29: The Sword Forge Ignites

Chen Longshi stood up and walked over. Zhi Jiang approached, carrying a meal, and said, “Sir, did I disturb your training?”

Chen Longshi smiled. “It was the scent of food I caught from afar that made me stop in haste. How could I trouble Your Highness to deliver my meal in person? Look, you haven’t even washed the soot from your face before rushing over. You must be exhausted.”

Without waiting for her to object, he reached out and gently wiped a streak of black ash from her cheek. The girl’s skin was tender as water; he couldn’t help but linger a moment longer. Zhi Jiang’s face flushed crimson with embarrassment, but though her shyness was plain, she did not retreat. She mumbled, “I only wished to thank you in private.”

“And how do you mean to thank me? Is this meal all the thanks I am to get?”

“Ah…” Zhi Jiang froze, clearly not expecting such a response. She stood there, bewildered. “I… The debt we owe you, sir, is one that all of Zhenwang City will never forget. We would offer you everything we possess, if only we knew what you desired.”

But before Chen Longshi could reply, she looked up and met his deep gaze. Her heart fluttered wildly—this was a sensation she had never known in her eighteen years.

Chen Longshi stepped closer, until only a fist’s width separated them. Zhi Jiang instinctively retreated several steps, but Chen Longshi advanced again. With her back now pressed against the city wall, she tried to slip away—

With a soft smack, his broad hand braced the wall beside her head, trapping her in place.

Zhi Jiang dared not meet his eyes. She shrank in on herself, closing her eyes and twisting the hem of her robe between trembling fingers, her breath uneven. She felt their breaths mingling, so close they seemed indistinguishable, making her dizzy. In this moment, there was nothing left of the valiant archer who had once stood atop the ramparts, holding back tens of thousands of monsters with a single arrow. Her mind conjured countless images, and she even pursed her lips in a strange, childish pout. But long moments passed, and Chen Longshi made no move.

Puzzled, she opened her eyes and found him looking at her with teasing amusement. Instantly, she snapped out of her reverie and, unable to help herself, gave his chest a playful punch, pouting, “Sir… you’re only making fun of me. This is chicken broth I prepared myself, to reward our hero.”

She thrust the food box into his hands and fled from his encircling arm. Only when she felt a safe distance away did she stop, and to her surprise, there was a trace of disappointment in her heart.

Hero?

Chen Longshi could not help but laugh. So his reputation had grown to such heights. In Zhi Jiang’s eyes, he saw trust and admiration. From the moment he entered the city alone, every action he took had made a lasting impact. The miracles he wrought inspired more faith than any words could. And perhaps, he mused, there was also the stirring heart of a young woman, restless and uncertain.

Recalling the fate that awaited her, he forced himself to quell his thoughts, feeling a faint discomfort. He quickly changed the subject. “I accept your chicken broth. How is Master Ou’s sword forging progressing?”

Zhi Jiang replied, “I’ve been busy managing the aftermath, and haven’t yet checked on Brother Ou.”

“Then let’s go together. I’ll eat on the way, if you don’t mind.”

Zhi Jiang regained her composure and nodded gracefully.

When they reached the sword forge, they found Ou Lian in dire straits. The air was thick with the stench of blood. Ou himself was so weak he could barely stand, on the brink of collapse. Chen Longshi was alarmed; if anything happened to Ou, it would spell disaster for the entire secret realm.

“Brother Ou, what happened? Did a monster sneak into the city?”

Chen Longshi steadied himself and examined Ou carefully. “Pale face, dizziness, weakness of limbs—symptoms of severe blood loss.” He pulled up Ou’s sleeve and immediately saw a recently treated wound.

Seeing the scar, Zhi Jiang suddenly understood. “Brother Ou, did you use your own blood to sacrifice to the forge? How could you do such a thing?”

“A blood sacrifice to the forge?” Chen Longshi was taken aback, then fell silent in exasperation.

Ou Lian, barely able to speak, said, “Forgive me for worrying you all. If we can’t forge a divine sword, Zhenwang City is doomed. I couldn’t help but secretly attempt a blood sacrifice. As it turns out—” He broke off in a fit of coughing. “As it turns out, the blood sacrifice truly works. But I lost too much blood and couldn’t fully melt the stone.”

Chen Longshi said, “Forging a sword requires the right time and place. Tonight, the dark moon is high in the sky—a most auspicious sign. But to craft a sword that can defeat the King of Chu’s blade, only a spirit as powerful as an entire city’s might suffice for the sacrifice. The blood you’ve given… alas…”

As he finished, he glanced at Zhi Jiang, then abruptly turned and walked out.

In that moment, a wave of self-loathing swept over him.

Zhi Jiang was stunned. His words made everything clear: the one required for the sacrifice was none other than herself. More precisely, the spirit of the Nine-Headed Bird within her.

The Nine-Headed Bird was once the totem of the former Chu kingdom—a beast embodying the fate of a nation.

From the day she was born, the spirit of the Nine-Headed Bird had been sealed within her, growing alongside her. In her loneliest moments, it had lifted her spirits; in hardship, it eased her burdens; in danger, it fought by her side. Others might not know, but she understood perfectly: the Nine-Headed Bird was no mindless beast, but her closest companion—perhaps even her mother.

Now, faced with this destiny, confusion clouded her heart. She had long resolved to give herself for Zhenwang City, but when the moment truly arrived, she was still a girl not yet twenty, unsure how to face parting from her companion.

...

Chen Longshi stepped outside and drew a deep breath.

From the beginning, he had studied every detail of the Sword Mound’s secret realm, comparing it to the game dungeons in his memory. The real secret realm was nothing like the virtual scenarios he’d known. His very presence had altered the course of the story from the outset, confirming a suspicion: the secret realm and the game dungeon only shared a common background, providing every challenger a world to test themselves in.

In this world, the trial was the essence; the story only a framework.

Because of this, Chen Longshi encountered many people and side plots that hadn’t existed in the original game, and his interactions and unconscious guidance never felt out of place.

Yet, he realized, as long as he identified the constant underlying thread, he could seize the chance to defeat the King of Chu. But to his sorrow, despite all the changes in events and characters, some themes and crucial elements remained immutable.

Just as history, regardless of its authors, cannot alter the march of progress, so it was in the Sword Mound. No matter how much his presence shifted the narrative or characters, the core elements would not change.

Humans are not grass or trees; who can truly be without feeling?

But in this secret realm, he was only a traveler.

He didn’t know whether this place would remain after he left, or if the trial would reset to its original form. It all seemed so real—every person here was flesh and blood, with thoughts and souls, fighting together, sacrificing, and giving selflessly for one another.

They felt like real people, not endlessly respawning NPCs.

If this was all illusion, it was too convincing. If it was a cycle of reincarnation, would the Zhi Jiang he met next time be the same girl?

He knew this was the most dangerous “loss of self” in the trial realm—if he became too attached to the illusion, unable to distinguish truth from fiction, he would face failure, even death. Yet having become involved, whatever he did would leave a lasting mark on this world.

Especially regarding Zhi Jiang—her fate was already sealed...

Footsteps sounded behind him. Zhi Jiang approached quietly. “Sir…”

Chen Longshi turned, composing himself, his eyes cold and detached. Zhi Jiang didn’t seem to mind; she even gave him a sweet smile and said gently, “I can tell you’re sad. Are you grieving for me?”

His indifference broke. With a bitter smile, he said, “Call me Brother Long.”

“Bro… Brother Long, did you know my fate all along?”

Chen Longshi sighed. “I wish I could say I didn’t. But ever since I learned the forging method, you were the first to come to mind. Yet for a girl not even twenty, this is far too cruel. You haven’t even seen the wonders of the world outside, and already you must bear such a burden and sacrifice yourself. If not for me, you might have lived in peace a while longer.

Zhi Jiang, do you blame me?”

Zhi Jiang gazed at his tall figure in silence. She could not forget how, just last night, this man alone had defended the city walls with a silver spear, or how he had stormed into the city and turned the tide by slaying the three consorts.

How could she blame him?

The Tomb of the King of Chu and Zhenwang City were never equals. One side was undead and unstoppable; the other, trapped and hopeless.

It was only his arrival that brought even a sliver of hope to the city.

“How could I blame you, Brother Long? Everyone knows that our meager existence is not because Zhenwang City truly rivals the King of Chu, but because the King himself is not yet free. Only your arrival has given our people a chance to see the light. Both I and the people thank you deeply…”

“Enough.” Chen Longshi gently pressed a finger to her lips. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you sad? Regretful? Do you resent it? Are you heartbroken? Have you ever hated—wondered why it had to be you, and not someone else?”

Zhi Jiang’s bright eyes widened as she looked at him. She smiled sweetly. “You speak for me, Brother Long. But if this is my fate, I will not shrink from it. I have awaited this moment for so long, I almost can’t wait. If I regret anything, it’s only that I won’t live to see the Tomb of the King of Chu destroyed with my own eyes.”

Chen Longshi was speechless. He was a selfish man; he could never understand such selflessness. Yet his heart ached all the same.

“Brother Long, tonight I must make my choice. Will you promise me one thing?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you will kill the King of Chu yourself.”

...

That night, the dark moon hung in the sky, red as blood, casting an evil light over all.

Alarm bells rang atop the city walls; outside, the undead horde attacked once more, even greater in number than the night before. All three remaining generals of the King of Chu and his four consorts had joined the fray.

The utter destruction of so many undead had finally awakened the tomb to the threat. Though the King was not yet free, he now threw all his might into this decisive battle.

The enemy pressed at the gates; black clouds weighed upon the city.

But within the city, the people were no longer gripped by yesterday’s fear. Instead, they gathered before the sword forge’s high platform, their hearts heavy with grief, crying out to the figure above, weeping without restraint.

The flames of the forge roared, leaping high into the night sky.