Form-Grass Sword's forehead broke with cold sweat. He forced calm and closed his eyes. Wherever he was, he still had one sword.
He reached for his old companion,his blade,but touched empty air.
He froze. He lowered his head,and his sword was gone.
Impossible! No one could silently take his sword from him!
Fear finally stirred in him. He looked about and tried to leave, but after an unknown time, when he looked down again, he found himself gone too.
The last sliver of bewildered thought dissolved into the great silence and merged into the dark.
Third rank: Grand Hall Realm.
Body like a vast hall, scornful of others like ants.
Second rank: Qi-Tian Realm.
Qi-Tian's height scorns the Grand Hall like ants.
On that day Form-Grass Sword comprehended what true second-rank meant.
...
A servant left the Northern Garrison Prince's manor, turned three streets, walked out of the city, entered a farmhouse in the suburbs,and came out transformed.
From an old, honest servant into a bewitching, seductive woman.
This metamorphosis was not her own craft but the Sixth Division Star Lord's substitution technique. One need only make a straw effigy, place a section of a causality thread and one's natal fate within it, then burn it. Within a limited time the target's worldly existence could be replaced. Even immortals would find it hard to discern.
But the cost: that strand of causality could be used only once. During the period, the user fully became the other person, including their cultivation. Although the method could be used in reverse to impersonate a higher-cultivation existence, top-tier cultivators' causality strands were reserved for other purposes; the "Causality" Dao Lord would not give those away to small folk. Lower-level townsfolk causality, however, was fair game.
The woman's true designation was Ma Gu. That was not a personal name but a codename. She worshipped the "Dao of Measure" Lord,General Qianmo,whose specialty was displacement techniques. He handled communications and personnel dispatch between the Daos. All such operatives, male or female, were called Ma Gu.
This transaction with the Northern Garrison Prince, involving Form-Grass Sword, was an order from above, not her own decision. Ma Gu took a basket of steamed buns and walked like a willow toward the western fields.
The western part of Huangtian City was farmland where peasants labored for the city's nobles. Ma Gu walked to the house where Form-Grass Sword was lodged, pushed the door, and softly said, "My lord, you may act now..."
She took two steps inward, then froze, aghast.
Form-Grass Sword sat as he had when she left,cross-legged on his bed,but he was lifeless. She recognized it at once: the third-rank cultivator had no vital signs. He was dead.
...
Gu Fangchen washed the paper slips in batches four times and finally assembled roughly forty orange-quality characters, ten red-quality characters, and three rainbow-quality ones.
Fortunately, though not inside the game, the profession-related skills still provided their prompts. He inhaled, arranged the slips into combinations, and began to comprehend.
After a moment, Gu Fangchen felt his body lighten. He abruptly opened his eyes to find himself half-floating above his sitting body.
His gaze flashed. He had succeeded.
Divine Path Rank Eight, Shell-Departure stage!