Wandering Swordsman |

That name was the star he chased all his life, the destination his sword pointed to, and the phantom he had fought countless times in his dreams but never won!

"Go seek revenge!" Shen Mo's voice suddenly deepened, like thunder rolling across the earth, each word striking the wasteland, "Blood debts must be repaid in blood, old scores must be settled."

Albert was startled, his eyes filled with disbelief and astonishment.

Seeking revenge? Who would dare seek revenge against the Invincible Duke? He's the "Number One Under Heaven," whom even the Pope treats with deference! Could it be... that they're connected to Hua Shenyong, the Eastern retainer who disappeared back then?

As if reading his mind, Shen Mo slightly turned his gaze and casually uttered a hint, which struck like a thunderbolt: "Hua Tianyou, Hua Shenyong... what do you think of?"

In an instant, Albert felt as if he had been struck by lightning!

Within ten moves, Hua Tianyou had caused his weapon to fall from his hand and his true energy to dissipate. The purity of his sword intent and the height of his realm far surpassed his own! If he were... the son of Hua Shenyong?

Albert suddenly looked up, his gaze fixed on Hua Tianyou, his eyes filled with shock and realization.

"So that's how it is..." His voice trembled, almost speechless. "No wonder I was defeated so thoroughly! Mr. Hua, you are no ordinary Eastern martial artist... you are... Hua Shenyong's son!"

Hua Tianyou did not deny it. He simply met that burning gaze quietly, his eyes devoid of joy or sorrow, only a bottomless, icy pool. There was no gloating, no resentment in his eyes, only a calmness that had endured countless tribulations—as if the deep-seated hatred had long since been forged into his bones and transformed into his very breath.

Albert slowly dismounted, kneeling on one knee as dust rose and settled. His right hand rested on his chest, performing the most solemn knightly oath of the far west, his voice low yet resolute: "Disciple...is willing to follow Master in seeking revenge! Even in death, I will have no regrets!"

The wind whipped up dust from the wasteland, sweeping between the three figures. Their black robes, silver shirts, and blue garments fluttered in the twilight, like three battle flags about to be planted on the battlefield.

Hua Tianyou felt a slight tremor in his heart, and a long-lost warmth quietly spread through his defenses.

He had thought that in this far west, no one would dare to face the name of "Invincible Lord" without retreating. But this martial arts fanatic, knowing full well that this journey was fraught with peril, did not hesitate to follow him to his death... Not for power, not for profit, but only for the sake of "the bond between master and disciple," he was willing to step into this vortex of blood and fire.

Perhaps... my father trusted the wrong person back then, but he may not have misjudged the sincerity in this world.

He reached out and gently helped Albert up, his voice low but warmer than ever before: "Get up. Now that you call me Master, you are no longer an outsider."

......

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in the heart of the Tsarist Empire.

Beigongcheng shines like a bright pearl set in a green oasis amidst yellow sand.

The city walls, built of white jade and obsidian, are towering yet not oppressive; the moat is crystal clear, reflecting weeping willows and colorful pavilions; the streets and alleys are clean and tidy, lined with shops, the aroma of wheat wafts from the bakery, the crisp sound of forging comes from the blacksmith's shop, children chase and play in the square, and old men play chess and chat under the shade of trees.

The city was orderly, with no beggars or vagrants. Even the patrolling guards were gentle, maintaining order without disturbing the lives of ordinary people.

This is the richest and most peaceful of Odin Cain's many territories, and also his true political and martial stronghold.

Inside the Duke's mansion, a long table made of golden nanmu wood was piled high with documents. Odin Kane had just finished reviewing the last report on spring planting and irrigation. He lightly put down his vermilion pen, a hint of fatigue showing between his brows, yet he could not conceal his mountain-like majesty.

He was about fifty years old, tall and imposing like an ancient pine tree, his silver hair neatly tied back, his face sharply defined, as if sculpted from the cold iron of the North. An old scar on his left cheek meandered like a dragon's pattern, which, far from diminishing his majesty, added a touch of chilling heroism.

He rose and walked to the window, his gaze passing over the carved window frame and landing on the wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys within the Northern Palace City. A rare gentleness appeared in his eyes.

"Order all officials to convene a territory meeting." He calmly instructed the clerk standing by with his hands at his sides. His voice was not loud, but it was as clear as a bell, leaving no room for doubt.

Before long, officials of all ranks from the Northern Palace City filed in. Civil officials wore blue robes embroidered with cloud patterns, while military officers wore light armor adorned with silver insignia. They all stood solemnly on both sides according to their rank, without any noise or overstepping their bounds. Inside the council hall, the air was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood incense, and the candles were just lit, making the scrolls of laws and agricultural illustrations hanging on the four walls shine brightly.

At the start of the meeting, Odin Kane sat in the main seat, speaking precisely and logically.

He first inquired about spring irrigation: "How is the dredging of the West Canal progressing? If it misses the designated time for planting, who will take responsibility?"

......

He further argued for fairness in city taxes: "Did the salt and iron monopolies exploit small merchants? If so, abolish them immediately!"

......

Further discussion on the resettlement of refugees: "Those who flee from other territories or countries shall be granted three acres of land and exempted from taxes for three years—this is a benevolent policy and also a way to consolidate the foundation."

......

His words were devoid of any violence, revealing only keen insight and a strong sense of responsibility. All the officials were completely convinced and secretly marveled: Under the Duke's rule, the people lived in peace, the granaries were full, and the laws were clear—truly a pillar of the nation.

The meeting adjourned, and everyone bowed and left. Only the Military Commander and the Chief Knight of the Northern Palace City remained. The latter had a slight limp in his right leg and needed a cane to walk—an old injury he sustained ten years ago while chasing bandits, yet he had never been absent from his post.

As the hall doors closed and the candlelight flickered red, Odin Kane's gentle expression vanished instantly, replaced by a chilling coldness. He slowly rose, walked to the Knight Commander, and spoke in a low, rumbling voice: "So many years... and still no clues to the 'Heavenly Demon Divine Art'?"

The knight commander's forehead immediately broke out in a fine sweat, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice trembled almost as he said, "We...we haven't found it yet. Over the years, we've searched through ancient books from six kingdoms and secret documents from the Vatican. Let alone the 'Heavenly Demon Divine Art'...there's not even any official historical record of 'Xuanyuan Ling.' Could it be...that what Hua Shenyong said back then was just a lie? Perhaps...he was simply deceiving you?"

After he finished speaking, the hall fell into a deathly silence.

The candlelight crackled and burst open, creating a tiny flame that reflected a cold, sharp glint in Odin Kane's eyes.

"Absurd!" he shouted, his voice booming, making the jade paperweight on the table vibrate. "Hua Shenyong and I are the same kind of people—in pursuit of the ultimate martial arts, we are willing to abandon life and death, betray our homeland, and traverse thousands of miles of perilous terrain alone! How could such a person use lies as bait?"

He turned, his gaze like lightning, piercing the knight commander's eyes: "Do you know why he risked his life to cross the perilous lands from the East? Not for power, not for fame, but because he learned that—Xuanyuan Ling once traveled west across the perilous lands, intending to complete the 'Heavenly Demon Divine Art' in the far west!"

He paused, his voice growing increasingly chilling, like cold iron scraping across ice: "So, stop questioning the existence of the Heavenly Demon Divine Art. It definitely exists! It's just... we haven't found it yet."

The candlelight flickered in his eyes, reflecting an unfathomable obsession. It wasn't greed, nor ambition, but a kind of fanaticism akin to that of a martyr—as if life would be meaningless if he couldn't reach the pinnacle of martial arts.

He slowly walked back to the head of the table, his dark ducal robe trailing on the ground, silent and still. His fingers tapped lightly on the sandalwood tabletop, each tap like a blow to the heart, the rhythm slow yet heavy as a war drum: "Keep searching. No matter the cost… find me a clue."