Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
Yan Kong's identity had completely transformed. From a solitary wanderer, he became a warrior under Wu Jing's command. His allegiance was no longer to the boundless wilderness and life-or-death duels, but to the faction of Wu Jing, fighting against Saito Xiaoyun, directly serving the first commander of Saito—Feng Huo.
At this moment, Broken Moon Fortress was Feng Huo's main battlefield. With Saito Xiaoyun returning to the capital to discuss military and political matters with Emperor Wu Jing, he could not return to the front lines in the short term. Thus, Feng Huo became the supreme commander of this fortress. He bore the heavy responsibility of guarding Wu Jing's territory while seizing crucial strategic advantages at the border of the three nations.
Broken Moon Fortress, the most dangerous place on the continent, stood at the intersection of Wu Jing, Yang Chuan, and Iron Dome. This fortress was nestled among towering mountains, its terrain steep and difficult to attack, yet it had become a strategic stronghold fiercely contested by all factions. In the heart of Broken Moon Fortress stood an ancient pass—Eitan Pass. Established in ancient times and having undergone countless reconstructions and fortifications, it still resembled a slumbering giant guarding the border between the three nations.
The importance of Eitan Pass was self-evident. It was the main thoroughfare connecting Wu Jing, Yang Chuan, and Iron Dome, serving as a lifeline for trade and military transport. Whichever side could control this area would easily dominate the continent's transportation hub and exert immense pressure on the other two nations. Consequently, this land had long been stained with blood, becoming a graveyard for countless swordsmen and armies.
Yan Kong stood atop the walls of Broken Moon Fortress, gazing out over this land of conflict. He could feel the air thick with the smoke of war and an oppressive atmosphere. The distant mountains undulated like the spine of a great dragon, while those castles and fortresses nestled in the valleys were like its claws, ready to tear apart any enemy daring to invade.
"Is this my battlefield..." Yan Kong murmured softly, his tone tinged with an imperceptible mix of excitement and tension. As someone who once fought only for himself as a wanderer, he had never imagined becoming part of a faction, let alone fighting for the fate of this land.
He knew he had been drawn into an inescapable whirlpool. This war was not only about the supremacy of three nations but also about his own future glory and destiny. Would his fury carve a path to greatness? He was uncertain; all he could do was raise his blade and face every trial of blood and fire that awaited him on this scorched earth.
When Yan Kong learned that all the swords he had previously taken were sent by Feng Huo to be melted down without his consent, his anger erupted instantly. It was an indescribable rage that ignited deep within his chest and surged toward his head. His cheeks twitched slightly as his gaze turned crimson; his fists were clenched so tightly that they nearly drew blood.
"How dare you!" Yan Kong's voice thundered like angry thunder, low yet filled with uncontrollable fury. He sprang to his feet, fixing his gaze on Feng Huo with a threatening intensity. "Each of those swords was earned with my life! What right do you have to dispose of them!"
Feng Huo remained unfazed; he simply smiled slightly before leisurely turning around to reveal an object covered by a cloak from behind him. He gently unveiled it to reveal a brand new set of Samurai Armor. The armor's design was rigid yet flexible, with intricate details exuding a sense of refined strength. However, what caught attention most was its color—a deep Dark Red that shimmered like congealed blood.
"Those swords," Feng Huo spoke calmly, with an air of undeniable composure, "are no longer scattered fragments; they have become part of this armor."
Yan Kong froze momentarily as his gaze instinctively fell upon the armor. The Dark Red metallic surface glimmered softly as if whispering stories of the swords that once belonged in his hands. He raised his hand to touch the shoulder plate of the armor; when his fingertips brushed against the cold metal, he felt an odd sense of familiarity—as if those vanished swords were still intertwined with him.
"Give it a try," Feng Huo said, raising an eyebrow as he handed the armor to Yan Kong, a hint of provocation in his tone.
Yan Kong gritted his teeth, still seething with anger, but he accepted the armor. As he draped it over his shoulders, he felt a strange weight and fit, as if it were a battle garment crafted just for him. When he donned all the pieces and stood before the mirror, the deep Dark Red hue radiated an imposing authority under the light.
He slowly lifted his head, his gaze meeting his reflection in the mirror, and in that instant, his anger dissipated. The armor seemed to awaken some hidden desire and strength deep within him. His hand gently brushed over the chest plate, feeling its cold yet resilient surface. The corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily, as if suppressing a satisfaction he was reluctant to reveal.
Feng Huo observed the change in Yan Kong's expression, a slight smirk appearing on his lips, pride evident in his smile. "Now you understand, Yan Kong? Those blades haven't vanished; they've merely evolved into your new power."
Yan Kong remained silent for a moment before letting out a cold huff, swallowing down all his discontent. He knew he couldn't refute Feng Huo's words, so he simply looked up at him and said coldly, "This armor had better be worth those blades." With that, he turned and strode out of the room, yet the Dark Red armor shimmered under the light, exuding his murderous intent and glory.
The room was quiet at night, with only the whispers of the wind filtering through the window. Soft light dimly illuminated one corner, casting shadows over the still furnishings. Yan Kong sat alone by the low table, his gaze fixed on the Weapon Cabinet where the Dark Red Armor and blades lay quietly displayed. The steel glimmered under the light as if silently narrating their power.
A small recycling robot curled up in the corner, its camera slightly drooping while its tracks remained still, emitting a rhythmic soft hum as if dozing off. Everything in the room was so quiet it felt frozen; only Yan Kong's eyes moved, lingering on the armor and blades without shifting away.
"Is this everything I ever dreamed of...?" Yan Kong murmured softly, his voice barely blending into the night. His hands clasped tightly on his knees, fingers unconsciously digging in as if repressing some complex emotion.
His thoughts were drawn back to a vague memory from the past by the shadows playing in front of the Weapon Cabinet. He was just a child then, struggling to survive alone on a chaotic battlefield. He remembered the corpses on that scorched earth and those broken pieces of steel picked from the flames. He had once run desperately for a half-broken blade and nearly lost his life over a piece of bread that wasn’t completely burnt.
He also recalled the fear and humiliation of joining a mercenary group for the first time. He was the most inconspicuous presence there, relegated to menial tasks—carrying wounded soldiers and cleaning up battlefields. Yet those days taught him how to observe, how to fight, and how to exchange cruelty for survival.
"Who would have thought..." Yan Kong chuckled bitterly as he traced his fingers along the edge of the low table. He lifted his head again to look at the armor and blades. These items symbolizing glory and power belonged to that child who once scavenged among piles of corpses.
"Now I live here, I have enough to eat and wear warmly; I have my own room and my own blade..." Yan Kong's voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with self-mockery and unease. Did all this truly belong to me? Or was it merely a well-scripted dream?
He lowered his head, lost in a brief moment of contemplation as memories surged forth like a tidal wave, only to be suppressed one by one. He was not an emotional person, yet at this moment, he felt an inexplicable sense of loss, as if standing atop a mountain, gazing down at the earth, only to suddenly find the ground beneath him eerily insubstantial.
In the distance, the calls of night birds pierced the brief silence. Yan Kong took a deep breath, pulling his thoughts back, his gaze becoming sharper and more resolute. He knew that such a night would not last long, and he had little time to dwell on the past. The battlefield awaited him on the morrow, and those memories were merely scars etched upon the blade of a sword.
He rose to his feet and walked to the Weapon Cabinet, his fingertips lightly brushing against the hilt of a knife, feeling its coldness. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, barely perceptible. Even if all of this was a trap or an illusion, he would turn it into his weapon and climb toward greater heights.
Comment 0 Comment Count