Theron's blade suddenly became all the more furious. As though he had finally decided that he was truly enraged, he unleashed it all. Or maybe it was just that he had spent far too long in the calm, far too long forgetting what it meant to be angry, to be embroiled in blood that went beyond just the mere sake of survival, but touched instead on a visceral sort of disgusting, selfish, tainted, rotting, festering underbelly of the martial world.
And that image that reflected back at him of what the world was and what it truly meant to be a cultivator infuriated him.
Why couldn't he just sit by the window and watch the rain pelt against it? Why couldn't he just enjoy the girl sleeping in his lap, or calmly watch the sun rise at dawn, or listen to the wind blow through the leaves of the canopies that protected him from the skies above?
Why did he have to push her away?
Why did he have to close his eyes to the sun to watch the light of blades instead?
