Chapter 10
"Cough– cough.
"Haaah– haaah– haaaah."
In a weakened state, struggling to dispel the tightness in his chest, he sought to restore the actuality of balance, while the scattering dust veiled the field of vision.
From any angle, it was clear—he had leapt, landing in haste without a vow of safety, as if to defy both opposing paths with reckless intensity.
Nearly fatal, a mistake understandable only to the subconscious of the Forsaken Divinity such as Ling Xu.
Yet because of this condition, awareness itself became bewildered, struck by a momentary idiocy, as though the seven nirvanas would soon descend into his reach.
Still spinning, striving to chase away the pain pounding in his head, he collapsed face-down upon the earth, dedicating a silent refusal, commanding the depths of his core to rise, petrified as his eyes scanned his surroundings.
"Hmmm?"
Seeking clarity of sight, his eyelids strove to remain steady, brightening as they endured the storm of dust swirling around.
There was no need to curse, nor to lament the arrival of this trial. Slowly yet surely, his condition began to improve, as the thick dust gradually thinned, dispersing until at last it vanished altogether.
No more obstruction remained, granting his vision back its order.
And through the unveiled sight, he discerned the figure of a man—human in form, pale of skin, clad in torn rags intermingled with the grandeur of wounds.
Not one or two gashes, but hundreds inscribed upon his flesh, defining a grotesque misery that would stir both noble women and the most wretched of mortal maidens alike.
Though he did not yet comprehend the sudden purpose of this man's appearance, the mere brush of their encounter was already an answer. Lingering silence prevailed as his sharpened gaze studied every contour of the stranger's body.
Silence was golden.
Even if steering words were hurled out of foolishness, the subconscious guarded itself, permitting opposition only in observation—measuring the multitude of scars etched upon him.
Had the landing been smooth, such panic would not have kindled further concern.
Yet the dark-brown haze rising within, clinging and intensifying, seemed to bear relentless command—foretelling a calamity inescapable, even for one named Huan Zheng, no matter how many incarnations he might endure.
Only at that moment did Huan Zheng's vision sharpen, casting full clarity upon Ling Xu.
Of course he was startled, overwhelmed by disbelief at the sight of a young woman—Forsaken Divinity though she was—yet bearing the visage of human beauty as natural as any mortal maiden.
Standing still, unwilling to project further movement, she caused Huan Zheng's small heart to swell with layers of incomprehension.
'A woman? Impossible. And if so, then history's pendant has never descended—never fallen into the shame of creation, so easily disregarded at any time and place.
'Most only occupy the lowliest castes. If I were to guess with precision, could it be…?'
"How dare the Tribunal of Humanity send you here. Tell me—who is your superior, child?
"Do you understand?"
"A swordswoman?"
"Tell me how much bounty, what compensation awaits, for each piece of your body delivered to the institution concerned."
"Unwilling."
'So difficult to accept, or perhaps she does not grasp the meaning of the topic raised?
'Wait. She spoke with detachment, and if judged by her calm demeanor, without the weight of proper conduct, the conclusion is simple—she is not one of the honored emissaries.
'Yet even if no flaw can be found in this judgment, the aura she carries seems submerged, speaking of a familiarity my consciousness cannot deny.
'Another possibility—she is the Forsaken, a god cast down, newly awakened in triumph.
'An Enlightened Outcast, descended from one of the rulers? Blessed by inheritance, able to seize the rights of her forebears, claiming treasures of divine decree.
'If this is true, then not bad—acquiring a free servant to satisfy myself.'
"Submit yourself at once. The subconscious shall guard you, striving to preserve your dignity and honor as long as you swear obedience."
Sensing something stirring, the girl's mind raced ahead. Huan Zheng, shaken though he was, quickly rose, pushing his knees into balance as he sought to extract information through spoken inquiry.
Inevitably, the struggle to steer order resonated with unrest.
The instability of his heart tore deeper, refusing to abide in calm, as the origin of this woman proved too intricate to calculate.
Rooted in composure, yet not denying the seed of hatred within, Ling Xu responded without delay, correcting the misjudged premise that attempted to bind her.
She needed no instruction to understand—her sharp awareness already traced the curve of danger looming behind the young man.
Deep down, she knew well—this adversary before her was no match for her might.
Though imbalance marked their powers, it did not mean the banner of her will would fall.
For a moment, Huan Zheng exhaled relief, convinced that the figure before him did not arrive with the will of the outer pillars. Shadows of law could be cast aside, expelled by the clarity of his imagination.
More than that, within his mind he affirmed—he had identified her. She carried the legacy of inheritance.
A heap of treasure indeed, declaring the full sovereignty of Lintang's Divinity and Humanity within Ling Xu, a promise of safety against looming catastrophe.
Not merely a fragment, but the entirety of wealth and healing bound in her, as chains of restraint threatened to be shattered.
He could not resist. He would not reject the offer shining within her gaze. Boldly, he issued his ultimatum, commanding the sister Ling Xu to obey, leaving nothing behind but the sacred grace of a forsaken goddess.
Revealing himself shamelessly, his reaction met only with silence. Her face dimmed, her eyes lowered, unwilling to reveal the shadows of her heart after hearing his defilement.
Even though the disparity in power was vast, insolence was unforgivable, excusing nothing of his lecherous declaration.
With all her mother's strength to nurture, his vile tongue declared a profanation against the Sacred.
"Step aside."
"Do not speak of rebellion, of treachery. Is it not laughable—a mere ant giving orders?
"This is the last time I speak, and this shall be your end."
"Never. Truly?"
"Let us see if your honored mother will forgive every unworthy prayer you raise!"
Ling Xu's eyes never wavered, fixed upon the barren soil beneath her feet. Her voice emerged hoarse, low yet rising in strength, begging inwardly for her own words to retract—for him to leave before patience drowned in a tide of wrath.
Still composed, though cloaked in bitterness, she reflected both in word and in stance.
Frankly, Huan Zheng cared little. He was more intrigued by the unexpected sight—the reckless courage of Ling Xu.
To hurl intimidation against the highest throne—any who heard it would scoff, dismissing it as jest, until they witnessed it with their own eyes.
To be continued…