Wandering Swordsman |

Hua Tianyou once thought that Odin Kane was nothing more than a tyrant who used force to suppress the world and scheming to control the people—cold-blooded, arrogant, and ruthless in achieving his goals.

The death of his father, Hua Shenyong, had long been an iron monument in his heart: the word "betrayal" was engraved on the monument, and the fire of hatred that had not been extinguished for many years was buried beneath it.

But now, as he travels along the way, what he sees and hears is like slowly boiling ice in warm water, quietly melting away the unbreakable obsession in his heart.

The overflowing granaries were not mere political achievements, but real, newly harvested wheat piled up under the eaves; schools were everywhere, and the children's voices were clear and melodious as a spring, even cowherds could read; even refugees who had fled from other countries were given three acres of meager land and a thatched hut under the guidance of officials.

This is hardly a tyrant's rule; it's clearly a haven under a wise and virtuous leader!

He overheard merchants chatting in a teahouse: "The Papacy wanted to set up a branch in Beigong City, but the Duke rejected it outright. Of the ducal territories in the six kingdoms, only the territory of the Duke of Wudi has no Papacy branch."

Every word he uttered was like a small hammer, gently striking the iron monument in his heart called "revenge."

He recalled his father saying when he was young, "Kane... is the only opponent I have ever truly respected, and... the only foreigner I have ever trusted." At the time, he didn't understand, but now, looking back, he realized there was an indescribable sense of pity hidden in that tone.

Shen Mo rode closer, his black robes fluttering in the wind. As if sensing the turmoil in his heart, he asked in a low voice, "What are you thinking about?"

Hua Tianyou remained silent for a long time, his gaze settling on a golden wheat field in the distance. The wind blew, causing the wheat to ripple like the sea, and sunlight bathed the bent figures of the farmers in a warm golden glow. He suddenly felt that the hatred he carried seemed so… heavy and lonely in the face of this tranquility.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and deep, as if he were talking to himself, yet also as if he were questioning the heavens and earth:

"I'm wondering... if a butcher builds a paradise, should the blood on his hands be forgiven?"

He was stunned when he said those words.

Shen Mo didn't answer, but gently patted his shoulder.

That palm strike wasn't heavy, yet it felt like a thousand pounds pressing on the heart, and like a spring breeze melting snow.

He knew that Hua Tianyou's wavering was not weakness, but growth—a true avenger should not be blinded by hatred, but should see the truth before deciding where to point his sword.

The wind swept across the fields, the wheat rippled like the sea, and the outline of Beigong City became increasingly clear on the horizon. The towering city walls no longer resembled the fangs of a giant beast, but rather an arm protecting the people.

For the first time, the fire of revenge that had burned in Hua Tianyou's heart for many years showed signs of wavering.

The flames haven't died down, but they're no longer scorching—they've begun to settle, to ponder, to await a true answer.

The answer may lie hidden within the Northern Palace City, in the eyes of that silver-haired duke, or in a past event buried by time.

......

The scene shifts to the study of the Duke's mansion in Beigong City. Odin is sitting behind a sandalwood desk, his silver hair like frost, wearing a simple black robe, and is reviewing a document.

Several celadon teacups sat on the table, their wisps of steam rising and mingling with the sunlight streaming through the window, adding warmth to the small space.

On both sides of the room, rows of bookshelves are neatly arranged, filled with government documents from various places.

Odin's fingers were long and steady as he wrote annotations on the memorials, each stroke neat and powerful.

He would occasionally shake the purple clay teacup in his hand, and sometimes sigh softly, as if he were thinking about how to solve the food shortage problem in a certain place.

"Your Grace, this is the grain price statistics table sent from various cities yesterday." The clerk respectfully placed a scroll of bamboo slips on the table, his voice soft and respectful.

Odin nodded slightly, took the bamboo scroll, and glanced at the numbers on it, his brow furrowing slightly. "Last autumn harvest, grain prices in the three northern cities rose by more than thirty percent." His voice was low and gentle. "Issue the order: the grain reserves in the Northern Palace granary are immediately transferred to the three northern cities, to be paid from the Northern Palace's private treasury, and not to the national treasury."

"Yes." The scribe bowed in response and was about to leave when Odin raised his hand, signaling him to wait a moment.

"Issue another order: have each city report its grain prices daily. If there is any further increase, report it immediately." Odin's voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority. "The people's livelihood is of paramount importance and cannot be neglected."

"Yes, Your Grace." After the scribe withdrew, the study returned to silence, with only the intermittent chirping of birds coming from outside the window.

Odin put down the memorial, gently rubbed his temples, and looked out the window. On the streets of Beigong City, the busy figures of the people, the sounds of children playing, and the elderly sitting in front of their doors basking in the sun—everything was orderly and peaceful.

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps approached from afar, accompanied by heavy breathing, breaking the tranquility of the study.

"Your Grace!" A slightly hoarse voice rang out from outside the door.

Odin didn't look up, but merely glanced sideways, his voice gentle: "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Thorne, the Grand Knight Commander of the Northern Palace City, who had a slight limp in his right leg, staggered in.

His armor was covered in dust, his forehead was covered in sweat, and his right hand was tightly gripping a roll of yellowed parchment, his knuckles white from the force.

"Thorn, why are you in such a hurry? Has something serious happened?" Odin put down his pen, stood up, and smiled gently. "No need to panic. Tell me what happened."

Thorne was taken aback, then bowed respectfully, his voice urgent: "Your Grace, we have an important lead!"

"Speak." Odin's voice remained gentle, but Thorne felt an invisible pressure, as if the Duke's gaze had pierced through his body.

Thorne took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly with excitement: "Your Grace, we've finally...we've finally found a clue to the Heavenly Demon Divine Art!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Odin's face instantly lost all its gentleness, replaced by an almost fanatical radiance.

His gaze suddenly sharpened like a knife, his silver hair gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and he seemed to transform from a gentle and wise ruler into a fanatic relentlessly pursuing the ultimate martial arts under the candlelight.

"Say it again." Odin's voice was deep, yet carried a chilling tremor.

"Yes!" Thorne straightened his back, his voice even clearer. "Based on the clues, we speculate that the whereabouts of the 'Heavenly Demon Divine Art' are likely on the frozen continent in the northwest overseas!"

"The Frozen Continent?" Odin murmured, his eyes shining even brighter. "That...that's a desolate wasteland, perpetually frozen, with a harsh climate where even birds struggle to survive. Are you sure it's there?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Thorne nodded.

Odin walked to the window and gazed into the distance.

The sunlight outside the window shone on his face, sometimes gentle, sometimes fervent, as if two completely different souls were intertwined within him.

"The Frozen Continent..." he repeated softly, his voice filled with an almost devout longing, "It seems that's where the martial arts path I've been searching for all these years has finally reached its end."

Thorne dared not look up, feeling awe at the aura emanating from the Duke.

He remembered that the Duke was always gentle and polite in state affairs, and the people under his rule lived in peace and prosperity. He never used force to oppress people.

But at this moment, the light flashing in his eyes reminded him of that duke who was obsessed with martial arts.