Chapter 11
Precisely because he was looked down upon, wrath emerged, defining the heart's refusal to accept the disgrace spoken by this woman.
Even if the honor of Huan Zheng was not permitted to reside within the heart of Humanity, nor the Sacred Divinity to be profaned, the wounding dialogue nonetheless summoned a blaze of anger and fresh rage.
Polished brilliance, the elegance of painted art, always carried the responsibility of a swordsman.
It was impossible for him to remain silent, to choose indifference after his honor was humiliated in such a one-sided declaration.
Though the dense ill-feeling at this moment might have silenced one or two idle talkers, Ling Xu's stance could not be seen as weak, for she embodied stability amid the terror of the pressing situation.
Even if her opponent stood one tier higher, occupying the second floor of the Celestial Realm that usually surpassed her own power, the tragic death of her parents was not something to be dismissed—an indelible display by Ling Xu since the vile acts of men upon her at the age of twelve.
With such matters as foundation, she cared not for the red flames of rage suppressed within.
Her gaze turned hollow, tracing the scorn etched upon the man's face before her, all while the emptiness of orphanhood weighed on her existence.
Do you not think, even a little, to reflect on the best reason for the pain that has haunted all this time?!
The grace of walking through a garden in courtesy was burned away, rendered chaos in the record of her heart, the result of foolish strife.
Death itself was not equal compensation for the wealth of value against the sting of such events.
Since Huan Zheng intended to seize Ling Xu's Celestial Divinity, while Ling Xu herself resolved to fulfill her first act of killing amidst the dark circumstance, a strange fluctuation suddenly arose—emerging as the dividing certainty between them, spreading swiftly and cloaking both maidens without warning.
They were transported, brought into an independent space that harmonized with rumor.
None other than the place known as the Final Bastion.
Even while the mandate of Divinity rose to its peak and then to its fall, the Final Bastion endured—forever preserved, manifested as a symbol of justice, its blood-bound equity upheld for both sides.
Though the impact of the Harmony Conflict stripped the Divine of its authority, the upheaval of power did not erase the territory of the Final Bastion.
It remained, never fading, its activity upheld.
To resolve the enmity between men and gods, this territory was deemed proper, honored as a creation, a relic of the mandate of Divinity past.
As for Ling Xu's ability to interpret certain details, it was no coincidence.
During her process of recognition as the Enlightened Outcast, this information had already been received, long considered until a final agreement was reached.
"Is this the battlefield's enclosure?"
"Too many words."
Half-circular, the arc of its imperfection revealed itself—like a turtle's shell, its edges slightly broadened, defining an ancient character, though its engravings seemed to exceed limitation itself.
As one of the legacies left by the Supreme Heavens for Their People, wonder burst forth again and again, releasing gratitude as her head turned and her body spun in awe.
Impatience burned—rash emotion was openly displayed by Huan Zheng.
His surging temper, ready to erupt, found reason in the childishness of Ling Xu, seeking to exploit her recklessness as the opening for sudden invasion.
He moved at once, hastily accelerating his steps as the force of his sword released in three directions, tearing through the fabric of space, his momentum sometimes breaking the laws of normal movement.
Forgetting the danger of such destructive force, he marveled at the curve of beauty, an aesthetic admired from deep within Ling Xu, though it trapped her in a sudden assault.
His appearance owed nothing to fortune, a coincidence impossible to verify.
Steadfast resolve was tempered again, urging him to declare that the torment must end now, or never.
Thus it was no wonder—resisting his pressure, breaking his force, was impossible.
Yet regret lay in the design, unwilling to satisfy the fancy of his imagination.
He did not mean to destroy, nor to support one side while ignoring the other.
But as the two inches closed, shrinking the distance, Ling Xu refused to remain still.
She wove her movement—bending her body and head, shifting right and left with precision.
Even one strike was considered impossible to withstand at the lowest level.
And since she not only dodged, but succeeded in evading strike after strike, the shock was real, searing disbelief into Huan Zheng's innermost thought.
'How is this possible? Could the enlightenment of one outcast truly compare with the Daoist Step? Tell me—how much, how vast, the true legacy of the Divine Humanity has been given to this exile?!
'No. Do not let reason collapse, tangled in this trap. Strengthen resolve, cast away sorrow. Quick—release the skull before the bitterness of parting is sealed!!
Continue your game, insolent child! To think you can play with me—that is but foolishness inside your mind.
W– What is this? Impossible… and why does impossibility still yield nothing?!
Damn you, ungrateful woman!!'
Confused, he found shock beyond measure, refusing to accept defeat so swiftly served.
He launched his fist, weighted and true, toward Ling Xu alone.
Even discarded, the authority of Daoist Step was deemed worthy, considering the audacity of a wretch like Ling Xu to disrupt him.
Ferocious in assault, blind in rage, he cared not for gain or loss, but hurled himself recklessly into the abyss, his every strike falling short.
Not even close—not even within a span of inches—could he approach.
Though venom burned in his veins with each heartbeat, his blind assault failed, as Ling Xu, healthy and lithe, moved swiftly with the grace of her flowing hair.
Clearly, Ling Xu was not aiming to defeat Huan Zheng by strength.
With each useful piece of knowledge absorbed, she evaded again and again, trading positions as she pleased.
The power before her was immense.
Foolish indeed for Ling Xu to confront him with muscle over mind.
Since childhood until her eighteenth year, she had trained—tempering her intuition, perfecting reflexes through the craft of traditional herbs.
Praise was her delight, joy inscribed in the shallows of her heart.
Conflict, however, was oath—a symbol of hatred long inscribed.
Swallowing her own saliva, trust was no easy gift.
Yet her disdain for herbs suddenly changed, redefined into blessing once the Harmony Conflict was born.
What more could be lacking?
Life had been granted, joy declared, bound with sacred pain as ordained.
Yet among all these rights, why rebel, why recklessly oppose Divinity without strength to deny?
Did you ever consider, even once, the mire of disgrace the gods themselves must face?
Even to the point of tearing families apart, hatred intensified, underlined by the warmth of brewing herbs amidst strife.
The sharp stench was ignored, the strong wind endured, as mortal adaptation pressed onward.
The attraction of the mortal realm—should it be dismissed?
Is curiosity itself to be judged a sin?
To be continued…