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墨書 Inktalez
Yan Kong sat silently in the mud, his gaze hollow as he stared at the ground, as if he had lost his way. His shoulders drooped slightly, and his fingers unconsciously brushed against the hilt of the sword at his waist, the tips of his fingers lightly rubbing against the cold metal. A wave of unprecedented despondency surged within him, swallowing the ambition and anger that once burned brightly.
He rarely felt this way, almost never. He had believed himself to be the closest person to the pinnacle of swordsmanship on this continent. Each battle fought, each sword taken from him, served to prove his strength to the world. But now, everything seemed laughable in the face of that blue light.
"What is this...?" he murmured softly, his voice barely audible. He couldn't comprehend why that person's skill surpassed all his understanding of swordsmanship. That strike was clean, ruthless, flawless, yet devoid of any showiness or unnecessary display of power. It not only cut through the terminator but also sliced through Yan Kong's belief in his own invincibility.
He struggled to recall what that person had said—"swear by Kong Si." "Kong Si..." The name stirred a vague memory in his mind, like a distant shadow from long ago. He vaguely remembered hearing it in casual conversation, perhaps a legend from an ancient era or a forgotten school of thought. But that was merely dust from the past; he had never paid attention to it, nor did he care.
"Kong Si... what is Kong Si..." Yan Kong furrowed his brow, his fingers gently tapping on the scabbard, a hint of confusion in his eyes. He couldn't remember and was unwilling to admit that such power came from a place he had once overlooked.
The small recycling robot remained quietly stationed nearby, its optical sensors slightly swaying as if observing Yan Kong's every move. Its casing was covered in mud and scratches; it had sensed Yan Kong's spiraling emotions during the projection earlier. Now, it cautiously retracted the projection, and the images on its screen quickly faded away, seemingly afraid that these visuals would reignite Yan Kong's fury.
Yan Kong watched as the projection vanished from the ground, his frown deepening. He did not move or speak; he simply sat there quietly, his gaze vacant. This feeling of incomprehension and lack of control tormented him immensely. He was not someone accustomed to being suppressed, and this time he had not only lost confidence but also his sense of direction for the future. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles turning white from the strain.
"Why..." he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice laced with unmistakable frustration and anger. "Why is he so strong...?"
The small recycling robot emitted a low beep, as if trying to say something while suppressing its presence. Yan Kong shot it a cold glance, and the robot immediately ceased all sounds; its casing trembled slightly as if expressing silent apology.
The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and death, while Yan Kong's heart was filled with an unfamiliar emotion—neither anger nor excitement but an unprecedented sense of emptiness.
Slowly rising to his feet, heavy mud dripped from his clothes as he moved; the ground made a faint suction sound beneath him. His gaze fell low, seemingly still lost in thought. At that moment, a sword slipped from his waist; the sound of metal clashing with mud rang sharply in the air.
He halted in his tracks, eyes fixed on the sword lying on the ground. It was a blade he had taken long ago. Yan Kong crouched down and gently wiped away the mud clinging to its hilt before picking it up. His fingertips glided lightly along the blade; the cold touch of metal seemed to sharpen his thoughts just a bit more clearly.
A faint smile suddenly appeared at the corners of his mouth, gradually growing more pronounced until his laughter erupted across the silent hills.
"Hahahahaha!" His laughter was wild and unrestrained, bursting forth with a madness and determination born from repression. The sound echoed in the surrounding emptiness, injecting a strange vitality into the ravaged battlefield.
The small recycling robot trembled in fear at this sudden outburst, its optical sensors flickering with anxious red light. It instinctively shrank back, as if trying to distance itself. It could not comprehend how the swordsman before it could shift from despair to fervor so quickly.
"What is this guy up to now..." the small recycling robot muttered softly to itself, clearly too intimidated to speak up.
Yan Kong gripped his sword tightly, raising it high so that the blade pointed toward the darkened sky. His gaze burned with intensity, and his voice rang out with unmatched fervor and resolve: "I am Yan Kong! Yankeeper!" he shouted, his voice booming like thunder, reverberating through the air.
He turned around, scanning the death-strewn and muddy hills with an excited smile. His voice rose higher: "Seize! Become stronger! This is my path!" His eyes blazed like fire, hot and filled with ambition. "How could I ever forget!" He laughed maniacally towards the heavens, as if declaring his beliefs and asserting his existence to the world.
His laughter continued unabated, causing the small recycling robot to involuntarily take a few steps back, fearing he might suddenly lash out in some insane act. Yan Kong's wild laughter clashed starkly with the desolation of the battlefield but felt incredibly real, as if even this bleak land had become somewhat animated by his fervor.
As Yan Kong's laughter gradually subsided, his gaze remained fiery, like a flame just ignited and unstoppable. He slowly lifted his head, looking toward the distant hills as if he could see the wandering swordsman Bing Lie standing firm against the storm. A mad smile crept across his face, his eyes glinting with ambition and desire.
"Wandering swordsman... Bing Lie!" His voice was deep and powerful, rising from within his chest, filled with indomitable will and destructive determination. "I will chase you down!" He stepped forward forcefully, causing the mud beneath him to splatter outward as if an invisible war drum were sounding for his declaration.
"I will kill you and take your sword!" His voice grew louder, as if challenging the entire world. "That blue light of yours—I will turn it into my power!" He patted the scabbard at his waist, his tone laced with frenzied desire. "I will become the strongest person on this continent! Hahahahaha!"
His maniacal laughter erupted once more from his throat, resonating through the silent hills and intertwining with the gray sky in a bizarre harmony. His laughter was thunderous, seemingly aimed at fully releasing the fervor and ambition within him.
Yan Kong's hand fell on the hilt of his sword at his waist; he yanked it out sharply, and the blade sliced through the air with a bright glint. He swung it down fiercely toward the empty space before him; the force was so great that it produced a low howl in the air, as if truly cleaving through some invisible presence.
“Bing Lie!” he roared, his knife slicing through the air with fierce intensity, as if the very shadow of Bing Lie lingered in the void. Each swing of his blade was infused with a palpable killing intent, resembling a simulated duel where every strike aimed precisely at the fatal points of an imagined foe.
After delivering the final slash, he abruptly halted, the tip of his knife steady and pointed skyward, mud splattering around him yet to settle. His chest heaved violently, and the manic grin on his face seemed etched into his mask. In that moment, Yan Kong was not merely yearning for power; he was wholly immersed in the pursuit of Bing Lie. This was his new objective, the spark that reignited his belief.
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