Chapter 201: A Wave of Pure Regret
Panic erupted through Lordi’s veins like wildfire, every nerve screaming in primal alarm.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps—each inhale sharp as a blade between his ribs. A slow, insidious pulse throbbed behind his left ear, a rhythmic drumbeat of wrongness that refused to be ignored. His fingers twitched upward on instinct, pressing hard into the hollow beneath his skull, as if he could crush the unnatural rhythm out of existence through sheer force of will. But the pulse remained, relentless. A cold, creeping dread slithered down his spine, coiling in his gut like a serpent ready to strike.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
Without another second of hesitation, Lordi moved.
The Blood Spectre Footwork Art ignited within him, his body dissolving into a streak of crimson shadow as he fled, his legs pumping with desperate, frenzied speed. The world blurred around him, trees and moonlight smearing into indistinct streaks as he pushed himself to the absolute limit—
And then—
A whisper of steel. A flash of crimson.
The Sword of Red Run cut through the air beside him, its blade humming with eerie, effortless grace as it matched his speed—no, surpassed it.
WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL FUCKING ABYSS?!
Lordi’s stomach dropped. His blood froze. This abomination was much faster than him.
The sword’s voice cut through the night, childlike in its cadence, monstrous in its hunger.
"Maaaaster, did you hurt your Dao Pillar this time?"
The words were sickeningly sweet, dripping with sincere concern.
"Master, will you still be able to ascend to the Foundation Stage through the Cosmic Path?"
Its tone was playful, almost innocent. Then, without pause, it continued, its voice a relentless, giddy stream of horrors:
"By the way, master, what of the Ju-On? Is it dead?"
"Did you kill the Ju-On, master?"
Another beat. Then, with a whimper like a starving beast:
"Maaaster... Sob sob. Red Run still can’t sense the soulbound between us... Why is that?"
"Master... Red Run is so... so... starving."
The blade shivered, its voice dropping to a guttural, saliva-thick purr.
"It’s been ages... ages since Red Run feasted out of the estate..."
A wet, crunching sound, as if it were chewing on phantom bones.
"When will master take Red Run to raze a city, slaughter some mortal humans?"
A shuddering, ecstatic sigh.
"Or..." —the sword’s voice dropped to a whisper, dripping with depraved delight— "the demon beasts of the Infinite Insurmountable Sea in Vermithys..."
A low, wet hum vibrated through the blade, the sound of a predator savoring the memory of blood.
"Hmm... drip... crunch... sizzle..."
Each syllable was a feast, a grotesque indulgence.
"The taste of a demon beast’s body..." it mused, voice syrupy with pleasure, "is so different from a human’s."
A dark, shivering chuckle.
"Especially the Aqua Ape race..."
The sword trembled, its hunger a living thing.
"Red Run doesn’t know why... but every time I feast upon their flesh..."
A wet, shuddering pause, as if it were licking its nonexistent lips.
"It feels like drowning in moonlight..." The sword’s voice softer, hungrier, "If moonlight were made of screams."
"Master..."
The voice turned pleading, desperate.
"Red Run wants to eat some Blood Path human cultivators..."
A whine, like a spoiled child denied sweets.
"After master’s wounds heal... can you catch a few for me?"
A pause. Then, brightening:
"Or Soul Path cultivators are fine too!"
The blade giggled, a sound that should never have come from a weapon.
"Don’t worry, master! Red Run won’t be picky! Red Run will devour... whoever you bring."
Lordi’s legs pumped harder, his muscles screaming in protest.
Cold sweat drenched his back, his robes clinging to his skin like a second layer of terror.
FUCKING HELL.
Not only had this monstrosity escaped the Hanz Estate—
Its soaring speed was even surpassed than his Blood Spectre Footwork Art!
Of course the damned hunk of sentient scrap metal was calling him "Master" now, with all the reverence of a true believer. It was completely, utterly convinced he was the only real Krogh Hanz, but Lordi’s every instinct screamed that this was the most fragile and dangerous act of his entire life. One single, minor misstep—a wrong turn of phrase, a forgotten detail of this sword path lord’s tyrannical personality—could unravel this entire beautiful, terrifying deception. And what awaited on the other side of that failure wasn’t just a talking sword getting pissy; it was the full, monstrous, and horrifying wrath of a legendary artifact that could probably turn his insides to outsides without breaking a metaphysical sweat.
His mind racing a thousand leagues a second, Lordi braced himself, forcing a veneer of calm into his voice that was in stark contrast to the frantic alarm bells clanging in his skull.
"Ahem... The foul pestilence that is Ju-On yet draws breath," he declared, his tone calm, masking the fear gnawing at his gut. He was the master here; he had to sound like one. "In my current... regrettably diminished state, a direct confrontation would be a fool’s gambit. You will return to the estate immediately and stand guard over the Treasury House. I must seek out a medic cultivator to attend to this... inconvenience alone. Once my strength is restored and this injury is but a memory, I shall return to summon you."
It was a command, delivered with the cold, expectant finality of a man used to being obeyed without a single word of backtalk.
The sword’s reaction was instantaneous and utterly devastating. Its aura, once a steady hum of power, flickered and wavered as if struck.
"Master..."
The sword’s voice shifted dramatically, the resonance thinning into a tone of pure. "Are...Are you... abandoning me?"
The question hung in the air, and the silence that followed was deeper and colder than the deepest tomb. Then, a sound began to emanate from the blade itself, a low vibration felt deep in the bone before it was heard by the ear—the soul-rending keen of a blizzard’s heart, the mournful groan of a glacier calving into a frozen sea.
Lordi’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a cold sweat beading on his brow. He pressed on, masking his sheer desperation. "No! It is not... like abandonment. It is merely a... a tactical recalibration! Hmm... I, uh..."
But the newborn spirit, lost in its own sorrow, cut him off, its voice quavering with confused memory.
"But... but in the past," it whispered, the memory causing its crimson blade to shiver with a sound like cracking ice, "when you were injured, on the very verge of death, even when consciousness had fled, you would hold me so tightly. Your fingers were bone-white with the strain, and I could feel the frantic, fading beat of your pulse thrumming against my pommel. You would not allow me to be a single inch from your side! Now that you are once again grievously wounded, why... why are you sending me away?"
The sword’s tone shifted, attempting a clumsy reasonableness that was utterly drowned by its pervasive, soul-crushing sorrow. "Furthermore," it murmured, the words tinged with a desperate, hopeful logic, "our Hanz Clan Treasury House... it has already been looted. Emptied out by the few wretched cultivators who infiltrated the estate during the recent chaos. I saw their greedy, skulking shadows. There is nothing of value left within its halls to guard now."
Lordi’s mind didn’t just race—it nearly fucking exploded. A wave of pure frustration and regret at his own washed over him, so powerful he almost couldn’t stop himself from slapping his own stupid face right there in front of this weapon.
If he had known this would happen, if he had even an inkling that he’d need a few treasury left behind... Why in the seven hells would he have been so goddamn thorough in emptying the place earlier?!
Nah nah nah, wait a minute!
This wasn’t just on me!
Donovan Valdez and Emma Dawson were in on this heist, too! Their bags weren’t exactly light, were they?
Damn it all!
Why? Why had I looted that treasury house so fucking thorough?!