Wandering Swordsman |

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, a hint of lingering fear flashing in his eyes: "But... I don't dare to venture into any of them."

The wind whipped at the hem of his clothes, making a rustling sound, but it couldn't mask the heaviness in his voice. "I spent four whole years traveling day and night, deliberately choosing unconventional paths to traverse the desert, snowfields, and the outskirts of canyons, avoiding the three central treacherous areas my father mentioned. When thirsty, I licked the morning dew; when hungry, I dug up sand lizards and ate their flesh raw—the flesh was rotten and rancid, swallowing it was like swallowing a knife. Three times, I collapsed in the shade of a sand dune, thinking I would never wake up again."

He lowered his head, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing his chest—there, his heart meridian had been protected by the Heavenly Demon True Qi, which had allowed him to survive. "If it weren't for my father's lifelong cultivation, which, before his passing, poured his true qi into my dantian, protecting my internal organs and preventing my soul from dissipating... I would have long since become a skeleton on my journey home, sleeping among the white bones of those merchants at the bottom of the sand, unknown and unmourned."

Shen Mo glanced at him sideways.

This Heavenly Demon Lord, once known for his aloofness, decisiveness, and ruthless killing, now stood amidst the vast sea of ​​sand, revealing a hint of human vulnerability.

His eyes no longer held the sharp edge of the battlefield, but rather a bottomless weariness and awe—the eyes of someone who had experienced true despair, the mark left after sitting and drinking tea with death.

Those experiences have clearly been etched into his bones, becoming an indelible mark on the depths of his soul.

Shen Mo remained silent for a long time before turning his gaze back to the west.

He knew that what Hua Tianyou said was not an exaggeration.

The western part of the Western Regions is no longer a "dangerous place" in the ordinary sense of the martial arts world, but a forbidden zone completely isolated from human habitation by the laws of nature.

There are no inns, no post stations, no allies, and not even enemies would deign to set foot here.

Only wind, sand, scorching sun, cold nights, and lurking dangers in the unknown form invisible yet deadly barriers.

The map ends here, and civilization stops here.

History books dared not record it, folk songs dared not sing it, and even the boldest storytellers dared only lower their voices and quickly gloss over the words "the far west."

Shen Mo slowly withdrew his gaze. He suddenly understood why Hua Shenyong had not returned for a century—it wasn't that he didn't want to return, but rather that this path was inherently a one-way street. To be able to walk out alive once was already a miracle; to enter again would be to risk one's life against the heavens.

"Then... what about your father?" Shen Mo asked in a low voice, his voice almost swallowed by the sandstorm, yet every word was clear. "When he traveled west, did he pass directly through those three central perilous areas?"

Hua Tianyou did not answer immediately.

He stood atop the sand dune, his figure casting a distorted shadow on the sand under the eerie light of the blazing sun, as if his soul were being torn apart by this strange phenomenon.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice as deep as a stone sinking into an abyss: "My father... wore only one garment—in the very center of this vast desert."

His tone was solemn, as if he were not referring to a desert, but a graveyard where millions of lives were buried alive, a burial ground that even the gods avoided.

"In the heart of that desert, the quicksand boils like water." His voice was low as he glanced at the seemingly calm sand beneath his feet. "It appears solid on the surface, but it hides whirlpools. One wrong step, and the sand, like a giant maw, will swallow you whole in an instant, leaving you no time to even scream before you are forever lost in the depths of the earth."

He paused, then looked up at the sky.

"What's even more terrifying is... the strange phenomenon of two suns appearing in the sky above the central area." His eyes were glazed over, as if he were seeing the scene when Hua Shenyong bravely went west. "With two suns in the sky, the light and shadow were disordered. Within half a day, people would become dehydrated, hallucinate, and go mad, eventually kneeling in the sand and digging their own graves to bury themselves."

The wind suddenly intensified, whipping up yellow sand like a dragon soaring into the sky, its mournful cries sounding like the wailing of countless dead souls.

"But the most terrifying thing," Hua Tianyou lowered his voice, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the hilt of his sword at his waist, his knuckles turning white from the force, "is the 'Roaring Worm' beneath the sand—seven or eight zhang long, as thick as an ancient tree, its entire body covered in scales like black iron, impervious to swords and spears, and immune to water and fire. They lurk at the bottom of the sand year-round, sensing their prey through vibrations. Once they detect footsteps, they burst forth from the sand like earth dragons turning over, their enormous mouths capable of swallowing an entire camel whole."

His throat bobbed, and a hint of barely concealed fear flashed in his eyes.

Shen Mo's pupils contracted slightly. A loud-voiced worm? Invulnerable to blades and bullets?

He immediately thought of the Xuanlin Crocodile in the Tomb of the God of War—its scales were so tough that they were impervious to swords and spears!

He lowered his head in thought, his knuckles lightly tapping the scabbard, producing a crisp echo, as if he were confronting a voice within his heart.

He knew that while taking a detour would avoid going directly through the central area, it would take several times longer.

Murong Qing and Situ Meng are still waiting for him in the Central Plains. How could he bear to let them waste their youth in endless waiting?

More importantly—he is Shen Mo, and also the Heavenly Demon God.

If one doesn't even have the courage to face the "central area," how can one be worthy of leading the Heavenly Demon God Sect?

The wind and sand hit my face, stinging my cheeks.

In the distance, the sea of ​​sand appears to be boiling like molten gold.

He suddenly raised his head, his gaze piercing through the yellow dust and pointing straight to the desolate depths of the west.

"We won't take a detour." His voice was resolute, like a sword drawn from its sheath, shaking the dust and sand. "We'll go straight through the central area."

Hua Tianyou was jolted, his eyes filled with a mixture of astonishment and respect. His voice was almost torn apart by the wind and sand: "My lord! That's... a forbidden zone that even my father only dared to traverse once! The journey is fraught with danger!"

"I know." Shen Mo interrupted him, a faint smile appearing on his lips. The smile was not one of ease, but rather like the last glimmer of warmth before a cold blade is drawn. "It is precisely because we know how dangerous it is that we must take this path. If we dare not even tread this road, we are unworthy of being called the Heavenly Demon God."

Before he finished speaking, he had already taken a step forward.

The black robe fluttered in the gale, like a lone battle flag, drawing a resolute trajectory in the boundless yellow sand.

With each step, dust rose and fell, as if shattering the fear that had accumulated here for thousands of years; each breath was scalding hot and parched, as if approaching the critical edge of life and death.

Hua Tianyou stood there, gazing at that retreating figure—lean yet as imposing as a mountain, lonely yet as radiant as the sun. At that moment, he finally understood why Shen Mo could become the Heavenly Demon God, and not himself.

After a long silence, he took a deep breath, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes turning into determination, and strode after him: "Alright! Since my lord has made his decision, then even if there are mountains of knives and seas of fire ahead, I will follow my lord through them!"

To the west of the Western Regions lies a place sparsely populated. Maps are blank here, history books fall silent, and only the wind and sand bury year after year all the ambitions and remains that attempted to cross this land. Civilization stops here, and nature erects an insurmountable barrier—not mountains, not seas, but boundless desolation and barrenness.

And they, with their own flesh and blood, are launching the most courageous and solitary charge into this desolate land abandoned by heaven and earth.